#best full face shield masks

[sim0nril3y]

I got you.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: After hours of labour your precious baby has finally arrived. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), very soft, very fluffy, pregnancy, post-labour. Note: Thank you so much to @milf-murdock for feeding into my Dad!Simon delusions. I appreciate you.

It was amazing. One of the most beautiful experiences that Simon had been allowed to witness. He had watched his beautiful wife bring their daughter into the world and here the little bundle was laid across his chest. A tiny little babe pressed to his skin, warm and protected in this cold world. It was in that moment Simon knew that no harm would ever come to her.

There you were laying, completely exhausted, eyelids so heavy that they seemed to droop down further and further with every tiny blink. Still, you were unable to take your eyes from that wonderful little bundle too. “You fought bloody hard.” Simon said with so much love and tenderness, glancing away from that the little human using him as a mattress to look at you. “M'so proud of you.”

For a moment you lower lip trembled, reaching out a hand towards him, which Simon happily took, squeezing your fingers. “She’s so perfect.” You voice was practically hoarse. “I didn’t realise one little baby could be so perfect.” You were completely enamoured by your new daughter, unable to take your eyes from her for a second. “Did we get the best baby ever?”

“Yeah.” Simon let out a small breathy laugh, watching the way the small tuffs of hair seemed to ruffle. Hair. She has hair. His hair. Little blonde splotches on hair on top of her precious head. His daughter. His hair. That nose… was he crazy or did she have his nose too? “She looks like you.” You mentioned, but there was no malice or envy to your tone. “Yeah.” Simon said again, completely dumbstruck. “Poor kid.” He added with another hearty chuckle, careful not to disturb the sleeping babe on his chest.

“Lucky kid.” You corrected softly, leaning your head into the pillow. “Poppy’s gonna… have the best daddy in the world.” You fought back a yawn then, blinking a little too heavy. It took him a full minute to realise what you had said before creasing his brows and reeling. It caught him by surprise then, looking towards your sleepy face. “Did you say Poppy?” Simon asked with raised brow.

Coming back from your exhausted haze you asked. “Hmm?” “Poppy… you called her Poppy…” It had been a name he’d written on the list a few weeks ago. One of the few names he’d written down amongst the dozen that you had scribbled, he had thought choosing a name would be impossible, but you said it like it was destined. “The second I saw her… she looked like a Poppy.” You explained, followed by another yawn. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Simon replied, his voice a little tighter. “I love her.” Then squeezing your hand. “I love you.” Then looking towards you to see that your eyes had completely closed now, dropping off into a comfortable sleep after your hours of hard work bringing your precious daughter into the world. “S’alright, Poppy. I got you.” He placed a hand over her back, securing her, protecting her, shielding her. “I got you, babygirl. Daddy’s got you.”

Masterlist | Ask | 30-04-2024

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 12

James “Bucky” Barnes + Drool/Spit

This is winter soldier Bucky, so imagine he’s wearing that half face mask he wears in the movie. Hes wearing a mouth guard under it, google says that’s what it’s called. Im also taking canon, and throwing it in the toilet for this.

No outright smut in this, cuz it felt a lil weird to add it, as Bucky kinda sees the reader as a very nice and comforting handler. Readers an Avenger 🗣️

2024 kinktober masterlist

Maybe dressing up as a hydra agent wasn’t your… best idea. But hindsight was twenty-twenty. Steves friend was locked up in a hydra facility near where you had just been for a mission, and you knew he was planning a whole thing to get him out. You also knew that it would be a shitshow if it went his way, did he really think it would work just not telling people? It was a good thing Steve was hot, because sometimes his head was full of dirt.

You hadn’t honestly thought it would work, alright? You just assumed you could sneak in, maybe get some info from their tech, see where they kept the winter solider, and get out of there. The documents had said he would be frozen down, so of course you almost shit yourself when he was wide awake and staring at, the same way a starving dog looks at a steak.

So maybe you tucked him under your arm and just ran outta there. Okay, it wasn’t that comedic. You just used your best “hydra bastard” accent and lingo, and somehow got the winder solider, Bucky? Was that what Steve called him? To follow you out. He seemed almost willing, which didn’t make a lot of sense, since well. You were dressed up as a hydra agent.

You just hadn’t counted for the fact that he would see you as his new handler. This was what you were thinking about as you were sitting on the couch in one of your safe houses. One you had bought, not shield or Stark. You loved Tony, you did, there was just something nice about an apartment that wasn’t bugged from hell and back.

Looking down at the winder soldier- you should start calling him Bucky. At Bucky kneeling by your feet. The moment you got home you changed into something more comfortable, just some sweats and an old t-shirt you stole from an ex who’d been a huge baseball nerd.

“so, uh… Buck..y? what do you wanna like, do” you awkwardly said, scratching at the stubble on your chin from the uneasy tension you felt in the air. Feeling you nuzzle against your knee almost made you jump right out the seat. The yell was choked down before it became a reality as you looked down, frows furrowed in confusion as he just seemed to… nuzzle you.

Hesitantly you reached a hand down, approaching him with the caution one would a feral dog on the street. His pale eyes were kinda creepy, with all that eyeblack smudged around them like that, and how they just laser focused on every little movement you did. Bucky’s hair was oily and uncomfortable as you ran a hand through it. Couldn’t really blame the guy though, could you. you couldn’t imagine hydra was the nicest people to work under.

Bucky seemed to arch into the touch when he realized you weren’t trying to hit him, a choked raspy noise leaving him as his eyes almost rolled all the way back. Hadn’t Steve said hydra had this guy for, like, 70 years? Then you guessed it wasn’t weird for him to ache for any kind of human touch. Youd seen Tony after he was brought back from the cave he was kept in. hed been so touchy but also flinched away from everything. And that was just 3 months, you couldn’t imagine what this guy had been through.

You hadn’t thought about how you were rubbing Buckys head as you mulled over your thoughts, your second hand reaching down to rub his ear and rub a thumb across his cheek, right above that mask of his. You also hadn’t noticed the way his eyes seemed to droop, pupils blowing wide as he leant all his weight against your leg, or how something wet was seeping into your sweats.

It took a while for you to finally come back to yourself, having gone on some long tangent in your head about trauma and how to deal with this guy before you could bring him back to the tower. Looking down you had wanted to apologize, only to see how Bucky looked like he was in heaven, slumped against your knee and eyes barely open a crack as he melted under your hands. The big spot of drool on your leg made you realize how long you had been sitting like this.

“Fuck, uh. Sorry dude, didn’t mean to space out like that” you chuckled a bit dryly, finally pulling your hands back, your heart giving a lurch as he let out a raspy noise. There wasn’t much voice behind it, but it felt like one of those scarred fighting dogs trying to whine. It was… kinda cute in its own way, even if it came from the winter solider of all people.

“That things probably real uncomfortable, huh?” you mumble, eyes landing on that mask of his. With little though behind it, you reach down and carefully search for the release mechanism. It took longer than intended, with Bucky trying to nuzzle into your hands whenever they came close. God this guy was touch starved, hopefully the team would know what to do.

A soft amused huff passed through your lips as you finally got the mask of him, strings of drool hanging from his parted lips against the inside of the material. “Drooly boy, aren’t you” you joked, only for Bucky to let out the faintest of whimpers as he tried to nuzzle against you again.

As he panted with parted lips, you could spot what looked like some kind of cover on his teeth. Had hydra tried to silence him in another way? Was that why he didn’t talk, or was it all trauma? You hadn’t thought about your actions much before you found yourself carefully pulling on his jaw, Bucky leaning his head along as he simply let you do as you pleased.

Bucky let out a louder pleased noise as your fingers slid into his mouth, his tongue rubbing insistently against your fingers as if he was exploring. With a shaky exhale you carefully moved your fingers around, trying to grab onto what was covering his upper teeth. The entire time Bucky seemed more interesting in licking at and sucking your fingers. The movements were too messy to be hydra trained, at least that could help a little on the guilt it made you feel.

Spit was rolling down his chin, Bucky not even seeming to think about swallowing it. With a little struggle, you finally got whatever was covering his teeth off, Bucky trying to follow your fingers as you pulled away, finally realizing that it was a mouth guard. Thick strings of drool hung from the mouth guard and Bucky’s lips and pink tongue, making you shudder.

There was no way you were gonna go down that road, not with how messed up this guy was. There was also that whole thing that he might think you are his handler, so that was something you would explore. Instead you put the mouth guard to the side with his mask, and used your sleeve to wipe all the spit and drool of his face, mumbling soft scoldings at him as Bucky tried to lick you again.

“Lets just go get you cleaned up, alright?” you finally sigh after having to pull your hands to yourself, after he tried to catch them in his mouth again. Bucky seemed more than happy to follow you as you lead him into the bathroom, starting to take his outfit off before you even said anything.

Instinctively you wanted to scold him for just doing that, but seeing him step into the empty bathtub and look at you with those softer, but still blank eyes, made your chest ache just a little more. The shower took a while, with you having to scrub his hair multiple times. You caught him drooling during the entire process, as if he didn’t have full control of his bodily functions. You also saw him get hard, his cock pink and twitching, oozing its own fluids from what must be the first pleasurable touches in years.

You didn’t do anything about it though, instead helping him dry off and wiping his chin as he kissed softly at your palm, like his own way of saying thanks. “You’re welcome. Come on, I’ll get you something to wear” you mumble out, voice softer and more careful as you lead him to your bedroom and find something that’ll fit him.

It was a struggle to get him into bed, the man clearly uncomfortable with how soft it was and unsure of how to lay. Bucky only seem to lay still when you laid down with him, and he only settled after you let him take your fingers into his mouth again.

The action of just sucking and licking put him in a much calmer state, Bucky’s eyes drooping as he melted against the pillow, even as he still stared at you with such intensity. Seeing him fall asleep so easily after everything made it bearable that he was suckling on your fingers and soaking your pillow in drool. You would figure this out, one way or another. Even if it meant letting Bucky drool all over you until you did.

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 13

Kinktober Masterlist pulvis et umbra sumus - "we are dust and shadow" TF141 x f!reader Kinks > monsters, knotting, ritual magic sex in a cave Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

Monster AU where the TF141 are gargoyles. You love your shitty 87th floor apartment, you really do. Sure, the view is mostly fog and smog and clouds, but your balcony is shielded by four awesome gargoyles. You spend long nights admiring their statuesque figures wishing they could come to life and please you since no human man seems to be able to. Be careful what you wish for, I guess?

Warning: short part with an abusive ex-boyfriend, but he gets gargoyled pretty quickly, so it's short-lived.

Rain pelted the grimy, floor-to-ceiling windows of your apartment. It seemed like it was always raining. You loved living downtown in District 10, you really did, but damn if it wasn’t hard to meet people. Sure, millions of people lived in the city right alongside you, but other than a few dates to the ramen shop around the corner, your attempts to find The One had fallen flat. 

It was the same song and dance. They’d ask what you did for a living, and if they stuck around after you told them that you were a professional streamer, they either thought you were rich or that you wanted to flash your pussy on camera for money. Either way, the only guys who stuck around after they made their judgements about your job were either disappointed by your shitty studio apartment or were terrible in the sack. Clearly, they just wanted an easy lay and never called you again. 

You didn’t really have anyone to complain to since your best friend abandoned you for Topeka, of all places, to get married and have a litter of babies. You were happy for her, truly, but bitching to a woman who was cherished by her man about your shitty Tinder dates was a dark, dark time that you didn’t care to have. 

So, you smoked, and you told your gargoyles all about it. 

Your apartment was unique in the fact that you had the entire patio to yourself, and it was shielded from the wind by the outstretched wings of four enormous gargoyles. They were huge, at least seven feet tall, and their bodies looked like they were ready to compete in the next strongman world championship. 

You’d named them all, of course. There was the spooky one with a skull-shaped mask over his face and huge fangs that you called Mr. Bones, one with a mohawk that you named Mr. T, a supermodel-hot statue that you named Mr. Vain, and your favorite one, the biggest of them all and the guardian that sat right next to your bed, Mr. Big.

That’s where you found yourself tonight. You were crouched in your usual spot, tucked in an oversized raincoat, a pair of wellies, and nothing else, smoking a cigarette under the protective wings of Mr. Big.

You watched the tip glow golden bright as you took a drag, holding it in longer than normal, hoping to feel something other than disappointed. 

“He was such a jerk, Big. Didn’t even bring a condom. Not sure someone with a dick that small should have that sort of audacity, ya know?”

Mr. Big didn’t reply. He looked out over the dense, foggy night and shielded you from the rain, keeping you dry while you smoked.

You leaned against his chest as he crouched over you, raking your eyes over his body with more appraisal than you usually did, confessing aloud,

“I bet you’ve got cock for days under that loincloth. And I bet you’d pay for a babe’s dinner. Maybe even buy her a strawberry shake afterwards. Bet you wouldn’t ask to come up; you’d just wait to be invited. And I bet you’d bring your own damn condoms to a third date, huh?”

He loomed. You sighed,

“Yeah, I know you would. You know what?”

At that very moment, you gazed up into the sky as the clouds shifted and cleared, revealing a heavy, orange harvest moon. You spotted a streak of falling stars out of the corner of your eye, and you watched as they crossed the moon’s body, falling towards earth, burning up a million miles away, and you said,

“I wish you guys were real.”

You watched the stars vanish over the horizon, and you took one last drag off of your cigarette, flinging it off the side like a nasty little gremlin, not caring where it landed or what catastrophe you had just contributed to. This whole world was fucked. What was one more cigarette butt, right?

“But, you’re not real, Mr. Big. Maybe one day you’ll wake up and come save me from this damn carousel of nightmares. You and your buddies could fly me around, give me a mindblowing fuck, and steal me away from here. Wouldn’t that be something?”

You stood up next to him, barely tall enough to reach his face even though he was crouched over. You caressed his cheek, wiping the raindrops from his brow, and lifted yourself up to kiss him on the corner of his bearded mouth, right where his fang protruded from the lip, round and sharp like a boar’s tusk.

��Goodnight, Mr. Big. See you in the morning.”

You toweled dry as you stepped through the window, using the same old towel you’d been using all week, making a mental note to get around to the laundry. Then, you snuggled under the covers, checking your notifications and getting upset that there weren’t more (even though you’d just checked them before you went out to smoke). Maybe you would have to start flashing your tits online if you wanted to make the real bucks.  

You flipped your phone over and went to sleep, begging your brain to give you filthy gargoyle dreams. 

Once dawn’s glow yanked you from your peaceful slumber, you’d forgotten all about why you’d been so sad. You forgot about Dan, or David (Darren?), whatever his name was. You hopped online and said hi to your early birds, fitting the headphones over your ears just to let them know you’d be back in a bit. Then, you had a quick shower, ducked out for half of a smoke, and got to work. 

The day turned into night, and everything was great. The games were fun, chat was a riot, and you even got raided by one of your favorite mutuals. You ordered some takeout and video-chatted with some friends. You even hopped on the stream again for a double feature. All the darkness from the night before was lifted, and you felt like you might be alright. But, then, just as the sun was setting, you got a text. 

donny-Hinge: hey babe. left my charger. can i come by in 15

you: sure

donny-Hinge: k thx

“Ugh!” You audibly exclaimed, forgetting you were still online.

Chat started pouring in with questions and asks about the text. Tell us! They exclaimed. What happened, momma?? They begged to know. 

You thought about it for a minute, but you decided that your shitty love life was one thing you weren’t ready to own up to online, so you side-stepped, 

“Forgot I had to take a friend to the airport. Gotta cut this short tonight, sorry. Love you guys! Don’t forget to live, laugh, love, like, share, sub!” You rolled your eyes at your own catchphrase and waved goodbye. 

You flung down your headset and did a few soothing spins in your computer chair before deciding that you needed to kick this dude to the curb. 

“What’s the sluttiest outfit I’ve got so this asshole knows what he’s missing?” You asked Mr. Vain who was sitting outside your bathroom window, looking bored. 

“Coachella last year?” You dug around in the drawer and pulled out the too-short, can’t-wear-this-in-public slip dress, looking at Mr. Vain one last time before nodding, “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

You wiggled into the fit, mangled up your hair into a careless rumpled mess, and threw on some eyeliner to top it all off. Then, you waited. You checked your phone. You waited again. You paced. Then, you had a smoke to try and calm your nerves. 

You huddled next to Mr. Big’s giant forearm and looked up at his bearded jaws from below,

“Still not real, huh? I could really use a big, scary beast for some support right now. Why does breaking up with losers still feel so shitty? He doesn’t deserve me, right?”

Mr. Big said nothing. He loomed, and nothing more. 

“Right,” you whispered, starting to worry about yourself now that you were carrying on multiple daily conversations with statues. 

Your door buzzed. Dumbo was here for his charger. 

You fixed yourself, checking your eyeliner for just the perfect amount of smudge, and then you cracked open the door. The man was there, looking a little too well-dressed, and he sauntered into your apartment without saying so much as a hello. 

“Uh, hi,” you spat. 

“Hey, sorry,” he frowned, looking around for the charger under your clothes pile, “Can’t stay. Gonna meet up with the boys at Six Hands tonight.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling a little more than just put out. 

“Ah, here it is,” he dragged the charger out from under your desk and wrapped it up. 

“I don’t wanna see you again,” you blurted out. 

He looked up at you, noticing you for the first time, eyeing your dress and your makeup, furrowing his brow,

“Why not? Didn’t you have fun last night?” 

You didn’t like his sly tone,

“No, so just, lose my number, okay?”

“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that,” he stepped into your space and put your hair behind your ear. You fucking hated when guys tucked your hair behind your ear. 

You smacked his hand away, 

“Don’t touch me. Just go.”

“Is that why you’re dressed like a fuckin’ slut? You gonna call some other guy up here?” His contempt filled the room, making your alarm bells clatter and peal inside of your head. 

“No. Leave! Now.”

“Listen,” he took another step into your space, dragging his finger under the strap of your dress and purposefully letting it fall off of your shoulder, “How about you drop the attitude and let me hit it before I go out, and I’ll come back tonight and we can watch a movie.”

You used both hands to shove him away from you, hating how little he moved backwards,

“Fuck you! Get out of my house.”

“You don’t have to be such a bitch!” He shouted at you, grabbing you around the wrist and knocking you off balance. 

Then, all of a sudden, he stopped. His face became even paler than it already was, and he stared out of the window behind you. He scrambled to drop your wrist and bolted for the door, not even bothering to shut it behind him. 

“Yeah! You shouted after him, fixing your shoulder strap, “Get the hell out and don’t come back!”

You shut the door and locked the top and bottom deadbolts, upset with yourself for how badly you were shaking. 

“What an asshole,” you muttered under your breath as you turned around. Then, you looked up, and that’s when you saw him.

“Mr. Big?!”

The giant, hulking gargoyle that you sat by every night was standing, full height, right outside your window. He used his immense paw to open the window and stepped through it, staring right at you with unnaturally blue eyes. He was still not a human color, but at least he wasn’t made of stone. His flesh was textured, sort of scaled in a way, and hairline cracks that looked like scars covered him like a broken eggshell. His hair and beard were shaggy and brown, and even though he was enormous, he was graceful, tucking his black wings behind his back to keep from knocking over all of your shelves. 

“Are you alright, love?” His voice came out like a roaring, tumbling sea, and yet, it was as gentle as a purr. 

“I… This… You! You are! You’re… you’re a statue! How…” You backed away from him, and he did not pursue you. He simply stood there, focused on you, patiently letting you figure it out, “You’re Mr. Big, and you’re in my damn house!”

“I am John. We come when our mate calls to us.”

“What? John? No,” you sat on the bed, wrenching your eyes shut, “This isn’t happening. Fuck, I actually am out of my mind. I don’t have insurance. I can’t afford fucking gargoyle visions. Fuck!”

You heard the flutter of wings and your eyes darted up to see Mr. T and Mr. Bones squeezing themselves into your tiny home,

John nodded to them,

“This is Soap and Ghost. Your memories will return to you, my love,” he turned to address them, “Did you find him?”

Ghost let out a dark chuckle full of fire and brimstone, 

“Aye, he screamed like a fuckin’ pussy.”

“Who?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

Soap answered you in a surprisingly smooth brogue, 

“Your wee suitor, lass. Tried to run, but he couldnae get very far.”

“Did…” You felt your blood rush out of your body, “Did you kill him?”

Ghost, his skin a steely gray with black cracks running across his flesh, his wings a bony ash color and splotched with tears and scars, his eyes an impossible hazel shade, gleaming behind the huge skull mask, stalked over to you, crouching down to look at you closer, studying you. Then, he took his clawed hand and untucked the hair from behind your ear, lifting your locks to his fearsome muzzle to smell your shampoo. He smiled (you weren’t exactly sure if it was a smile or not), and said,

“Would you like me to? Because, right now, he’s hanging off the side of a fuckin’ tanker ship headed for the bloody south Pacific. He’d be easy to capture and –”

“No! No,” you shook your head, “Thank you. That’s… that is a great spot for him. Alive.”

“You must have questions, pet,” a fourth voice spoke over your shoulder, startling you and making you jump out of your skin, “Surely you must remember me; your Gaz, your favorite.”  

It was Mr. Vain. The others gave him a glare for his comment, but he did have a way of stealing the show. His skin was a shimmering copper, and golden cracks cut through his flesh. His wings were an iridescent green patina, and his eyes were a deep brown. He was every bit as beautiful in real life as he’d been as a statue, and you had a hard time looking away from him. 

“I’m…” You tried to ask something. Anything. You should have questions, right? Normal people would have questions. Finally, you whispered, “What is happening to me?”

John came to crouch beside you, his thick tail curling around his feet, tucking itself out of the way, and he dropped his voice into that deep purr of his,

“You called us here, love. You needed us, and we were awakened. We have listened to your struggles. For years we have kept you safe in this…” He looked around with a frown of disapproval, “... bloody meager estate, waiting for the night you would bring us back to this plane of existence to mate with you and take you home to claim your rightful place on the throne of Evenhold. Your people need you. We need you. You are the last hope for our kind.”

You listened to him and tried your best to keep a straight face,

“You have got to be fucking with me right now. This is not real. You are not real!”

To your shock, instead of doubling down, he looked hurt by your comments. His eyes peered down at you as if he wanted to make you see the truth, like he wanted to convince you of his words, but he held himself back. 

Soap came over to you, his pale flesh gleaming like a pearl under the moonlight, the cracks of his skin a cerulean blue, and his wings fading from navy to black at the very tips, 

“Bonnie, I ken how it sounds. But, you didnae meet your mother nor your father, aye?”

“No, I grew up with my Grandma Val–”

“Valeria, the Witch of the Four Winds,” Soap confirmed, sitting down beside Ghost, “She protected you until her death. So, you came here, to this city, and –”

“And this apartment… the deal was so good, I couldn’t pass it up,” your brain was reaching around in the dark, looking for the light. It was making your head spin. 

“Did you never wonder how you could afford it, lass? Didnae you remember Darkhollow? The River Binn? Everhold Keep? We ran together as rooks through the halls, stealing burchfruit from the ta–”

John cut him off, his eyes studying you in the darkness,

“Enough. Sorcerer Cael stole her memories the same night he fuckin’ murdered the Emperor and the Empress. She knows nothing of home. But, we can help her remember.”

You reached out to him, touching his cheek in such a familiar way, and yet, experiencing it anew,

“How?”

“We will take you as our mate. Through our magic, you can use our memories to rebuild what you’ve lost,” John cupped your hand in his huge paw, bringing it to his fanged mouth, and kissing your palm reverently. 

“We know that you have been…” Gaz smirked, “... disappointed by suitors in this realm. But, we will help you remember the kind of mate the Empress of Evenhold deserves.” 

“Trust us, lass,” Soap lifted your chin up to look into your face, “We will set things right. We’ll take you home.”

Ghost crawled beside you on the bed, and the mattress dipped beneath his heavy frame, 

“You are our guiding star, love. We’ll do whatever you ask of us. If you want us to leave, we fuckin’ will. Just say the word, and you’ll never see us again.”

At his oath, you felt something twist in your heart. No! That was wrong. You belonged together. These were your protectors. You needed them as much as they needed you.

“No. You belong with me,” you said, planting a soft kiss on the side of Ghost’s mask, “Help me remember.”

“We won’t be back here, love. Are you sure you’re ready to go?” John asked you, standing at full height. 

The others stood with him, waiting for your word. 

You thought about checking your phone, or putting an away message up on your profiles, but what would be the reason? If you wouldn’t be back here, you’d just disappear. You’d fade away from memory just like any other streamer who logged on for the last time and never came back. It happened all the time. Your parents were dead, you didn’t have any family, and your friend would be okay without you. What was keeping you here?

“Let me wash my face, and then we’ll go,” you said, ducking into the bathroom to braid your hair out of your face and wash the eyeliner off of your eyes. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and for the first time in a long while, you enjoyed looking at the person that you saw. You looked brave. You looked ready. You looked like you were about to have the ride of your fuckin’ life. 

You slid an extra hair tie around your wrist and met the gargoyle army in your bedroom. 

“Okay, I’m ready for the magic mating ritual, I think. Do you wanna do it here, or…”

“No, love,” John chuckled warmly, “We’ll take you to the portal. Your power will ignite the beacon.” 

“Where is that?” You asked, feeling a little deflated. 

“Far from here. C’mon, love. Need to beat the sun,” John grabbed your waist and held you against his chest. He wrapped his tail around your body protectively, and you watched in horror as the other three dove through the window, spreading their wings out over the midnight fog.

“Oh, fuck. Are we flying there? Holy shit! Wait, wait, wait…”

The next thing you knew, you were sailing through the air, gliding down from your bedroom window and out into the night sky. 

“It’s alright, love. Hold onto me,” John chuckled, amused by your panicked response. 

“Fuck!” You whispered, burying yourself in John’s broad chest, clutching at his waist as hard as you could.

You could feel the powerful beat of his wings as he gained altitude, the rush of wind subsiding when you emerged above the clouds, and the moon looked as if it hung close enough for you to grab it, bright and glowing in the black sky. 

You were breathing in rushed gasps, and you didn’t know if you should laugh or cry. John sensed your distress, and he held you tighter against his warm body.

“Shh,” he pet you gently, and you felt his claws trace delicate lines down your back. For some reason, it lulled you into a dazed state, and you thought you might pass out, “Sleep, pretty girl. I’ve got you.”

A few more minutes went by, and with each delicate pass of his claws, you watched the stars scatter above you, more and more of them coming into your view as you escaped from the city, and you closed your eyes and let your guardian take you away with him. 

When you awoke, you were still flying with John, but you were descending on a small hilltop.

“Where are we?” You asked in a low voice. 

John pointed below,

“The portal is here. I’ve sent the lads on ahead to prepare the ritual. We won’t beat the dawn unless we hurry.”

“What happens at dawn?”

“We turn to stone. You’ll be left unprotected.”

“Is that what these are?” You asked, tracing the cracked lines in his skin, “From where you broke free?”

“Yes,” John nodded, “We wear them with fuckin’ pride, love. We’re soldiers. It is our duty and our right to be your guardians.”

“In the… At home, do you turn to stone in the sunlight?”

He paused, and you wished you could hear his thoughts, but after a few moments he said, 

“No, only here.”

Something about his answer saddened you. You wanted to wipe all of that pain away from his face. You needed to see him in the light of day. To see him happy. You felt so strongly about it, and it made you wish that you had called for him sooner. 

“Could you hear me when you were frozen?”

“Yes, love,” he smiled, swooping his wings to land with you on the soft grass, “Every word.” 

He placed you down carefully, and as he did, he bent forward, wrapped his wings around you, and kissed you. You leaned into his touch, enveloped in his dark embrace, feeling the bristle of his beard and the fullness of his lips. He tasted like holiday spices and raw honey. His sweetness and heat blending together on your tongue and making you dizzy with want.  

“Tryin’ to get a head start, Captain?” Gaz’s voice rang out over your shoulder.

You were unfurled from John’s wings and released from his kiss, but he kept a possessive hand around your waist.

“Captain?” You turned to ask him what that meant. 

“We’re soldiers, remember? I’m the Captain of the Imperial Guard. My two sergeants,” he pointed to Gaz and Soap, “and my lieutenant,” he nodded to Ghost. 

“C’mere, love,” Ghost pulled you away from John and brought you over to the entrance of a large cave. 

The mouth of the cave was hidden behind vines and overgrowth, but you could barely make out the ancient carvings that were etched into the side of the round entrance. 

“This is the portal, lass. Your magic opens the door, and we can go home.”

“I don’t know how to do magic,” you looked at him for help. 

“We’ll show you. Let us help you remember, love,” John purred darkly behind you, joining you on the side opposite Ghost, taking your hand and guiding you into the cave. 

Once inside, you saw a large, flat altar, carved with runes and symbols, and all along the back wall of the cave were huge scenes of war and destruction, patterned in gold and silver and bronze etchings. In the images, you saw hordes of gargoyles fighting against an evil wizard who carried a long staff and cast fiery spells across villages and castles, destroying everything in his path. 

But, you couldn’t dwell on the images for long. Your warriors had other plans. John guided you to his arms once more, kissing you chastely this time, before untying his loincloth and revealing his unbelievable cock. 

When he saw the look on your face, his mouth stretched into a smug grin, and he pumped his wings, proudly beating them once and then twice to stir the air in the large cave, purring deep inside his chest. 

His dick wasn’t just large. It was impossible. There was no way that thing was going to fit inside of you without some sort of feat of strength. As the others disrobed, standing beside their leader, you saw how much of a challenge this venture truly was. 

Their cockheads were covered in layers of foreskin that lay across their head like the petals of a flower. They were thin and smooth, and it made the tip of their dick look like the head of a blooming rose. John had more petals than the others, while Gaz had only three or four, but his were large, like a drooping magnolia, hiding the fist-sized glans underneath.

The shaft of John’s cock was studded with smooth, marble-like protrusions, which, as he rubbed his hand over them, swelled and leaked, producing his own lubricant for him as he worked his phallus to a high, glossy shine. On the underside of the body, two soft bands of flesh hung down like lips on a mouth, creating a flared feature along the base of his cock. 

At the root of his shaft, John had a bulging, pulsing knot. It looked like it was throbbing with its own heartbeat, and it wrapped itself around his entire girthy base, making your mouth water.

Their physiology was as unique as it was inhuman. Gaz only had three marble protrusions, none of the soft bands on his undercarriage, but a hefty, engorged knot. Ghost’s cock was board-straight, covered in a chaotic mess of marble bumps, making his whole prick drip and drool onto the cave floor without him even needing to touch it. 

Soap was the only one who had pulled his petals down over his blunt cockhead to reveal it to you. It was bright pink and swollen, looking every bit like a smooth, silky peach. The large slit in the center held a bead of precome, ready to be smeared across either of your lips. His shaft was curved like a bow, and you noticed that the flared flesh at his base looked like a plush bed of fox coral, bending and furling like fine lace on the hem of a dress. 

“Our mate is pleased,” Gaz noted, sniffing the air and licking his fangs with a skillful tongue. 

You made your way over to John, eyeing Gaz as he tugged on his giant ballsack, fondling his heavy pearls and comforting himself as he admired you. John was breathing hard, his belly filling with air, his rolling purr growing louder as you got closer to him. 

You knelt on the soft dirt floor of the cave and began to lick and suck at the knot on the base of John’s cock. He growled, flapping his wings with excitement, 

“No, love,” he peered down at you, “Let us care for you.”

“I want to taste you,” you looked at the other beasts circling around you, casting long shadows over you with the shuddering wings, “All of you.”

“Your wish is our command, Empress,” Ghost snarled, fisting his cock in his claws and presenting it to you like a treat. 

You used both of your hands to rub his shaft, letting his silky lube collect in your palms and drip down your wrists. You began prying his soft petals apart with the tip of your tongue, discovering how sensitive they were. By the time you found his head, he was drooling wet for you, filling the center of his flower with clear, shining precome. You drank from him, sucking the sticky fluid like nectar from a buttercup, sighing when you found it sweet. 

John chuffed, impatient with his lieutenant for cutting the line, and you looked up at him and smiled, showing him your tongue as it dripped with Ghost’s wet promises. Then, you brought your attention back to your biggest guardian, taking care to use both hands to roll the flesh of his shaft up and down the hefty appendage. You let your thumb dip into his furled folds that ran along his base, and he hissed, instinctively using his paw to cradle the back of your head and encourage you further. 

You obeyed his silent command, using your lips to kiss inside of his crown of closed petals, slurping and drinking the sweet gift you discovered inside. As you kissed his cockhead, the fleshy flower surrounding his tip tickled your lips and nose and chin, spreading their honey over your whole face, coating you in him and his heady scent. 

Gaz reached down to touch your breast inside your dress, his huge claws tickling over the smoothness of your skin, making you gasp. 

“So fuckin’ bonnie, innit she?” Soap admired you, taking position on the other side to fondle and feel your other heavy teat, using his claws to draw aching spirals all the way up to your nipple.

You were fully suckling on John’s wide head, now. He was pouring clear, shining precome down your throat, and you were swallowing it into your belly as if it were his come. Then, Gaz took you from him, guiding your chin over to his hanging prick, smiling at you as you nuzzled it, handsfree, into your lips. His wide petals covered most of your face, spreading his slick over your cheeks and down your throat, sticking themselves to your skin. Then, Johnny took your hand and held it in his own, making you rub his curved length until he was trembling for you. You took turns sucking from them both, realizing that the more you sucked, the more delicious fluid they made. 

John petted your hair lovingly, drawing your attention away from his soldiers and back to him. You looked into his glowing blue eyes, mesmerized by his magic, and gave him your best doe-eyed face, hoping your hunter would take his shot. 

“The sun is nearly here, Empress. There will be plenty of nights to play together ahead of us, but we must open the portal.”

You rose to your feet, shocked by how small you were compared to the monsters that surrounded you, and let John lead you to the altar. He lifted you up and knelt down in front of you, using his long, blue tongue to lick his way up the side of your thigh. When he found your heat, his chest shook with a stifled roar, and he grabbed your hips in his paws to crush you to his face. Ghost stood beside him, peeling off your black slip dress to make you naked, and he and Gaz held your legs wide for their captain. Soap crawled upon the altar to feed his tongue into your mouth, fucking your throat in long, gentle licks just as John stuffed his into your warm pussy. 

Ghost and Gaz suckled from your breasts, pulling and plucking at your nipples in deep, vacuumed mouthfuls, making you feel like you were being eaten alive from the inside and the outside of your whole body. Your orgasm hit your body before your mind registered that you were coming. You jerked, arching your back and screaming out from the base of your throat, begging for mercy. 

Your gargoyles pet you with their claws in that same, somnolent way that John had while you were flying, and you felt yourself relax into your orgasm, riding it out in long, suffocating waves. 

“You are so tight, love,” John looked up from his eating, his eyes full of worry, “We’ll try to be gentle with you, but you will need many nights of training before you can carry our rooks. Your body will learn from us, in time. For now, your memories are all that matter.”

He stood, and the other gargoyles held you tightly, supporting you on the altar. John huffed out a long breath, spread his wings wide, and stepped forward to mount you. 

You watched his cock’s petals as they collided with your own, spreading himself all over you like a brush full of paint. He focused on your hole, smearing his hot precome as generously as he could. Then, he began to press forward. 

“Holy fuck! I can’t take it! I can’t… John… it’s not… mngh! Ohhhh…” You cried out in agony and then melted into a quiet bliss. 

As he entered you, the other three pet you with their paws, soothing you and helping you catch your breath. 

Then, when you took his entire head, he rested at your entrance, waiting for you to come back around.

“John, what the fuck? I’m not built for your dick. How…?” You looked up at him, pleading for some relief. 

“You’re doing so good for us, love,” Gaz licked and kissed your neck and breast, suckling on you to calm you down.

“You can take him,” Ghost held your hand, “His musk will open you up for us. Look at how it’s swelling your pussy, sweetheart.” 

You looked down at yourself, and you saw that Ghost was right. Your pussy was creamy and puffy, soaking in John’s fluids, his musk, and it was helping you relax for him. John stepped forward, slipping in another inch or so, fitting his bent petals through your entrance. Then, with each grueling thrust, you felt the line of marble nodes press against your walls, secreting their lubricant all over your walls and making you drip onto the altar. 

“So good for me,” John groaned, holding your breasts in his hands, stealing them away from Gaz and Soap, squeezing them hard enough to leave pinprick marks with his talons. 

“Anhh– John! I’m…”

“Yes, come again, love. Come for me, remember me…”

Your mind was flung through space and time, spinning and feeding you a chaotic string of memories that didn’t seem like your own. You tasted food and drink you’d never tried, you sang songs you didn’t know, ran full speed across fields full of flowers you’d never smelled. It was maddening, watching you live a life you’d never had. Then, there they were, your four gargoyles, pledging their loyalty to you and your parents, vowing to be your protectors. But, just as your heart filled with hope, there was a great black fire that roared through the halls of your keep, burning the people you loved, destroying the peace in your realm. The Dark Sorcerer, Cael. 

John was pounding away at your body now, and you were shivering from the heightened pleasure. How long had you been out? Your belly felt full of him, and you could see the outline of his shaft as he shoved himself through you, fucking you nearly up into your ribs. You reached down and cradled him outside of your belly, and he moaned from your touch, his heavy balls slapping against your ass in a punishing, deafening rhythm.

Then, you saw John beat his wings again, fighting with his own pleasure. He speared you fully, sealing himself inside of you, and it was at that point that you felt the curling, pulsing pressure of his knot. 

“John… I’m not… I can’t…” You could barely keep your eyes open. 

He gathered you up in his arms, wrapping you tight to his chest, and hugged you to his scalding, scaled flesh. When he breathed against you, his chest filled your space, and you could feel the tremors racking his body. He folded his wings around you, enclosing you in his protective embrace, hiding you in his darkness, and lowered you with his steady, inhuman power onto his throbbing knot. 

Your scream was silent as your breath caught in your throat. You’d been shattered, thrown with supernatural might into a bursting orgasm, forced to come hard onto his swollen, beating shaft. 

He was coming, too, and it filled your walls, making your belly hang heavy with fertile, gargoyle seed. John roared, thrusting himself up into you to grind his knot within your hole, churning his cream within you, and soaking your womb in his come. 

John sighed, bending his neck to kiss your open mouth, petting you with his paws, rubbing his cock through your abdomen with his thumbs. His come moved inside of you as he did so, and you were so stuffed with his hot spend, the moment he began to unseal himself, it sprayed out of you and onto his cock, legs, and the floor of the chamber, turning the dirt to mud. You were gaping wide, dripping in his come, and trembling from brain-breaking orgasms. He didn’t look much better. He was spent, sitting on the ground of the cave, breathing hard and fast. 

But, you couldn’t think about aftercare. Ghost took his place as soon as it was available, stepping through the muddy, semen-soaked floor without so much as a second glance. His dick was covered in his musk and he used it to rub it all over your clit, arching his back to paint your nipples with it as well, painting long lines of his scent all over your chest, belly, and legs. Satisfied, he notched himself at your entrance and spread your walls wide again, guiding himself deep inside of you. 

You hissed in sweet agony, and he smiled down at you knowingly, 

“You’re taking me so well. My tight little quim. So perfect. How I missed you, lover.”

John was standing again, and he came to help Ghost hold you in place as he pounded himself into you with long, agonizing strokes. You were glad he was there because your whole body was limp. You hung off the side of the pedestal like a ragdoll, letting Ghost rail himself into you, his studded shaft rolling orgasm after orgasm through your nerves, forcing you to come one after the other, just an endless parade of pleasure. Your mouth was open, and Gaz was suckling on your lips and tongue while Soap devoured your breasts, pinching and biting and slurping to his heart’s content. 

John put his paw on your belly, feeling how Simon was protruding out of your flesh, heavy and built to last, His knot smaller but harder than John’s. 

“Remember, love. C’mon, try to reach deeper,” you keened, feeling hot tears rush out of your eyes and down your cheeks as Gaz devoured your tongue. Then, you were transported again, back to your dear Evenhold. You were locked in a battle, controlling your magic and trying to crack a portal. You didn’t have a clear destination, but you found one all the same. Finally, your opponent, Cael, made a misstep. He tried to cast a sealing spell on you, but you deflected it, casting it on your devoted warriors instead, watching them tumble into the portal, wrought in dark stone. You felt yourself scream, and you killed the sorcerer, leaping into the portal to save the heroes you loved. 

But, something had gone wrong. Time, fickle and flowing, warped itself, wrapping around your magic and flinging you back through time. You were a child again, and you were alone. 

The look of despair on your face told Ghost everything he needed to know,

“She remembers. It’s working. Fuck! Take all of me, love. Come back to us!”

He slammed his knot inside of you and stretched his wings out wide and straight, his whole body vibrating with his energy, the enormous cock inside your core jerked and drooled come all over your walls, drowning itself in your tight, swollen hole. 

When he popped his knot out of you, he held it to your pussy like a gate, encouraging the come he’d left behind to settle in your belly instead of spilling onto the ground. It worked poorly; there was just too much of it, but you felt fuller than before, and you knew your womb was carrying their seed deep within you. 

“Hurry, Soap,” John stretched his claws, showing his discomfort, “Dawn.”

Soap took his place between your legs and struggled with his tip. You were pliant and soft for him, but it still wasn’t enough. 

“Turn her,” he grunted, and your protectors followed his command, flipping your body over so that you could be on all fours for him. 

He spread his musk over your hole, using his paws and cock in unison, trying his best to prepare you for his cock’s sinister curve, but it was no use. 

“Just… take me, Soap. Please… I need to know…” You whined, just under your breath, preparing yourself for the ache of being stretched by him.

“Bonnie, I willnae hurt you. Give me a moment t–”

“Now,” you insisted, spreading yourself wide for him, “It has to be now.”

He sighed, and he put his wings around you instinctively, wanting to protect you from the pain and not knowing how.  Soap slipped forward, and his cockhead caught in your inner ring of muscles, stuck, oozing its precome into your hole. He was afraid to press forward, unwilling to injure his mate, fearful of what he might do to you.

So, you fucked him. You leaned back, pressing your cunt down onto his tip, feeling every hard inch as you did so, prying yourself open like a stone fruit, using his prick to cleave your body. Thankfully, he was not as thick as John nor as long as Ghost, but he was a challenge for the entire ride. Every single thrust felt like a damn marathon, and he was shaped in such a way that your delicate g-spot was bullied into a wet, body-shaking submission. 

You never stopped coming on Soap, but you didn’t remember starting either. He erased your mind and filled it with him, only him, and you slipped into his memories as easily as a warm bath, letting him drown you in his slick affection.

You saw yourself as a child, running through the keep, chasing Soap, a mischievous rook, letting him fly you onto the feast table to steal fruits and berries from the bowls, screeching as the cooks chased you from them, laughing and tumbling and rolling into the garden where you shared them together, ripping off ripe, sweet lobes, and fighting over the last bites.

Then, he was a young man. Younger than he was now, but every bit as handsome. None of his blue cracks were there to mar his pearlescent skin, and you marveled at his beauty. He flew with you to your secret spot, high in the white, chalk cliffs of Evenhold, overlooking the sea. He said nothing, but you understood everything in that moment. 

The crash of the waves mimicked his rough fucking, and the lightning strike of another pleasure-filled crescendo slammed you back to the present, letting you watch him groan and stretch and fly with your body, pulling you from the altar into the air, clutching you around your throat and belly with his long tail in a deep embrace, trapping you on his knot and using his hands to milk himself into you, squeezing his root like a summer fruit, giving you every last drop. 

His wings faltered, and his body went limp, and he lay you on the altar as gently as he could before collapsing on the ground of the cave, eyes shut and trembling. 

Gaz mounted you, grabbing your hips and dragging you toward him. You looked down as he held your legs open, using his tail to protect your head from the rough platform. Then, he slipped into you with a gentleness you were not expecting due to his size. You thought you had finally been stretched to the point of comfort, worried about the state of yourself, but it was just an illusion. Once he impaled you past his enormous head, the petals folded back and his fat prick began to struggle within you. But, unlike Soap, he did not hold himself back. He knew you were close to the answer, and he needed to give it to you. 

You both stared down at your swollen belly, full of come and beginning to fill with his shape. Gaz took your hand and placed it just above your womb, and moaned, grunting at you,

“Hold me here, love. Feel me… here…”

You tried to obey, but doing so made all of the sensations inside of you that much more intense. You could feel every petal, every ridge, every slippery marble node, the furl of his flesh and the impossibly thick length of his phallus, all of it working inside of you, right below your palm. 

“Press…” He begged, his brown eyes soft and pleading. 

So, you did, and you made yourself start to come. It was too beautiful of a feeling. You could sense every twitch and pulse and slip of his cock inside of you, feeling it with your walls as if you would your hands, squeezing him within you like a hilt to its blade, wielding him like a weapon. 

You tipped over the edge, falling into another dream, but this time, it was a place you recognized. You were with Valeria, young again, just a child, and you watched her close the portal, making the runes with her hands, and sealing off the world of Darmoch, Evenhold, and everything you’d ever known.

Then, she cast a spell over your guardians, releasing them from their stone prisons, but at a price. Their skin splintered and cracked, and the stone cut awful shapes in their flesh, burning them with permanent scars. You wanted to help them, but you were slowly forgetting their faces. Things were fading away, and Valeria was the only one who knew how to help you. 

You opened your eyes, clutching Gaz’s long dick within you in both of your hands, massaging him with deep affection and adoration. You looked up at him and said, 

“I remember everything.”

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss your mouth, nuzzling your nose with his own snout, minding his tusks and groaning for you, 

“Mmm, of course you do, my love. I knew you would.”

Gaz took a sharp breath and rolled his knot into you, emptying himself inside like the others, making you warm, full, and knowing the most perfect love. It was written all over your soul, your promise to them, their vow to you, the ancient oath to protect you and to follow your command until the end of days. 

When he pulled away, stumbling back and catching himself on the cave wall, you knew your destiny. You rose to your feet, ignoring the aches of your humanity, casting aside your doubt. You pulled your guardians close to you, putting their hands on your arms and shoulders, and just as the pink dawn began to crest over the horizon, you said,

“Hold on to me. We’re going home.”

Don't look at me like that. Y'all knew I was out of my mind before you even started reading this fic. C'mon, now.

[adaelines]

Home And More

hiii my back is killing me but horny for simon NEVER stops!!! afab but gender neutral reader, consentual somnophilia, simon eats u out whilst u sleep bc he wants u that bad, simon cums in his pants from eating u out

Ghost was always there for you. 

He lived up to his namesake in that regard, always spotted in the corner of your eyesite, most of the time gone by the time moved to greet him, or ask what he was up to during some rather strange times you caught him watching. 

He protected you, kept an eye on you best he could, wanted to keep you safe.

He knew you didn't need it, knew as a fellow member of 141 that you could easily protect yourself, he trusted you more than he trusted himself sometimes, but you two were close. Not in the same way the rest of 141 was, despite how strong your relationship was with them, it was different with Ghost. It was more.

Whilst neither of you outright defined your relationship, never had the time to go on proper dates or spend as much time together as you wanted, it was obvious to everyone, including yourselves, that you loved each other more than life itself. The situations you both often found yourselves in caused your relationship to blossom much quicker than would be considered usual, but nothing about your relationship was usual. 

Long nights of watch often lead to keeping each other company as you cleaned your weapons, sitting together in a comfortable silence and just existing together. To him, it was the little things about you that he craved, the happiness in stolen moments together, even in the worst of situations. It was comfortable with you, even after days of fighting, after having to shield every emotion behind getting the job done efficiently, prioritising anything but yourselves. 

It was these times spent together that led to Simon longing for you when apart, the silence away from you almost unbearable. It was the same as it always was, even when you were there the silence was the same, but to him it was a stark difference. Your missing presence was notable, it left him on edge and more snappy than his normal, usually friendly jabs. Fingers twitching often like he wanted to hold something, wanted to reach out and grab.

It was this pining, the want in his chest that lasted the entire mission, that led him to your room, quickened steps uncaring of the time of night, of the fact anyone of sound might would be asleep right now. Not Simon, however, not when he spent the last weeks aching to touch you, the time alone on watch usually spent by your side instead spent humping his fist, nothing being enough without your touch, your voice right beside his ear.

The way he slammed your door open he was surprised you didn't wake up immediately, the desperation causing him to use a little too much force, if the walls weren't as sturdy as they were, he was sure the door handle would have left a sizable indent in the wall behind. He just couldn't help himself, not when you were finally in his reach, finally before him, finally able to feel you again, properly. 

The scent of you, your room full of everything you, was enough to make Simon shiver, hands almost shaking as he removed the blanket from your sleeping form and grabbed your hips, dropping to his knees and pulling you towards him. He knew you were okay with this, heard your voice telling him to just take you whenever, you really wouldn't mind, not when it's him, not when you've missed him just as much as he's missed you. Any touch from him is a blessing, waking up to him is an honour. 

He made quick work of your shorts, your underwear alongside them, almost groaning when he could finally see all of you, finally see the hole he'd been desperate to fuck the entire time he was away from you. His hand never compared to being buried deep inside of you, how tight you were, how you would whine his name and beg for more. Shoving the mask off of his face, the balaclava up above his nose, he spread you apart with his thumbs and let a low hum at the sight, how absolutely delicious you looked. 

He missed this. Missed seeing so needy for him, even unconsciously, he loved knowing that you needed him as much as he felt like he needed you.

It was easy for him to lean down, press a soft kiss against your clit, before absolutely devouring you. 

It was your own loud, depraved whine that woke you up, your thighs tensing around Simon's head and hand immediately going to push him away. 

"Don't," Simon all but growled at your attempt, flattening his tongue to lick from hole to clit. His voice was so deep, so gravelly, you couldn't help the whine that escaped. 

You went slack against the bed, the hand in the top of his mask only tightening, no longer pushing him away but pulling him against you, thighs tense on either side of his head. 

"Sweet thing," Simon's voice was low, a quiet whimper. "Sorry for wakin' you, just needed your cunt too badly." 

"It's- okay!" Your voice was all whines at this point, high pitched and needy. Even when trying to reassure him, he didn't pause for even a minute. Even when you were trying to tell him you didn't mind, that he could spit in your mouth and use you so that he gets off, you wouldn't care at all, so long as he feels good.

Sleep still clouded your mind, still covered your thoughts in a blanket of grogginess, but the pleasure Simon gave you was red-hot, almost blinding. It was hard to even think when he was this close, this determined to bring you to the peak of your pleasure over and over, as much as his energy drained body would allow. 

"Simon," You whined, and you could feel him grin against you, could feel the low groan he let out at you simply moaning his name at his actions. He really was pent up, if just your voice and taste was getting to him that much, and he thanked whatever God was out there that you were too tired to focus on anything, you weren't able to see how he was humping the air. 

"S'okay, love, just stay still, yeah?" Voice slightly muffled, unable to pull away even to respond. "I'll take good care of you…" 

He touched you, ate you, like a man starved. And he was. He missed your taste so much, missed feeling you tremble on his tongue. He would happily spend hours between your thighs, devouring you whole.

"Needy cunt just wanted attention, who am I to deny my sweet little thing?" 

Suckling your clit into his mouth, it wasn't hard for him to move his fingers to your hole, for him to press inside, very little resistance as a result of his tongue and how much your pussy was practically drooling against him. 

Your hands were tight in his hair, the balaclava pushed off due to your grip, your desperation to touch him, your Simon, not any mask or material.

"S'too much, please-!" 

"You can take it," He muttered against you, eyes lidded and watching, tone almost stern. "You're always so good for me, always so sweet… you can take anything I give you, pretty thing." 

His lips and tongue on your clit, fingers pressed deep inside, the fact he was finally here, in your bed like you dreamed of him being, was all so overwhelming. It didn't take long for you to reach your peak, not when you've been waiting for this since the moment he left, been waiting for his touch since the last time you felt it.

The hands in his hair tightened, your voice raising an octave as you moaned his name, and if Simon wasn't as strong as you knew he was, you would be worried at how tightly your thighs were around his head. You knew he didn't care, knew he welcomed anything that meant you were as close as possible, loved when rode his face and used him for your own pleasure, as you were doing now, bucking against him and holding him close.

The groan he let's out is low, needy, and if you weren't as overwhelmed as you were, completely out of it with white hot pleasure, you would have teased him for how much it sounded like a whine.

It quickly became too much, hand still holding his hair tight moving to push him away, move him away from your incredibly sensitive cunt. 

The grin he gave you was devilish, devious as he moved up from his knees to kiss you, to press his lips against yours and consume you whole, based on how desperate he seemed. 

"Simon," You muttered into the kiss, breathing slowly and heavily. You had missed him so much, missed feeling him against you, it was such a blessing to have him back. 

"Gimme a minute," Your voice was low as you pulled away, moving to instead trail kisses down his cheek, his jaw. "You can do whatever you want to me."

"No need," he spoke quietly, slowly, like he was ashamed. You would be worried if it wasn't for the flush on his cheeks, the way he narrowly avoided your eyes and refused to look at you. "I'm uh... I'm good." 

Simon, the insatiable man that he was, refusing something like this? You moved one hand to hold his jaw, pulling back with narrowed eyes. He still refused to look at you, and when he moved his hips away, you realised what happened.

Simon came in his pants from eating you out.

The grin that spread across your face was quick, bright, and it only made the flush on his face worse. 

"Simon!" You whispered, grin bright and tone full of fake shock, "Really?"

"Don't," He groaned against you, hiding his face in your shoulders. "Seriously. Don't you dare. Fuckin' embarrassing."

You quickly moved to press another kiss on his lips, full of love and utter adoration. You knew what he was like, knew how easily he could turn against himself, feel bad about the smallest of things that didn't truly matter. It was easy for him to put walls back up, to pull away and retreat back into himself, and you wouldn't let that happen. 

"You're so fucking hot," You muttered into the kiss, gently biting into his lower lip. "Jesus, Simon, really? God, I can't believe you're this hot,"

The low noise he let into the kiss made everything worth it. The time away, the time spent missing him, it didn't matter when he was here, finally. 

Simon was home, back with you, where he belonged.

[yandere-sins]

Cupcake

Okay I will admit I've been soft-yandere yearning for a while now, but it's my birthday and I deserved them!! There’s nothing better than some self-indulgent fanfiction (;

Fandom: Call of Duty Characters: Yandere!Ghost x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Mentions of Punishments/Kidnapping, Forced Relationship, Emotional Distress

You didn't react to the sound of boots on concrete floor or the lock of the door clicking, hinges squeaking as someone entered the room.

Giving him attention was pointless.

You knew too little about him to get under his skin with words alone. Every bicker seemed to bounce off his broad chest with so much strength, it hit you right back in your face. You could never keep your arguments from sounding like childish complaints, and he chuckled at anything as direct as "I hate you!"

Instead, this man—"Ghost" you reckoned he called himself—seemed to bask in every minute of your putrid hatred. You could always assume the wisp of a smile beneath his mask, his eyes searching for yours no matter how much you glared at him. He possessed no inhibitions whatsoever, pushing, pulling, throwing you wherever he wanted, when he wanted, and not always gently mind you.

Yet, he pulled off his gloves before touching you, wiping the tears from your eyes and cheeks while he told you to stop crying now. That everything was okay and you shouldn't ruin your pretty face. He squeezed into the bed with you—the mattress too small for him alone, a coffin for both of you—shielding your body with his from the door so neither friend nor foe would see you first if they came inside.

Ghost made sure to top off your food with the ingredients you liked from his own plate when you were visibly upset. And on the nights when you were unconsolable, he pulled you on top of his chest despite the struggles, resting your head above his heart while he played with your hair or held your hand, intertwining your fingers.

It was hard to say what was going on in that man's head. His eyes spoke of wonders you couldn't see, but his punishments were so severe, so unforgiving as if you had personally harmed him in another life. You could be glad that you could still count ten fingers on your hands and ten toes on your feet, seeing how his mood shifted unpredictably at any moment you two were together.

So, it was best not to acknowledge him.

Even when everything inside you screamed profanities at this bastard, you tempered yourself with deep breaths. A deep inhale through the nose, and a long exhale through the mouth. Deep in, long out. Deep in, and a long breath out...

Zing.

The unique sound of a zippo reached your ear despite your meditation having been able to fade out his presence behind you. This sound was unexpected, new. Ghost and new impressions combined as well as fire and gasoline, so this was scary. You didn't know if he picked up a smoking habit or would burn you just from the sound alone.

You couldn't help the rather violent reaction to the fear that snapped your muscles tight. Jumping into action, you threw the blanket you had wrapped around yourself away, sliding into the farthest corner away from him. Your eyes widened as you took in the view in front of you, time coming to a brief halt as you mustered the absolute unit of a man in front of you holding a... cupcake.

Blue wrapping, yellow icing, and a flickering candle on top.

Ghost snapped the zippo shut after he had waited out your reaction, his shoulders relaxing after he concluded you wouldn't do something stupid. You had just been surprised. He let the silver square sink into his right pocket while the small flame illuminated his mask in a warm yet even more spooky way than it always was.

"Happy Birthday," he said, tearing you out of your state of shock. Your gaze jumped from the mismatched-colored cupcake to his eyes that rested on you, full of that disgusting, heart-wrenching adoration he harbored for you. Things were calm, too calm. Ghost was too relaxed, only holding the cupcake and not a weapon or anything remotely dangerous in his other hand. You couldn't trust the peace. Couldn't rely on his words or the actions you were seeing.

"Wait, what?" it suddenly hit you, your eyes widening. "Is it... Is it really my birthday?"

Prying your eyes off your captor, you looked to your right, to the small table across from the bed where Ghost had hung up a calendar for you. He'd been crossing off days diligently for you since you couldn't be bothered to keep up with the task on some days, Ghost knowing that time seemed to pass you by in weird intervals without a window in your room. And he was right. Damn.

Taking another step toward you, you didn't cower away, letting your guard down as you breathed out heavily. That meant you had vanished from the face of the earth for months now. No one would come looking for you anymore; the hope of your survival and return would have been smashed. What a depressing thought on your birthday, your family and friends surely heartbroken about your absence, just like you were.

The bed creaked as Ghost sat down, his weight shifting the mattress in a way that made you aware of his closeness. You collected your legs, keeping them away from him to not give him any chance of quickly grabbing you. But when Ghost held out his hand, it was filled by the cupcake stretched towards you, and he handed it over without another word.

Your eyes flicked back and forth between his and the pastry, but hesitantly, you picked it up, feeling the squishiness of it, a sweet smell drafting into your nose. The warmth of the ficker licked at your skin as you held the cupcake in front of you. So small yet so thoughtful. You thought a whole lot about this psycho, but to think he'd remember your birthday when not even you did? You couldn't even remember when you told him the date, much less expected him to prepare something for you.

Not like there was anyone else who'd care about it now.

Immediately, tears shot into your eyes as you realized you were truly alone. No one would come to save you, and nothing would change unless you could win against your captor. Even when he was with you, you were still alone. And even when you blew out the candle, wishing for these things to change, you knew the wish was wasted.

Sniffling, you bit into the cupcake, frosting getting stuck on your nose and lips, but you didn't care. Sugary sweet and buttery, the taste of homemade cupcakes like your mother would have made them coated your tongue and teeth, remaining there even when you swallowed, bitterness clogging your throat while the delicious treat produced enough serotonin to jump in joy.

You managed to devour half of it before the tears and stuffy nose caught up with you. Even your free hand couldn't wipe away all these emotions overrunning you. Fear, pain, hopelessness. The feeling of being stuck here and so, so alone. It needed two more hands, big, calloused, and warm, to gently hold your face between them, wiping relentlessly while hushing you softly.

"It's alright, darling," Ghost murmured, his voice invading your brain that couldn't detect all these phantom pains you were feeling but soothed them regardless. "I'm here. Everything will be okay, sweetheart."

It certainly wasn't what you wanted to hear, but it did the trick, keeping you from the panic attack that slowly built inside you. Wiping your nose with your sleeve, you took another bite, sniffling and with tears falling relentlessly still. But Ghost's hands never disappeared. Instead, his thumb began to wander, brushing off crumbs as you devoured the rest of your treat, leaving nothing of this kind gesture for him as you were unwilling to share what little happiness you had been given.

Crumpling up the paper around the blown-out candle, you threw the trash away, finally having both hands free to wipe your own face and get a grip on yourself, your vulnerable side having come out shamefully. But even when you pushed away his hands, Ghost's presence right next to you didn't vanish, his body now much closer than before.

"Happy Birthday," he said again, gripping your shoulders. You huffed lightly, feeling exhausted after your cry, but before you could react, the sudden feeling of lips against yours threw you off.

You hadn't even noticed him pulling up his mask to reveal his mouth, lips more greedy and desperate than ever finding yours. Teeth and tongue played and nibbled, not so gently asking for entrance, and you... gave up. You had no strength to resist. Play a game you were bound to lose anyway, Ghost always cheating. And immediately, feeling your surrender, his hands slid back to your face, cupping your cheeks so he could deepen the kiss.

It didn't help. Didn't soothe the aches in your heart and didn't make the tears stop, but the intrusion of his tongue and the sweet taste now coating it distracted your thoughts. Ghost seemed to try to tell you that no, you weren't alone. You'd never be. He'd always be with you like he swore up and down. He'd protect you, take care of you, and love you.

Kidnapping, locking you away, and forcing you to do what he wanted didn't exactly scream protection, care, and love to you. But an annoying, nagging voice started to speak up in the back of your mind. He wasn't wrong. As long as you had to endure this horrific living arrangement, he'd be with you. He didn't leave you alone, didn't forget your birthday. You doubted even that he spent a single moment of downtime without the thought of you on his mind, considering how obsessed he was.

It would never be enough to satisfy you, though.

There was no way he could ever mean enough to you to make you love him. You'd never forgive him, never submit to him fully, body and soul. But at least on that day, the day that grieved you so—a joyous occasion turned bittersweet by your suffering—you weren't alone. He was there with you. He cared. Did he care enough?

"You're not going to sing for me?" you asked him, half-joking, half-challenging.

Ghost mustered you for a long moment, then you heard him huff, amused. He shook his head before pulling you towards him. You allowed it, no strength left to struggle. "Only because it's your birthday," he reminded you, and you caught the corners of your mouth turning upwards before you reminded yourself not to be amused by his banter.

His heartbeat was calm and gentle, nothing like the things you knew he could do to you. Ghost turned you both over until he could climb into bed with you, laying you down on your side, facing him and not spooning you like usual. It was a tight squeeze, but with his arms around you, face nuzzled into his chest, it was warm and comforting. Safe—for now.

Happy Birthday to you.

Happy Birthday to you.

You almost didn't want to believe him when he began to sing, keeping his voice low. Ghost never wanted to rourse the suspicion of anyone else that possibly lived next door to you. His gruff voice didn't really fit the upbeat song, even with his accent tingling on every word. This time, you couldn't help but grin at the absurdity of the situation, but you listened, regardless, while being held in his arms as if you were meant to be there.

Happy Birthday dear darling.

Wearily, you closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat mixing with his voice. The man you hated the most was holding you and singing to you as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if it was meant to be this way all along, almost making you forget the pain and suffering he had caused you in the past. But when he held you like a rare treasure, fulfilled your wishes, and went out of his way to care for you, you almost believed his version of love to be true. You almost started to believe the many times he said he was doing all of this for one reason only: "I love you."

Maybe he did.

Happy Birthday to you.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi, I love your writing! Are you still taking requests? What about a villain finding out his fav hero is actually an robot?

The hero went missing briefly and in their reunion his systems start to panic, the villain attempt to help? And finds out there is grey metal under his mask? Not skin?

"Oh," the villain said, soft. "Oh, I see."

"See what?" The hero stayed turned away, head bowed, frantically trying to shield his face. "Don't look at me. Just - what are you doing here?"

"I came to rescue you."

"R-rescue me?"

The villain stepped closer into the hero's cell. Heat radiated off the hero's back and, well. The villain pressed a finger to the back of the hero's neck; where the skin had burnt away, revealing the cold grey of metal and circuitry.

The hero gasped and whirled.

His face was - well, it was fried from the few short days he'd spent missing, captured. Where his enemies had tried to bruise him, bleed him, there were caved in spaces that revealed yet more metal. The hint of a perfect silver skull. Veins which throbbed with electricity instead of blood. Even one of the hero's eyes were gone, replaced by the startling blue of a machine staring back. Well, they were always blue but...so muffled, before, compared to what the villain looked at then.

The two of them stared at each other.

"You can't tell anyone," the hero said.

"I always thought you were too impossibly good to be true," the villain replied. "Too flawless."

"Don't," the hero whispered.

The villain took the hero's jaw, carefully, tenderly, in their hands. "Look what a mess they've made of you. I'll kill them for it."

The hero closed the one eye that he could. He trembled, so exquisitely life-like, so exquisitely alive, in the villain's palms.

"They must have been so angry when they found out what you were," the villain said. He let his finger stroke over the ruined curve of the hero's cheek. "I'm glad I got here before they destroyed you completely."

"Why? What are you going to do with me?"

The hero took a step back.

The villain let him go, for now, studying him with fresh eyes. More and more puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Do with you?"

"I'm not human."

"You're beautiful."

"I'm not - if people know -"

"I've never heard you talk like that before. System overload?"

The hero shook his head. Something sparked. "You're d-dodging the question."

"Well," the villain said, evenly. "I was going to take you out of here. Clean up your wounds at my place. That sort of thing. I could probably makeshift the kind of specialist support you currently need in my lab, but I imagine you have a much better set up at home. So I guess I'm taking you home. If that's okay with you."

"Home," the hero echoed. He stood frozen.

"Home."

"You're not mad? Mad? Mad?" The hero managed to jerk to a halt. He heaved a ragged, shuddering breath.

"No."

"I'm not human. You came to rescue a human. Human." The hero shoved a hand over his mouth. The tremors were more forceful than before.

If the villain touched him again, he would be fever hot, wouldn't he?

The villain shrugged.

"I don't understand," the hero said.

"Unsurprising. You're not running at full capacity right now, are you? So shall we pick this up again when you're out of here? And feeling a bit better? It would be tragic if I came all this way just for you to overheat in front of me."

The hero stared some more. The blue eye contracted and expanded, whirring noiselessly. The villain wished he knew what kind of diagnostics the hero was running. How it all worked. He wanted to know everything.

His brain, such as it was, must surely be the most gorgeous thing.

He'd always wanted to know how the hero ticked but this...oh, this. He held out a hand and smiled.

"It's a relief, actually," the villain said. "I'm not mad. Now. Let's get you back in your mask, shall we?"

By the time the repairs were done, it was impossible to tell. It was extraordinary. Giddying. A love letter to the best that people could be.

And the hero looked shattered by the truth of it.

[b1mbodoll]

pairings: ghostface! park jongseong x f! reader

warnings: murder + blood + knives + hard noncon + graphic imagery + death + manipulation + virginity + um so basically he kinda kills you…

💌: listening to helena by misfits n had a ghostface! jay thought bc of the lyrics “if i cut off your arms and cut off your legs would you still love me anyway?”

everyone knows jay because he’s the perfect guy. he’s a dedicated student and perfect son.. it also helps that he’s super hot! but what caught your attention was how much of a sweetheart he is to you in particular. sure he’s always nice, but something about the tenderness of how he speaks to you makes you dizzy. it’s almost like he’s talking to a cornered prey animal that he’s about to rip apart.

when the two of you get together, jay’s the best boyfriend you could ever ask for! he never pressures you into having sex with him when you shy away and tell him “no.” he’s always doting on you and making sure you’re taken care of, sparing no expense to make you happy. you like to think he fell first but you fell harder, entrusting him with your heart and, without even knowing it, your life too.

you never would’ve guessed that your jay is a murderer and strokes his cock while picturing your bloodied body, cumming to the thought of you bouncing on his cock while he has a knife at your throat, deep moans escaping him when he imagines the blood running down your throat and making a mess of your perfect tits that you never let him touch, or even see.

jay has always promised to protect you, but his fantasies are too much for him, and this time he couldn’t resist giving in to temptation. it seems as though killing random strangers isnt enough.

so he slips his mask on and grabs his favorite knife, the one he daydreams about gutting you with, and makes his way to your house, his cock throbbing when he notices that your curtains are open and you’re changing without a care in the world, a pretty lace bra shielding your tits from his view.

it doesn’t matter though, pretty soon you won’t have a choice but to let him ravage you and fuck your virgin holes for the first time.

you’re so innocent, such a fucking airhead that jay almost feels bad taking advantage of you like this, but he knows it’ll all be worth it when he’s ballsdeep inside of you.

he wastes no time breaking into your house and entering your room as quietly as possible, using his full strength to pin you to the bed beneath him, ass up and your face pressed into the stuffed animals that jay gifted you.

you squirm and struggle until he pulls out his knife and drags it along your cheek, breathing shallowly while you blink back tears from the fear coursing through your veins, asking the intruder what he wants from you.

“isn’t it obvious?” he taunts, and you can hear his smirk, gasping in surprise when he pulls away slightly and uses the blade to ripe your panties, pressing his clothed cock to your pretty cunt.

tears are streaming down your cheeks now and you know it’s pointless trying to fight him off, trying to find your voice and beg him to stop.

jay’s already working on stripping you of your shirt and flipping you over before you can say anything, but he freezes for a second when he hears your broken voice.

“please don’t, sir.” you whimper, voice cracking as you continue. “i’ve never done this before, please don’t do this..”

you expect him to have mercy but instead he moans before pulling his pants off and freeing his cock, grinding his thick length against you, pawing at your tits and pinching your nipples until you begin meet his shallow thrusts, pussy growing wetter as he keeps his teasing pace.

you look down, where his cock rests against your cunt and jay laughs at your reaction. “sir, you’re too big! it won’t fit, please don’t! i don’t want this,” you sob, “anything but this..”

jay strokes your cheek affectionately, “shhh, ‘s okay. i’ll make it fit.. and it’s gonna fucking hurt, little one.”

that’s all he says before pushing his cock past your tight entrance, gritting his teeth as your hole immediately sucks him in. he doesn’t sheathe his cock inside fully, deciding to wait until you’ve stopped wailing first.

“fuck, it hurts! you’re so deep inside, please pull it out. i can’t take it”

jay’s so pussydrunk he cant be bothered to reply, instead keeping his gaze intently on your pretty little face while forcing the rest of his length inside, breaking your hymen in the process and blowing his load when you scream in pain, his chest heaving as he tries to collect himself.

“that’s it, i knew you could do it, princess. you were made to take my cock, to be my personal cumdump. god, i fucking love you.” is all you hear before he slices your soft flesh with the knife you forgot about, alternating between shallow cuts and deep gashes, ripping the mask off his face and running his fingers along trails your blood, bringing them to his lips and slipping them inside his mouth.

you see pleasure written all over your boyfriend’s face the more he mutilates you, and can feel as another load of his thick cum floods your womb when the blade pierces your stomach, choking on your own blood as your vision grows darker.

[hypostatic-oath]

Hydro Archon, Hydro Archon, Don't Cry

I've noticed a pattern with 5star characters in my game - they only come home after I've done their story quest or at least the Archon Quest where they appear. From an in-game perspective it's obviously because it takes me a while to finish the quest and I raise the pity in the meantime, however... from a SAGAU perspective, it's adorable that they only come around after I've spent the time to get to know them better.

Content Warnings: Angst, Furina desperately needs a hug.

SPOILERS FOR 4.2 BELOW

Imagine Furina before the Archon Quest. She's holding it together, like she has been for five hundred years. She's been performing her role so well for so long, yet she feels like she's already gone beyond her limit. She doesn't know how long she can handle doing this for, but she knows she must.

Late at night, she takes a break to catch some air. She's aware that she's still performing - she's alone, but she cannot risk lowering her mask, even before an invisible audience. She takes a deep breath and looks up, and doesn't even feel the tears flowing down her face.

A shimmering light crosses the sky.

Foçalors, it beckons. Come home.

Oh no. Not this. She's not ready, she's not ready! Not tonight. She tells herself she'll answer your summons tomorrow. In truth, she doesn't feel worthy of answering. What if she's not what you expect?

That isn't even a question. She knows she's not what you expect.

She knows you have other Archons - real Archons - among your Vessels. She panics - she doesn't even have a Vision, much less an Archon's authority. There's only so much she can achieve with acting. What would she do when you took her out on the battlefield and she inevitably failed?

Come on... Another shooting star crosses the sky, your voice a faint, ethereal whisper in her ears. I need an Archon team...

It fills her with dread. She can't answer your summons! She absolutely can't! Not only would she disappoint you - because there's no way she wouldn't, surely, she can't imagine a world in which you are not disappointed once you figure out just what she is, a fraud who can't even use Hydro much less be the literal Archon - she'd also jeopardize her only purpose.

She rushes inside, back to her room, closes the shutters and the window and the curtains and almost leaps into bed, placing the covers over herself as if to shield herself from the world.

She can still hear you calling.

The next day, Poisson is struck. The prophecy is in full swing. She's frantic, searching for something, anything that could possibly help. All the while maintaining the façade. At least you seem to have given up.

It's both relieving and heartbreaking.

At night, she doesn't even risk it - her windows are kept shut. She analises every report, and locks her door when she notices that she's crying, the papers she's holding becoming dotted with tears that fall despite her best efforts. She can hear the rain hitting her window, and the downpour has her feeling even more hopeless.

Neuvillette speaks with her in the following morning. If the pressure from you wasn't enough, she now also has to manage to assure the Hydro Dragon Sovereign that she has everything under control. It's funny, how those eyes capable of such gentleness seem to gaze into her without a shred of mercy. Just speaking to him now feels like she's been put on trial, and Furina knows, deep down in her soul, that she is guilty.

He presses. Poisson has fallen. She knows. She also knows she's likely crying, the mask is slipping, but she can't give up. She has no right - no right at all, to sacrifice the lives of every person in Fontaine for the sake of her comfort. She cannot afford to slip up. And that means she cannot trust anyone - not you, and not Neuvillette. So she gathers the little control she can at this time, tells him she knows exactly what she's doing, and dashes out the door.

Wait, Furina!

She barely hears your voice as she runs. "I'm sorry, but I can't answer!" She thinks, as she rushes to the top floor of the Palais Mermonia. She knows she gas no time to lose. She needs to get herself in check, to wipe away her tears, to figure something out. Where had she gone wrong? Five hundred years, searching for a solution. Five hundred years of observing every trial, hoping it'll finally be the one she needs. But nothing.

She has nothing, and Poisson has fallen.

She thought the Traveler - and you, by extension - would be the key. That by judgding them she'd have the "most magnificent trial" that her mirror self spoke of. And yet, at every turn, the blonde outlander had managed to evade being sentenced, or even making the trial as grand as she'd expected. She paces around in her room as she mulls it over. Should she had judged you directly? Could she have done so? That would've been a trial for the ages - the Overseer, brought to justice by the Hydro Archon of Fontaine, for the crime of... what could she even accuse you of? Posessing people's bodies? That had to be illegal - or at least immoral enough to warrant a trial...

She lets her body flop onto the bed, covering her eyes with one arm as she lets out a sigh that despite its overdramatic appearance, is in fact incredibly genuine. She's tired. So tired.

Foçalors, come home.

Furina buries her face beneath one of the pillows. She hopes it'll drown out the sound of your voice. She can't distinguish whether that ache in her chest is from your summons growing more insistent or from how much she needs to cry.

The shooting star turns golden outside the window, and Furina wonders if the fact that someone else intercepted it will be enough to dissuade you. She hopes it is, otherwise, her days are numbered.

No more stars cross the sky that night, and relief washes over her body, in a wave so intense that she once again doesn't notice the tears. She falls asleep like that, and dreams of rising waters.

Furina heads to the Opera Epiclese in the morning. She's not looking forward to seeing Neuvillette, but she prays that there'll be a trial. "Please," she thinks, as she sits down in the throne reserved for the Hydro Archon, observing the stage from on high, "let it be today."

It isn't. Instead of a trial, there is a performance... and though she usually loves them, now is not the time. Worse yet, she's spotted by the crowd as she's getting ready to leave. They're angry, of course they are. The prophecy is true, and what is their Archon doing? Furina performs as best as she can, but this time the audience is completely unreceptive. She doesn't blame them. She'd be angry, too, in their shoes. She knows they're terrified. She's terrified, too.

But what can she do? Her search has turned up empty. She has no powers, not really, none besides the power of persuasion and even that seems to be slipping more and more these days. She cannot reassure her people. Neuvillette no longer trusts her, if he ever did. The water rises every day with no signs of stopping.

"Why, mirror-me? Where am I failing?"

The crowd chases her out of the theater. Neuvillette is nowhere in sight, and even if he were, Furina isn't sure she could call upon him now. The time in which he acted as her shield if gone. Neuvillette is now just another of the many she's disappointed.

It hurts.

With no other choice, she runs - as far as her legs will take her, she dashes away from the crowd, and guilt tells her she's being a coward. That she needs to stand up and reassure the masses, that she needs to do what an Archon would at that time.

The notion feels almost ridiculous. She cannot command her element freely like Barbatos, or raise protections over her city like Morax. She cannot threaten to strike down the unruly like the Shogun, nor does she have Lesser Lord (Lesser Lord! Hah! Even someone known as 'Lesser' is leagues beyond Furina's ability) Kusanali's foresight and wisdom.

So she does what she can do.

Whether it is fate or simply her own feelings of guilt, she finds herself in Poisson, at the base of the Spina di Rosula. The place where all those people - her people - had lost their lives to a disaster she was supposed to prevent.

When the Traveler extends their hand, she doesn't know whether it is a blessing or a curse. She wants to run again - what else can she do? But her pursuers are apparently still giving chase, and the outlander offers her aid. She can feel your presence from within them - every time she's crossed paths with them, as brief as those moments were, you were there. She can tell that the longing in the blonde's eyes is, at least in part, yours.

She's sorry.

She follows the Traveler to the hiding place - someone's home? It seems irrelevant. For a moment, she wonders if she could sue you for invasion of private property. "Oh, what am I thinking? The time for the grand trial is over... and even if it weren't, suing the Overseer for something so trivial would warrant the same result as the first time I challenged the Traveler..."

The Traveler. The outlander whose presence preceeded disaster. They were known for solving it, sure, but she knew that the moment they set foot in Fontaine the prophecy would have already started. Was it their fault, or yours?

Furina still feels like it might be hers.

The Traveler offers help once again. They extend their hand, and the look in their eyes as they ask her to confide in them is so earnest, so genuine. She swars she can hear two sets of voices saying the words - the Traveler's, and yours. It's faint, and gentle, and pained, and carries a yearning she knows she cannot fix.

Through them, you reach for her and she almost breaks. She knows you'll stop reaching once you know the truth.

Furina, please. You can trust us, love. Let me- let us help. People from your world cannot know, but neither of us fit that criteria. Your people will not dissolve, I promise you. I've seen enough worlds to know.

She considers it.

She hears your voice, and considers it. But there is uncertainty in your tone. You're gambling, and she's a good enough actress to know you're not sure yourself. They wouldn't do it, that's your reasoning. Furina doesn't know who 'they' are, but you're placing all your bets on the fact that 'they' would not erase an entire Nation. Who are 'they'? Celestia? If so, she knows for certain that your wager is more optimistic than based on facts. It's not enough - blind optimism is not enough for her to risk it, not even from a being like you. Besides, that is not her choice to make.

She cannot give up. She cannot lower her guard. Not with Neuvillette, not with the Traveler, not with you. The Traveler urges her for a response, reaches out, and she's about to deny them, when the house's walls fall.

Damn it, we needed more time! Furina, I'm so sorry.

She feels your sorrow about at the same time that she feels the spotlight on her.

Neuvillette looks down from his seat as the Chief Justice, and somehow the sliver of pity in his eyes hurts more than the coldness of a few days prior.

She's on trial.

________

She's crying.

She's not even making an effort to conceal it anymore. It's over. The curtains have closed and everything she worked so hard for has crumbled. The people know. Neuvillette knows. You know. Furina makes no effort to hear your voice. She knows you're disappointed.

If she did, perhaps she'd hear how you're screaming at the Traveler to go check on her. If she did, perhaps she'd hear how despite everything, you're reaching out, still. How you wish to hold her tight, as she deserves. She'd perhaps hear your outrage at the thought of her being subjected to the death sentence, she'd hear you trying to tear Neuvillette apart for allowing it, she'd hear you slowly realising that the fact that the sentence is addressed to the Hydro Archon means it's not her who dies.

She doesn't witness your relief.

Instead, it is you who gain an understanding of her thoughts. The Traveler reaches for her, and she can feel you pushing through, but she can't stop performing. Even now, she's still holding it, as much as she can.

You tear through her defenses with more ease than she expected. Furina had, until now, thought of you as detached. She knew you saw the world as a stage, a story for your amusement. Sure, you liked them, but only to the extent that one likes characters in a play, right? You were, as far as she knew, exactly the type of god - or, er, entity? - she emulated. Fickle. Boastful. Using lives as entertainment, watching trials and tribulations like a performance and solving the Nations' troubles like nothing more than a game. She had not expected you to care.

Not about her.

Not after knowing the truth.

You push forward. She knows it's you, and not the Traveler, who's in control. She can feel it, the intensity with which you reach out is the same she felt tugging at her very being every time a star crossed the sky. She knows it's you who's still trying to reach her. Even if she's failed.

Even if she's not capable of being in your Archon Team.

So she sighs, and lets you witness. That is your role, after all, isn't it? An audience of one, watching an interactive play. You haven't given up on her character, even though it's not what you expected. You're not what she expected, either. Funny, she finds herself thinking, you're both more human than anyone realised.

You witness her life. She lets it play out like a film before your eyes, the endless stream of memories of growing hopelessness as she realised that the prophecy was slowly setting itself up and she was not any closer to finding out how to stop it. Now you know - the truth, the whole truth. She has nothing left to lose now, anyway. Everything is lost. She was unmasked. She failed.

You're pushed out of her thoughts after she invites you to take your place on stage. You act in her memory, but this time the Traveler doesn't speak. You barely have time to state your piece - all you manage is an I'm sorry before being forced away. She has nothing more to share. That is enough, she figures, and far more than she ever thought she'd share. She still feels the urge to cry, but part of it is from relief.

After that, she doesn't feel your presence until after the flood.

The prophecy comes and goes and Fontaine is unharmed. The flood lasts no more than minutes, and no one is dissolved. Furina remembers your words - 'they' wouldn't do that. Though she is unsure as to 'their' identity, she is thankful that you were right. The sunlight feels like bliss upon her skin as she steps out of the Opera Epiclese, gentle rays drying the remaining water from the streets and the tears on her cheeks, and for the first time in five hundred years she breathes easy.

"They're still hoping you'll come." A familiar voice pulls her out of her trance. The Traveler, alone, stands behind her. Your presence is nowhere near. They look the same, yet different, without you within. Furina can't quite explain it, but it feels odd after being so used to seeing you within the outlander.

"I'm not an Archon." She answers, a certain bitterness in her voice as she looks down, defeated.

"I don't think they care. I know you need to rest for now, and they don't have enough primos for a ten pull anyways, but... just so you know. They'll keep trying."

Furina doesn't quite know whether that is meant as a warning or as an opportunity presenting itself. They're gone before she can ask. Either way, they're right - she is tired, and she does need rest. Out of instinct, she heads to the Palais Mermonia, but stops herself as she reaches for the door.

"Lady Furina." The gentle, deep voice she knows as belonging to the Iudex pulls her from her thoughts. She doesn't dare look him in the eye. He opens the door for her, but she simply turns away. She cannot face him, not after that trial, not after everything she'd done.

"Thank you, monsieur Neuvillette. But I... I think I'll be going, now."

The now fully restored Hydro Dragon can only watch as Furina walks away. He knows she needs her space right now, but that doesn't stop him from worrying for her. He'll arrange the best apartment he can get for her, and make sure she never lacks for anything. In the meantime, though, he'll just try not to let his emotions get the best of him, lest he causes a downpour to fall upon poor Furina, who definitely does not need rain right now. If there is one thing he knows about humans is that rain does not, for the most part, cheer them up. So he holds it in, promising himself that he'll take a small break for a walk after the aftermath of everything is over, and heads to his office.

There is so much to do...

_________

Three weeks pass. Furina lays on her bed, her window open, the soft breeze bringing the smell of a night that promises rain into the apartment. She is busy, not with work, or with renovations, but with the azure glass sphere that she holds up to the light, examining it under her lamp. A Vision... during all those years, she had never thought she'd receive such a thing, much less after being pushed away from her role as the Archon. She is thankful, yes, for her newfound freedom, and, she supposes, for the fact that she'd gotten to act again. But it still remains that this bauble was completely unexpected.

Power. This little thing can give her power. She's still unsure on how to use it, and it crosses her mind that the Traveler - or you - might know. You owe her, after all, after what she did to help you out with the play... she could feel you trying to strangle the Traveler and Paimon on the astral plane and that was perhaps why she wasn't entirely offended by their remarks. Still, she had made a great effort for that play. It was only fair that at least one of you repays the favor, no?

Furina smiles softly, sighing. She'll have to put up a commission at the Guild tomorrow.

She examines the light reflecting within, and it reminds her of the surface of the sea as seen from underwater. The holder, a silvery ornament not unlike those she's seen worn by Vision-bearers, has a distinct characteristic - four fang-like details that seem to secure the glass in place. Before she can give it more thought, the first pitter patter of raindrops reaches her ears, and she rushes to retrieve the clothes hanging on the line she has in the small balcony of her apartment before they get too wet. She rushes outside, hearing as the rain and wind pick up.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it..." She mutters to herself, quickly shoving the clothes onto a basket, trying to pick them off the line as fast as she can. Behind her, a flash of light illuminates the night sky. "Oh, I am so not in the mood for thunder..."

Furina cringes, hoping the storm is not directly above. Maybe she'll be able to sleep if it's just a faraway rumbling. What she hears, however, is not the booming sound of a storm.

Furina. Come home.

You're still trying. For a moment, she forgets about the heavy rain, and the clothes, and simply looks up at the sky. Blue flashes, one after the other, cross the clouds in rapid succession. Even after everything, you hadn't given up. The Traveler had warned her, but at the time she hadn't been in a stable enough state of mins to even care, still shaken from everything that had happened.

Now, she simply looks up.

"Overseer." She answers. You won't be able to add her to the 'Archon Team'. She knows she's not as powerful as most of your Vessels - hell, she doesn't even know how to use her Vision yet. But you still want her.

You know the truth - the whole truth - and you still want her.

The next star that crosses the sky turns gold, and glows brighter and brighter until it lands in front of her, hovering above the railing on her balcony. It emits a soft, warm light, and Furina reaches for it like she'd reached for her Vision.

Warmth spreads over her body, and it feels like every time she'd looked at the Traveler with you in them, except everything feels more... intense. It's not like she's seeing the filtered bits of you that shine through the cracks in someone else, no. She can feel you directly, and she understands why they call it 'coming home'. It's warm. It's comfortable. And for the first time she can truly, honestly say she doesn't feel alone.

You're happy she's there. Time seems to stop around her, and she finds herself dry and in a field full of stars. If she squints, she can barely make out a form, a swirling swarm of stardust in the vague shape of a person. She reaches a hand out.

You place the cursor over her outstretched hand.

Welcome home, Furina.

[rafesapologist]

the boy is mine ─ rafe cameron; chapter two

summary: you were an erudite kook with her life ahead of her, very highly sought after by almost every man from figure 8 all the way to the cut. but you only wanted rafe cameron, and just in the typical nature of getting everything you wanted, you were going to have him.

warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of touching, mentions of alcohol

You woke up the next morning full of energy and excitement, a surge of confidence pulsing through you in a way you hadn’t felt before. The memory of the previous night lingered in your mind, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. After you had returned home, you had spent hours meticulously preparing yourself for the day ahead. You had carefully placed your hair in rollers, ensuring each curl would fall just right, and applied a face mask to sleep in, hoping it would leave your skin glowing and flawless by morning. Today, you needed to look your absolute best.

The anticipation of possibly running into Rafe at Sarah's house added an extra layer of excitement. You wanted to make an impression, to stand out in his memory. It was more than just looking good; it was about exuding confidence and poise, about being memorable.

You sprang out of bed, feeling a burst of determination. The morning sun streamed through your window, casting a warm, golden light across your room. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and smiled, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

In the bathroom, you carefully removed the face mask, revealing soft, radiant skin beneath. You took your time getting ready, savoring each step of the process. The rollers came out next, and you gently tousled your hair until it fell in perfect waves around your face. Makeup followed, applied with a precision that reflected your dedication to perfection.

Lastly was your outfit, and you knew it had to be jaw-dropping. You rummaged through your walk-in closet, fingers trailing over fabrics and textures as you searched for the perfect attire. Before anything else, you slipped on your favorite bathing suit—a berry blue string bikini that hugged your body in all the right places, leaving just enough to the imagination. It was bold, daring, and exactly the statement you wanted to make.

You stood in front of your closet, contemplating your options. The light from the window filtered through sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Your eyes landed on a short, form-fitting sundress that was pure white, like freshly fallen snow. The dress promised to highlight your tan and contrast perfectly with the vibrant bikini beneath.

Slipping into the sundress, you admired how it clung to your curves, the delicate fabric whispering against your skin. The white dress exuded an innocent charm while hinting at the allure of what lay beneath. You added a few touches to enhance the look—a pair of gold earrings that caught the light with every movement and a matching bracelet that jingled softly with each step.

Standing before the mirror, you took in the complete picture. The white sundress and berry blue bikini created a striking image, a balance of purity and boldness that made you feel both confident and captivating. You added a touch of lip gloss, a hint of shimmer that made your smile even brighter, and a spritz of your favorite perfume, a scent that lingered in the air like a promise.

You knew that you had a few hours to spare, so you spent your time trying to calm your nerves, each moment stretching out like a thread in a delicate tapestry. You packed with meticulous care: sunscreen to guard against the sun's embrace, sunglasses to shield your eyes from its dazzling glare, and shots to fortify your courage for the encounter you both dreaded and longed for. You knew facing Rafe Cameron would require more than just poise; it would require liquid bravery, so you prepared accordingly.

As the minutes slipped by, you double-checked your bag, ensuring every essential was in place. The anticipation thrummed beneath your skin, an electric current of excitement and anxiety. You could almost feel the cool blue water of Sarah's pool, the sun’s warm caress, and the mingled sounds of laughter and splashing.

By the time you were ready to leave, your heart pounded with an eager rhythm. You hurried out the door, each step quick and purposeful. The morning light spilled over you, casting everything in a golden hue that seemed to shimmer with promise. You left little room for your parents’ inevitable questions, offering only a swift, “Goodbye, love you!” as you breezed past them.

Their voices called after you, faint echoes in the morning air, but you were already moving forward, the door clicking shut behind you like a final punctuation mark. The world outside was vibrant and full of potential, each step bringing you closer to Sarah’s house and the day’s unfolding adventures. The thought of seeing Rafe again sent a shiver of anticipation through you, blending with the fresh evening air into a heady mix of expectation and excitement.

The ride to Sarah's house felt quick, though you were sure it was your nerves speeding up time. As you pulled into her driveway, you found yourself gawking at the sprawling white mansion ahead. You knew she was a Kook, but the scale of her family's wealth hadn't truly registered until now. The mansion stood like a gleaming palace, its grandeur almost surreal.

Hopping out of your car, you felt a fluttering excitement mixed with anxiety. Your nerves burst in the pit of your stomach as you approached the front door. Hesitantly, you knocked, the sound echoing in the still air. Stepping back, you crossed your arms, trying to contain the nervous energy coursing through you while you waited.

The door finally swung open, revealing Sarah herself, her smile bright and welcoming. She looked effortlessly chic, her blonde hair catching the sunlight like spun gold.

"Hey! Come on in," she greeted you warmly, pulling you into a hug.

"Hey, Sarah!" you replied, returning the embrace. "Your house is...wow."

She laughed, a musical sound that immediately put you at ease. "Thanks. It's home, I guess. I hope you're okay with a few other people being here. Rafe decided to invite his friends without telling me." She rolled her eyes, but your heart fluttered at the mention of his name. The realization that he was there sent a fresh wave of nerves through you, your excitement now tinged with anxious anticipation.

As you followed Sarah through the grand foyer, the mansion felt almost surreal in its grandeur. The air inside was cool and refreshing, a sharp contrast to the sun’s heat outside, each step on the polished marble floor echoing your heightened heartbeat. The rooms you passed were filled with elegant furniture and art, each piece meticulously placed, reflecting a wealth that was as old as it was vast.

Stepping out onto the patio, the sight before you took your breath away. The pool sparkled like a sapphire, its surface kissed by the sunlight, surrounded by lush greenery and perfectly manicured lawns. A few people lounged by the water, their laughter and conversation blending harmoniously with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, a sensory reminder of the opulence that enveloped you.

Sarah led you to a set of cushioned chairs near the pool. "Make yourself at home," she said, her gesture inviting you to relax. "Do you want something to drink? We’ve got everything."

You nodded, trying to steady the nerves that fluttered in your chest. "Sure, that’d be great. Surprise me."

As Sarah walked over to the bar to fetch drinks, you took a deep breath and let your eyes wander, absorbing the atmosphere. The water in the pool shimmered under the sun's golden light, and the sounds of distant laughter and soft conversation created a soothing backdrop. Your thoughts drifted to Rafe, wondering how he would react upon seeing you.

Before Sarah got back, you snuck a shot from your tote, swallowing it quickly and savoring the burn as it went down. You made sure nobody saw you, tucking the small bottle back into your bag with a swift, practiced motion. The liquid courage began to warm your veins, steadying your nerves just as Sarah returned.

She handed you a glass filled with a burgundy liquid, a pleased smile on her face. "I hope you like vodka. These are my favorite," she chirped, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

You took the glass, surprised and delighted. "Actually, vodka-crans are my favorite, so you did well," you said with a smile, lifting the glass to take a sip.

The tart, sweet flavor washed over your tongue, blending perfectly with the warmth from the shot you had taken moments before. Sarah settled into the chair beside you, her presence warm and comforting.

As you both sat there, the sunlight playing on the water's surface, you felt a sense of calm begin to settle over you. The distant laughter and soft music created a serene backdrop, blending with the scents of blooming flowers and the gentle rustle of the wind through the trees. Your earlier nerves began to dissipate, replaced by a growing sense of anticipation.

As the energy on the patio began to wane, the sound of male voices emanating from inside the house caught your attention like a sudden gust of wind. You turned to Sarah, your expression knit with confusion, prompting her to follow your gaze and investigate the noise.

"It's just Rafe and his friends," she groaned, her frustration palpable as she tossed her sunglasses back over her eyes.

The voices grew louder as they approached, the sound of laughter and conversation becoming more distinct with each passing moment. Your heart quickened its pace, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within you like a tempest.

Sarah sighed, her irritation evident as she shook her head slightly. "I swear, they always manage to show up and cause a scene."

You watched as the sliding patio doors opened, revealing Rafe and his entourage. They strolled out with an air of confidence, beers in hand, their laughter echoing off the walls. Rafe led the group, his presence commanding attention effortlessly. His stride was casual yet purposeful, his gaze scanning the patio until it landed on you.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still. Your breath caught in your throat as you met Rafe's intense gaze, the weight of his scrutiny sending a thrill down your spine. In the daylight, he looked even more striking, his tanned skin bathed in sunlight, his crisp white shirt accentuating the lean lines of his physique.

"Rafe, can you not take over everything for once?" Sarah called out, her voice a mix of exasperation and affection. She rose from her chair, her arms crossed as she approached her brother.

Rafe offered a nonchalant shrug, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his lips. "Just having a little fun, Sarah. You know how it is."

His friends dispersed around the patio, some heading for the pool while others made a beeline for the bar. The atmosphere shifted, an infectious energy buzzing in the air. Rafe lingered by the door, his gaze lingering on you like a beam of sunlight.

"Nice to see you again, Y/N," Rafe remarked, his voice smooth like honey, with a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes tracing the lines of your dress with an intensity that made your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as you wondered what thoughts were crossing his mind, oblivious to what lay beneath the fabric.

"Hi, Rafe," you replied, your voice coming out almost sheepishly as you struggled to maintain eye contact with him. Your heart hammered in your chest like a wild drumbeat, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. You found yourself holding your breath, waiting for his next move, unsure of what to expect but unable to tear your gaze away from his magnetic presence.

"Where's your Yale friend? She busy trying to get an acceptance letter or something?" Rafe's voice, laced with mischief, broke through the chatter like a sudden gust of wind. His gaze lingered on you, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, as if he found amusement in your presence.

"Rafe! Leave her alone," she interjected, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation. She shot her brother a reproachful glare, a silent warning not to push further. "Sadie couldn't come because she was sick, okay?"

Rafe's smirk softened into a grin, a glint of mischief still dancing in his eyes as he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get defensive," he replied, his tone teasing but affectionate.

Rafe finally made his way over to his friends gathered at the pool, his movements exuding a casual grace that seemed effortless. With practiced ease, he stripped off his shirt, revealing a chiseled physique that drew your gaze like a magnet. You couldn't tear your eyes away as he discarded the shirt, the fabric landing with a soft thud on the ground beside him.

Undeniably, you found yourself gawking at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you drank in the sight before you. The way his abs were perfectly defined, each muscle carved with precision, made your breath catch in your throat. His bronzed skin seemed to gleam in the sunlight, accentuating every contour and curve of his body. As he moved, the veins in his biceps stood out like a network of rivers, a testament to his strength and vitality.

You felt a sudden wave of weakness wash over you, your knees threatening to buckle beneath you as you struggled to maintain your composure. Your eyes followed his figure as he strode confidently to the edge of the pool, the anticipation building with each step. With a fluid motion, he dove into the water, the surface rippling and shimmering in the sunlight as he disappeared beneath the surface.

You watched, transfixed, as he resurfaced, joining his friends in whatever game they were playing. The laughter and splashing echoed in the air, a backdrop to the scene unfolding before you. Despite the playful atmosphere, your thoughts remained fixed on Rafe, his presence casting a spell over you that you couldn't shake.

You were brought out of your trance by the sound of Rafe's friend calling out to you and Sarah, his voice cutting through the air like a playful challenge. "Hey, you guys wanna join? We're playing water polo and we need another player!"

Your eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected invitation, uncertainty flickering in your gaze as you glanced over at Sarah. You weren't sure how to respond, torn between the desire to join in the fun and the reluctance to disrupt your carefully arranged appearance.

"Well, I can't," Sarah replied with a wry grin, her tone laced with humor. "I just got my hair bleached; I can't get it wet!"

Your heart raced as you felt the weight of their collective gaze, their expectant stares burning into your skin like a spotlight. The pressure to join in was palpable, amplified by the intensity of Rafe's gaze as he watched you with unabashed interest.

Despite the overwhelming urge to retreat, you knew that backing out now would only lead to disappointment, both from the boys and from yourself. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly agreed to join, your voice tinged with reluctance but determination.

"Alright, I guess I'll play, but just one round," you conceded, the sound of the boys' cheers and excitement washing over you like a tidal wave.

As you stood up to join them, you couldn't help but steal a glance at Sarah, who offered you a sympathetic look in return. The unspoken understanding between you was comforting, a silent reassurance that you weren't alone in this moment of vulnerability.

With a deep breath, you turned your attention back to the pool, steeling yourself for what was to come. Slowly, you began to strip off your sundress, the fabric slipping from your shoulders like a whisper. Your movements were hesitant, tentative, as you prayed that none of the boys were still paying attention.

But as the dress slid down to your hips, you couldn't help but look up, your gaze inadvertently meeting Rafe's. Time seemed to freeze as you caught him staring back at you, his expression caught between surprise and admiration, his mouth slightly agape.

Heat flooded your cheeks as you quickly averted your gaze, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat. The intensity of his stare lingered like a lingering echo, sending a shiver down your spine as you hurriedly finished removing your dress, the fabric pooling at your feet in a silent surrender to the inevitable.

As you finally stood there, fully exposed in your berry blue bikini, you could feel Rafe's gaze burning into you, more intense and unyielding than ever. It was as if everything else around him faded into background noise, leaving only the sharp focus of his eyes on you. He made no effort to hide his scrutiny, his stare lingering on every inch of your exposed skin, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable under his watchful eyes.

You watched, your heart pounding, as his tongue slowly grazed his bottom lip, a deliberate and almost predatory motion. His eyes darkened, and he took his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it subtly. The action was slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. His mouth pressed together afterward, as if he were physically trying to restrain himself from reacting more openly, to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor in sheer astonishment.

The moment stretched on, thick with unspoken tension. You felt your own breath hitch, caught between the thrill of his attention and the anxiety of being so completely seen. Finally, summoning every ounce of confidence you had, you gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile before turning your gaze away, stepping towards the edge of the pool. The cool water beckoned, a welcome respite from the heat of Rafe's gaze.

You took a deep breath and dove in, the water embracing you, its coolness momentarily washing away the intensity of the moment. As you surfaced, you felt a sense of liberation, the water providing a comforting shield from the penetrating stares above. You ran your fingers through your hair, slicking it back, and allowed yourself a moment to adjust to the new sensation.

The boys were already dividing into teams, their laughter and shouts filling the air, a stark contrast to the charged silence that had just passed. You swam over to join them, your heart still pounding but now with a mix of excitement and adrenaline.

"Alright, let's get started!" one of Rafe's friends called out, tossing the ball into the center of the pool. You positioned yourself strategically, ready to play, feeling a surge of determination.

As the game progressed, you could feel Rafe's presence in the pool, his movements fluid and confident. Whenever he came near, the air seemed to crackle with electricity, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that had sparked between you. He was an agile player, his strength and speed undeniable, and you found yourself both admiring and competing with him.

At one point, you found yourself face to face with him, the ball between you. His eyes locked onto yours, a mischievous glint in them, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, the rest of the world fading into the background. You lunged for the ball, your bodies colliding in the water, a tangle of limbs and splashes.

"Nice try," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, as he managed to wrestle the ball away, his touch lingering on your arm just a second longer than necessary.

You grinned, a mixture of frustration and exhilaration coursing through you. "Don't get too cocky," you shot back, determined to hold your own. The two of you paused for a moment, the world around you dissolving into a blur of motion and sound. His eyes locked onto yours, and for an instant, everything else faded away.

The water shimmered between you, rippling with the energy of your silent exchange. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breath mingling with the cool air as you tried to steady your racing heart. The intensity of his gaze was magnetic, pulling you into an unspoken conversation that felt both dangerous and thrilling.

Rafe's lips curved into a cocky grin, a silent promise and challenge in his eyes. He held your gaze for a moment longer, the air thick with tension, before he turned away with a fluid grace. His movement was almost predatory, a display of confidence and strength that left you breathless.

As he walked away, the sunlight glinted off the droplets of water on his skin, creating a halo of shimmering light. You stood there, rooted to the spot, the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. The game continued around you, voices and laughter blending into a distant hum, but your focus remained on the lingering sensation of his presence.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of irritation at his arrogance and excitement at the intensity of his attention. The undeniable attraction simmered beneath the surface, leaving you craving more of the electrifying connection. The water, cool and refreshing, was a stark contrast to the heat of your thoughts and the fire he had ignited within you.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to regain composure, and joined the game once more. But now, every move, every splash, every moment was charged with the memory of that gaze, that grin, and the tantalizing possibility of what might come next.

"Okay, I'm done!" you declared, throwing your hands on your hips as you tried to catch your breath. You realized you were too weak to keep going. "I'm gonna go get a drink. You guys keep playing." With that, you exited the pool, feeling the cool air against your damp skin.

Grabbing your towel from the nearby chair, you wrapped it around your hips, securing it with a tight knot. You glanced at Sarah, who had been watching the game from the sidelines. "Where are the drinks?" you asked, your voice slightly hoarse from exertion.

She motioned toward the kitchen with a smile. "Just inside. Help yourself."

Nodding in gratitude, you made your way inside, the sounds of the pool fading behind you. The cool tile underfoot was a welcome contrast to the heat of the afternoon sun. Entering the kitchen, you immediately headed for the fridge, your mind focused solely on finding something to quench your thirst.

You pulled open the fridge door and, to your relief, found a row of cold water bottles neatly lined up. You snatched one, twisted off the cap, and tilted your head back, taking large, satisfying gulps. The cold water was refreshing, soothing your parched throat and cooling you from the inside out.

As you lowered the bottle, you closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation. The kitchen was quiet, a peaceful contrast to the lively scene outside. You could still hear faint laughter and splashing from the pool, but in here, it was just you and the cool, calming stillness. You leaned against the counter, catching your breath and letting your thoughts settle.

The brief solitude gave you a chance to process everything that had happened: the unexpected intensity of Rafe's gaze, the way your heart had raced under his scrutiny, and the unfamiliar feelings he stirred within you. It was exhilarating and unsettling all at once, leaving you with a sense of anticipation you hadn't felt before.

You took another sip of water, lost in your thoughts, when the sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. You looked up to see Rafe standing in the doorway, his presence instantly commanding the room. His hair was damp, and water glistened on his skin, catching the light in a way that made your breath hitch once more.

"Couldn't handle the game?" he teased, his voice low and slightly breathless, matching the intensity of his gaze. You were caught by surprise at the sound of his voice, feeling small and vulnerable in his presence.

Peering up at him in silence for a brief second, you felt your mind racing as he stood over you, his eyes never leaving yours. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of charged silence. "I just needed a drink," you managed to reply, your voice softer than intended, almost a whisper.

Rafe nodded at your reply, a small hum escaping the depths of his throat. "You were pretty good out there, Princeton," he commented, the nickname carrying a subtle edge, as if he was both taunting and admiring your goody-two-shoes ways. His voice was a velvet drawl, laced with a challenge that made your heart flutter.

A flush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks at the unexpected compliment and the moniker he’d chosen for you. Clearing your throat, you averted your eyes to the tiled floor, feeling the intensity of Rafe's gaze burning into you like the summer sun. "Oh, thanks," you laughed half-heartedly, the sound more a nervous flutter than genuine amusement. "Sports aren't really my thing, so..."

He leaned closer, just enough for his presence to envelop you, the faint scent of chlorine and his cologne mingling in the air between you. "Could've fooled me," he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You held your own out there."

The compliment, however backhanded it might have been, sent a thrill through you. You risked a glance up, meeting his piercing blue eyes that seemed to dance with amusement and something else, something darker and more compelling. The kitchen, despite its airy openness, felt suddenly intimate, a bubble separating the two of you from the rest of the world.

"Well, maybe I’m a fast learner," you said, trying to match his nonchalance. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your water bottle, the cool condensation a stark contrast to the heat blooming in your chest.

Rafe's smirk deepened, his eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe you are," he agreed softly, the words hanging in the charged air between you. "But I have a feeling you're good at a lot of things, Princeton."

The way he said it, with that low, almost predatory purr, made your pulse quicken. You wondered if he could hear the rapid beating of your heart, feel the electric tension that crackled in the narrow space between your bodies.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words tangled on your tongue. Instead, you took a steadying breath, the cool air of the kitchen filling your lungs, and tried to regain your composure. "Thanks," you said finally, your voice more composed. "But don't expect to see me at the next water polo match."

Rafe chuckled, a rich, resonant sound that made your skin tingle. "We'll see about that," he said, pushing away from the counter with a fluid grace. "Maybe I'll have to find another way to see what else you're good at."

He toyed with the string of your bikini on the side of your hip, twirling it around his finger with a casual confidence. The simple act felt charged with a silent promise, an acknowledgment that he had the power to undo it if he wanted to. The gesture made you feel even smaller beneath his commanding presence.

Your entire body felt hot, your cheeks surely blushing as you stared down at his fingers, your mouth slightly agape. The room seemed to close in, the air thick with an unspoken tension that left you at a loss for words. Your breath came shallow and quick, your mind racing as you tried to process the whirlwind of sensations his touch ignited.

Rafe’s smirk grew as he observed your reaction, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His eyes, dark with intent, bore into yours, and you felt the intensity of his gaze like a physical touch. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "Just let me know if you need any help... learning new things. Seems like you're good at that."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening at the proximity of his body to yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, a magnetic pull that made it difficult to think clearly. The room seemed to shrink around you, the sounds of the party fading into the background as you became acutely aware of every breath, every heartbeat.

Rafe's fingers lingered on the string of your bikini for a moment longer before releasing it, the brief contact leaving a trail of fire on your skin. He pulled back slightly, just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze unwavering and full of promise.

You swallowed hard, trying to regain your composure and not let your facade crack under the weight of his suggestive words. "I'll let you know if I do," you replied, though your voice wavered slightly, betraying the mix of excitement and nerves coursing through you. Each word felt like a tightrope walk between desire and restraint, and you fought to maintain your cool exterior even as your heart raced in your chest. Swallowing thickly, you held his gaze, determined not to show any sign of weakness in the face of his undeniable charm.

Rafe chuckled lowly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as his eyes lingered on the string of your bikini for a moment longer. You could feel the weight of his gaze, intense and electrifying, tracing the curve of your body with an almost palpable hunger.

With a subtle smirk draped across his tanned features, he finally tore his gaze away from you, meeting your eyes once more. There was a magnetic pull in the air between you, a silent understanding of the unspoken tension that crackled between you like electricity.

"I'll see you around, Princeton," he said, his voice a low murmur that seemed to echo in the space between you. The nickname rolled off his tongue effortlessly, a teasing reminder of your status as the Ivy League hopeful amidst the chaos of the party.

As Rafe turned away, a rush of conflicting emotions swept over you, leaving you speechless as you watched him confidently make his way back to the patio. His fluid movements and undeniable charisma left you momentarily breathless, a flutter of butterflies erupting in your stomach at the memory of your interaction.

In the quiet solitude of the kitchen, you were left to ponder the significance of your encounter with Rafe. Each moment replayed in your mind like a broken record, the intensity of his gaze and the weight of his words still lingering in the air around you.

Part of you yearned for more, a silent whisper echoing in the recesses of your mind as you replayed the tantalizing moments with Rafe. You couldn't help but wonder what might have transpired if time had slowed, if his touch had lingered a heartbeat longer, or if his words had delved deeper into the depths of your soul.

The questions that danced in the wake of your encounter left an ache of anticipation blooming within you, like a hunger for the forbidden fruit, ripe with the promise of revelation. Each thought, each memory, stirred a longing within you, a primal desire to unravel the enigma that was Rafe Cameron himself.

As you stood in the quiet sanctuary of the kitchen, the distant hum of the party fading into the background, you were consumed by a yearning for more. It was a craving for connection, for intimacy beyond the surface-level exchanges and fleeting glances.

Shaking off the lingering warmth of Rafe’s touch, you took one final gulp of water, bracing yourself for the transition back to reality. The sun’s golden rays embraced you as you stepped onto the patio, your skin tingling from more than just the heat. You approached Sarah with a smile that barely masked the whirlwind inside you.

“Hey, I should get going,” you said, your voice steady despite the tumult within. You reached for your tote bag, its familiar weight grounding you. “My parents want me home for dinner, and I still have to study for exams. I’ll catch you at school?”

Sarah’s expression flickered with disappointment but quickly softened into understanding. “Of course! Thanks for coming by. We’ll definitely do this again soon.”

You nodded, embracing her in a quick hug, the scent of saltwater and sunscreen clinging to both of you. As you turned to leave, the magnetic pull of Rafe’s gaze was almost tangible, an invisible thread that made each step feel weighted with significance. You risked a final glance back and found his eyes still on you, a dark intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

With a final wave to the group, you slipped into your car, the engine’s hum a stark contrast to the lively chatter of the party. The drive home blurred past in a haze, your thoughts replaying the day’s interactions like a symphony of emotions. Each moment with Rafe was a note that resonated deeply, leaving you both exhilarated and yearning for more.

As you pulled into your driveway, the sky painted itself in hues of twilight, the world bathed in a soft, dusky glow. You paused, taking in the serene beauty of the evening, the contrast to the storm within. Stepping out of the car, you felt the weight of the day settling on your shoulders, a mix of excitement and uncertainty.

As you entered your house, the familiar scent of home mingled with the residual aroma of sunscreen and saltwater, creating a unique blend that encapsulated the day’s adventures. The moment you stepped through the door, your parents were upon you, their voices echoing in the foyer with a rapid-fire barrage of questions.

"Who were you with?"

"Where did you go?"

You sighed, trying to muster the energy to answer them calmly. "I was with Sarah Cameron," you said, the name dropping from your lips with practiced ease. "She's in honors society." The mention of Sarah's reputable background seemed to appease them instantly. Their expressions softened, their curiosity sated, and they nodded in approval.

"Alright then," your mother said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "Just make sure you get your studying done."

You nodded, relieved as they stepped aside, allowing you to retreat to the sanctuary of your room. The door clicked shut behind you, and you leaned against it, exhaling deeply. The quiet of your room enveloped you, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the party and the intoxicating tension of Rafe's presence.

You took a moment to collect yourself, pushing off the door and moving towards your bed. The evening sunlight filtered through your window, casting soft, golden beams across your room, illuminating the stacks of textbooks and notes that awaited your attention. You dropped your tote bag by the bed, the weight of the day’s events finally settling in.

With a sigh, you changed into more comfortable clothes, the soft fabric a welcome comfort against your skin. You settled at your desk, opening your books, but your mind wandered back to the afternoon. The memory of Rafe's intense gaze and the feeling of his fingers toying with the strings of your bikini played on a loop in your mind.

You tried to focus, but the thought of him lingered like a whisper in the back of your mind, making it hard to concentrate. You imagined what it would be like to see him again, to share more moments that left you breathless and yearning. The pages of your textbook blurred as your thoughts drifted, and you found yourself lost in daydreams of possibilities.

As your mind wandered, thoughts of Rafe Cameron wove their way through your consciousness like tendrils of smoke, curling and dissipating only to reform, more vivid and enticing each time. His smirk, a crooked promise of mischief, lingered in your thoughts. You imagined the scene in the kitchen playing out differently, with Rafe staying just a moment longer, his presence filling the space between you, his gaze never wavering.

What if you had dared to bridge that gap, to step closer and voice your desire? The thought sent a thrill through you, a tantalizing mix of fear and excitement. You pictured his fingers trailing along your skin, their touch electric and gentle, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His breath, warm and intoxicating against your ear, whispered promises that made your pulse race.

Cold chills raced up and down your spine as you let your imagination roam freely. You envisioned his hands exploring your body with a blend of urgency and tenderness, tracing the lines of your silhouette, his touch both a comfort and a provocation. The memory of his fingers toying with the strings of your bikini resurfaced, each imagined brush of his skin against yours igniting a cascade of sensations.

Closing your eyes, you allowed the fantasy to unfold with cinematic clarity. You saw yourself reaching out to him, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His breath mingled with yours, the heat of his body a palpable presence against your own. The kiss you conjured was a heady blend of need and gentleness, his lips exploring yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

In your mind’s eye, you felt the strength of his hands on your waist, guiding you closer, deepening the connection between you. The way his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, was so vivid it felt real. You imagined the texture of his hair beneath your fingers, the solid weight of him grounding you even as he sent your senses spiraling.

The fantasy was a sweet escape, an intoxicating reverie that left you flushed and eager. Each imagined touch, each whispered word, added to the heady mix of anticipation and longing. The more you indulged in these daydreams, the more you craved another encounter with Rafe, another chance to see where this tantalizing spark might lead.

It was a rush of adrenaline, unlike anything you had ever experienced. Boys had never held much sway over you; you had never felt the desire to pursue relationships like your friends did. Your parents had instilled in you the unwavering belief that studies should always come first—without them, your future held little promise. Marriage, they assured you, was a distant concern, something to consider only after college and a stable career were firmly in place.

The sensation of Rafe's touch lingered, electrifying your senses in a way that was entirely new. You were accustomed to boys making advances, attempting to win you over, but you had always kept them at arm's length. None had ever touched you the way Rafe had earlier.

His touch had been different—confident yet gentle, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. It was a touch that had stirred something deep within you, awakening a desire you hadn't known existed. In that fleeting moment, his fingertips grazing against your skin had sparked a rush of sensations, each one unfamiliar and exhilarating.

As you reflected on the encounter, you felt a mix of excitement and uncertainty. Part of you thrilled at the prospect of exploring this new terrain, of discovering what lay beyond the boundaries you had so carefully maintained. Another part of you felt a twinge of guilt, a nagging reminder of your parents' expectations and the priorities they had ingrained in you. Yet, amid those conflicting emotions, there was a growing sense of liberation. The brief exchange with Rafe had opened a door to a world of possibilities you had never dared to consider. It was a tantalizing glimpse of a different path—one that beckoned with its own set of risks and rewards.

After an intense hour buried in textbooks, you gratefully closed them and sank into bed. With a swift unlock, you navigated to Instagram, driven by an insistent urge to search for the name that had dominated your thoughts—Rafe. Thanks to Sarah and mutual acquaintances, locating his profile was effortless.

As your finger tapped on his profile picture, anticipation knotted in your chest. What if he was entangled with someone else? What if he was notorious for playing with hearts? Despite these apprehensions, you pressed on, yearning to unravel more about him. His profile unveiled snippets of his life—pictures from exotic getaways, moments with friends, and snapshots on the golf course where Topper, Sarah's boyfriend, featured prominently. Their closeness didn't surprise you; it was evident in their behavior.

You scrolled deeper, each image and caption offering a fleeting glimpse into his world. With every post, your intrigue grew. Who was Rafe Cameron behind these carefully curated snapshots? What did he cherish? What was he like beyond the filtered frames?

You found yourself drawn into the depths of Rafe's Instagram profile, scrolling through his life over the past few years. Each photo captured a different facet of him: lounging on sun-soaked beaches, laughing with friends on golf courses, and even a few candid shots that exuded his effortless charm. With each swipe, your smile widened involuntarily, captivated by his magnetic presence in every image.

But then, amidst the series of carefree snapshots, you stumbled upon a picture that shattered your burgeoning admiration. There he was, on a picturesque beach, arm wrapped around a girl with a bright smile and eyes that mirrored his joy. They shared ice cream on a bustling boardwalk, kissed under the soft glow of sunset—a glimpse into a life that seemed worlds apart from yours.

Your heart sank as you stared at the scene frozen in time, feeling a mix of disappointment and disbelief wash over you. You had allowed yourself to get lost in fantasies, caught up in a momentary thrill that now felt hollow. The reality of his relationship with someone else hit hard, snapping you out of the enchantment that had momentarily clouded your thoughts.

You felt an insatiable curiosity gnawing at you, craving to unravel the enigma of Rafe's relationship with the girl in those photos. Each snapshot on his Instagram page painted a picture of a life filled with adventure and camaraderie, yet it revealed nothing about the depth of his connections. The ocean breeze seemed to whisper secrets as you scrolled, each image telling a story of laughter and shared moments against stunning backdrops. But behind those smiles and frozen frames, the truth of their bond remained elusive, leaving you to wonder about the untold chapters that lay between them.

You wrestled with swirling thoughts of the mysterious girl in Rafe's photos, pondering the depth of their connection, its duration, and whether it still persisted. Lying in the dimness of your room, you stared at the ceiling, consumed by thoughts of Rafe Cameron and all that he represented. Each question about him spun through your mind like a whirlwind, relentlessly tugging at your attention until weariness finally overtook you. Drifting into sleep, thoughts of Rafe lingered at the edge of your consciousness, a silent presence that followed you into dreams.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

taglist: @yawnzshit, @saintchxx4

[mylittlesecretwish]

The face I hate

Summary: [ Post-imposter AU ] When the hunting ceases and everyone beg for forgiveness the creador agree to take the place on the throne, but they cover all their body and face

××××

Based on this drabble

This is my first time properly writing so i hope I made it right!! I know a lot of people loved this idea so i hope I met their expectations with this!

Maybe in the future I will write more for post-imposter au!!

You don't remember how long it has been since the day you arrived on Tevyat, the initial happiness and curiosity you felt that day has long forgotten, but at this point it doesn't matter, what only matter is that you are finally able to rest because everyone had finally stoped chasing you, you don't know why but you don't care, you just don't know to whom God thank that they had finally stoped

However that peace and relief only lasted a couple of days before they followed you again, but this time instead of carrying weapons and threatens they carry an expression full of regret and sadness, instead of imediatly attacking you they immediatly kneel and beg for forgiveness, sometimes they even bring you offerings, promising to be only the best for you but that is what they say and you can't trust them

You wanted nothing more than get away from them, and you did so, you always wander away from the civilization and stay by the side of the only ones that had never tried to kill you, you stay with the kind slimes that used to shield you and cuddle you while you were trying to sleep, with the hilichurls that always make sure to gave you a messy plate of warm food, the abyssm creatures that used to wander with you and shield you everytime someone get close

You wanted to stay with them but the people of Tevyat were stubborn and annoying, they had been even more annoying that when they wanted you dead because now you can even heard them beg for forgiveness to the statues of you and in the temple, it was too much, even more difficult to handle than before and for your own sanity you decided to accept their prayers and go with them, hoping that they will just shut up already

You thought that now that you know how regretful they were you will be able to handle it, but you were wrong, you can't find peace when all their angry faces and bloodlust against you still hunt you down in your nightmares. Even when they kneel at your very least image and talks to you with a lot of respect you just don't feel safe around them, even if your body doesn't have the scars of what happened your soul and mind does, you feel vulnerable and threaten by their very presence and if anyone dares to approach to you, even just a little, you always instinctively step back, they understand and apologize everytime it happens, however they never expected for you to one day start covering yourself

You start to use clothes that cover all your body, that way you feel at least a little more safe, you even started to change your appearance, but it wasn't enough, it is never enough for you, not when everytime you see your reflection in the mirror the only thing you see is the reason why all the people you used to love started to hate you and chased you to death, at this point you don't want nothing more that destroy it too, so you started to cover your face with a mask, a mask that the hilichurls gifted you

Everyone was surprised but they don't say anything, not that they have the right to do so. It become painfuly for everyone to not being able to see you but they just accept their punishment

You weren't the only one suffering from this, everyone on Tevyat was suffering, every day they regret what they have done, and that suffering only increase with every day that pass without being able to get more than a few words from you, only the necesary. And that suffering only increase when they find out that when you go out of the temple you visit all the creatures that had helped you, the ones that protected you since the first day and that you allow them and only them to see your face, you feel comfortable enough with them to take out your mask and you even smile at them, they are allowed to heard your voice filled with happiness and love, they understand but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, the guilt they feel only increase and is eating them alive

The Archons are suffering the most, they are supoused to be the closest to you and yet they were easily fooled by and made suffer their true creator, they ordered their people to hunt you down and kill you without mercy, the person that gave them everything, the person they were supoused to love and protect. The regret and guilt is too much to handle even for them, it makes them wish death, but dying is too merciful of a fate for them and they know it

[deathworlders-of-e24]

Jane, Medical Technician

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sorry I’m late doctor, this ship is huge.” Jane hadn’t realized until she got on board that her quarters were halfway across the ship and a full deck up from her work station in the Med Bay. She was going to have to fabricate some more sensible shoes at this rate. She wished she could have her own synthetic tree put into the med bay, just roll outta the hammock and get straight to work, but those perks belonged to the head doctor on the ship.

“It’s fine, it’s just day one,” said Doctor Huhuma, brushing it off with a wave of her furred hand. “I think I can trust these people to go at least a week without almost dying.”

While Jane Shaw was a doctor in her own right, the head physician on board the Noah was Doctor Huhuma, an Indoprime, something akin to the moneys on E24 in the Terran system, locally called Earth. They were so similar in fact that multiple ongoing studies were being conducted to see if they had any common genetic ancestry. Indoprimes stood just as tall as humans on two legs, with two arms that hung down to their torsos. The only real difference was the fur and semi prehensile tails.

“We’ve only left the station a few hours ago, what could have happened? I think today will be quiet at least,” Jane joked. As if the universe heard her and quietly whispered ‘bet’, the door to Med Bay hissed opened and in walked one of the engineers with a thin length of pipe all the way through their arm. Their green blood was a stark contrast to their gray skin and jumpsuit, and their face was turning ashen.

“Oh for- why?” Doctor Huhuma rushed over to the fresh patient. “Thanks for that, Jinxed Jane. Grab a kit, I’ll get him on the table. You had to say the Q-word, huh?”

God damnit, Jane thought. Hours into a first shift and the nickname has already come up. Jinxed Jane had followed her all throughout her residency on Earth and apparently it’d made its way into her GAIL file too.

You accidentally bump a few nurses during surgery and they never let you forget it, she thought miserly. There was a reason she was trying to get away from people who knew her. Jinxed Jane was one of them.

She grabbed a kit from the shelves and brought it to the table, handing the med scanner to the doctor.

“Thank you…sorry. For the-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jane didn’t want to think about it.

The little gray guy on the table was breathing hard. His life wasn’t in any danger, thankfully, but the pipe was only a half inch thinner than his arm. Jane recognized his species from the crew list, he was one of the Gally. Apparently they’d been to earth a ton of times in the past, abducting cattle and occasionally leaving crop circles as a joke. They’d actually shown up so often that the Gally were the default for ‘Alien’ in pop culture in the Terran System. Throughout the Galaxy and especially the GAIL member planets, the Gally were known to be obnoxious pranksters of the highest order.

“Oouuuch,” said the Gally, wincing at the pain.

“Get him a shot of something good for the pain, this’ll take a second.” The med scanner wasn’t done compiling.

“On it.” Jane grabbed a dose of multi-species painkiller from the kit, took the cap off with her teeth, and jabbed it into his thigh. Almost immediately the Gally relaxed.

“Laser wave scalpel, please,” Doctor Huhuma asked.

“Here.” Jane handed her the tool quickly, a short cylinder tapered on one end. The doctor clicked it on and a red beam several centimeters long sprouted from the tip.

“Cover his eyes for me, this might throw sparks.”

“Got it, Doc.”

Jane grabbed a surgical mask and slipped it on the Gally’s face, then took a stainless steel tray and used it to shield their eyes. Huhuma leaned down and with one hand covering her eyes, she used the laser saw to cut the pipe as close to the skin as possible. The Gally flinched at first so Jane put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him as best she could.

The pipe fell, one end red hot, and Huhuma caught it with her tail before it hit the floor.

“Okay,” the doctor said, “easy part is done, this is where it will probably be awful for you.”

“How?” The Gally asked, speaking for the first time other than slight groans of pain.

“Why don’t you tell us your name so we can get this filed away after we’re done?”

“I’m an engineer below decks, my name is Simms of the Gall-”

Huhuma pulled the pipe out the other side of his arm, causing Simms to break off his introduction for a yelp of pain. The doctor quickly took the tissue regenerator, commonly called a Patch Box, and started closing up the wound.

“Well, Simms of the Gally, my name is Doctor Huhuma, and this is Doctor Shaw. You’re our very first patient on this ship, and let me tell you, I wasn’t expecting anything to happen before we left the system, so while I go start the paperwork, Doctor Shaw is going to finish up for me.”

Huhuma handed over the device before walking calmly into her office. Jane wasn’t sure but she thought she heard a long sigh before the door closed, but that could’ve just been the door’s hydraulics.

“I don’t believe she likes me,” Simms said.

“Oh you’re fine, she’s just…settling into the ship, I suppose. So yeah, like she said, I’m Doctor Jane Shaw, and I suppose I’ll be your doctor now, so it’s nice to meet you, though I’m wondering how you got a pipe through your arm.”

“Oh, that.” Apparently it was possible for people with gray skin to blush. They just got a little darker in the cheeks.

“I kinda deserved it. One of the other humans in engineering, Thomas I think, was doing something weird with the drone he picked up, and we thought it’d be funny to prank him.”

“What was he doing?”

“Well it’s a service drone, it shouldn’t even be active right now right? He’s got one of the ones that crawls into maintenance channels and fixes the wiring, and he’s got it playing one of your human’s game things, and he’s just talking to it like a person, for hours!”

“And what did you do?”

“Well, we thought about cabling his shoes to the catwalk but I, uhh, slipped and fell into some exposed pipping.”

“Hence the arm.”

“Yes, hence my arm.”

“So you could say if you hadn’t been being a jerk, this could’ve been avoided. Can’t wait to tell your primary care giver that her crew are idiots and jerks. Leave the guy alone, if he’s not hurting anything then it doesn’t matter.”

“What, do you know the guy? He your friend or something?”

Jane didn’t particularly like the tone of the conversation anymore, but wanted to be professional.

“Never met the guy, but if you keep coming in here for pointless procedures like this, the chances of you getting the wrong doses are gonna get pretty high.”

Professional. Right.

“Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend the humans, we’ll leave him alone, okay?” Simms seemed way more afraid than Jane figured he should be, but rolled with it.

“Good. Now, how would you rate your care today?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aside from the rough start, the day in the Med Bay went by relatively easily. Jane met the nurses and other support staff she’d be working with, and they all seemed very nice. A couple of the senior officers came down to introduce themselves to Doctor Huhuma and herself, and the 3 other Indoprime came down to have lunch together in the office, primarily fruits and such. Jane went to the mess hall and enjoyed small talk with a delightful short haired alien that she almost immediately forgot the name of.

It wasn’t until she was coming back to the Med Bay that things took a turn. Rounding the corner, Jane saw the door to Med Bay open and a very suspicious looking Simms the Gally come out, looking both ways down the hall before practically jogging down to the corner and out of sight.

Jane sped up and ducked her head into the clinic. There was a giant string of crop circles on the wall drawn in what looked like an oil paint.

Now, she wasn’t sure when she started sprinting, but before she knew it, Jane was already within 20 yards of Simms the Gally.

“YOU LITTLE FUCKER!”

Simms spun around, eyes wide.

“Oh shit what the fu-”

That was as far as he got before she tackled him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doctor Huhuma watched the door while Doctor Jane Shaw watched the gray alien known as Simms the Gally sponge wash the crop circles off the Med Bay wall.

“So when in this big plan of yours did you think it was a good idea to piss off your doctors?” Jane asked, arms crossed.

“When I thought you’d still be in the mess hall for another 30 seconds.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Huhuma laughed, the sound coming from deep in her chest. Jane smiled at her. It was a good, hearty kind of laugh. It suited her.

“So are you guys gonna tell the captain about this?”

Jane thought for a second, then turned to Huhuma and shrugged.

“Your call boss.”

“I think if you just clean this place up…once a week, till we tell you otherwise, we could keep this to ourselves.”

Simms the Gally groaned, but kept scrubbing.

Jane the human laughed.

Huhuma the Indoprime smiled at her.

Liking the new job so far, Jane thought. This’ll be fun.

[nataliasquote]

I Know What You Are | n romanoff

Summary: The bane of Natasha’s existence had finally slipped up but when sent to eliminate her, feeling get in the way far too easily.

Warnings: blood, weapons, character death (oops), angst with no happy ending :)

wc: 5.9k (I got really carried away!)

note: this is part 2 of the ideas that were given to me by @katyaromanoffpetrova so thank you love ❤️ this was fun

-⧗-

“I’ve got your six,” a familiar voice crackled through the redhead’s earpiece. She rolled her shoulders back and adjusted her grip on her gun, eyes darting across the smoke covered landscape that loomed before her. They’d picked a good vantage point but it was far too exposed for the assassin’s liking.

Natasha turned away from the edge and nodded to Clint, who’s arrow was already strung in his bow, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Her flash of red hair was the last thing he saw before she disappeared down the dark stairwell and back out onto the street.

“How long are we going to be circling like this, Nat?” Clint asked, a little out of breath as he finally caught up to his partner. Her eyes were distant, darting between the loosened bricks of the wall they were currently hiding behind. “Are you sure she’s here?”

“She is, I can feel it.” The echoes of gunfire and explosions rattled through their skulls, although the assassins were quite deaf to it now. Clint more than Nat. They clearly weren’t the only ones disturbed by the actions of one woman and her organisation.

A particularly loud bang went off nearby and Clint winced, his hand flying up to the hearing aid in his right ear. Natasha would have sent her best friend a sympathetic look if something hadn’t caught her eye across the desolate square.

A flash of silver, glinting in the orange sunlight as golden hour descended across the war zone.

“Got her.” Natasha scrambled up from her place and raced after the dark figure, her movements as silent and deadly as the night. Frustration spurred her onwards. This woman had been the source of Shield’s stress for months, but that was all about to end.

Her target’s preferred methods rather intrigued Natasha, who was all about efficiency when it came to killing. Guns were always in her arsenal, widow bites too. Her thighs often felt empty without a full holster. But the mystery woman never touched a gun. She was a master with a blade, stabbing and slashing her enemies with a brutal grace, silently dancing across the battlefield leaving disaster in her wake.

She was a free spirit, which drove Natasha mad. No one should be allowed this amount of freedom with her track history and there was no way Natasha was going to return to Shield empty handed. Not today.

The cacophony of noise ceased suddenly and Natasha felt Clint’s presence on the rooftop to her right. The hazy air was still so Natasha stuck to the shadows, the rough brick pressing through the fabric on her suit as she skulked around a corner.

But a sharp pain struck the back of her knee and she collapsed to the ground, a grunt of pain escaping her chapped lips.

A five inch blade thrown with horrifying accuracy had lodged itself in her upper calf ,only inches away from her knee. The pain was nauseating, but Natasha barely had a chance to properly process it before two dust covered boots stepped into her eyeline. With another grunt, she looked up at the figure before her, determined not to show pain on her face.

Her icy glare was met with a mask-covered face, one she knew well. The black mask was made of hard plastic and resembled two hands that covered the wearer’s mouth and nose - basically a muzzle. But playfully glinting eyes peaked over it and it was obvious they were paired with a smirk. Gloved hands twirled a knife, almost daring Natasha to step up and attack. But the redhead had been knocked off her game by those very eyes that taunted her.

She knew them…

Too well.

She used to love them. And as those gloved hands moved to slowly lift the mask from her face, Natasha felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach.

“Y/n?” She dared to ask, voice barely above a whisper. She got no reply, but the subtle tensing of her opponent’s muscles told her all she needed to know. Fate was laughing at her. The woman she thought had been ripped away from her when they were teenagers was now towering above her, forcing suppressed memories of the Red Room to come crashing down onto both women, leaving them breathless.

This moment of hesitation was all Clint needed to fire, but Y/n was one step ahead. She’d seen him on the roof and knew what he was waiting for, so by the time his arrow had implanted itself into the wall, she had disappeared into the smoke, leaving Natasha alone. The knife in her leg and the rubble indenting her skin did nothing to shake her from her mind, still staring into the empty space where the woman had just been.

Clint came rushing over and dropped to his knee to inspect Natasha’s wounds. He didn’t dare address how much his best friend looked like she’d seen a ghost, pale face and wide eyes and not just from blood loss.

“Cmon, we have to get out here.” He hooked his arms under hers and tried to get her to stand, but Natasha was far too spaced out too even notice what he was trying to do. But Clint’s main concern was the knife. He couldn’t pull it out lest she bled out before they made the jet, but Natasha couldn’t exactly walk far either.

He propped her up against the wall and lightly tapped her face a few times, her green eyes shooting back to his.

“Where did she go?” She asked, suddenly breathless.

“I really don’t know. But you need to get to medical, Nat. We have to let her go.”

“I knew her. Oh my god, I knew her, Clint. Why is she here?” Clint didn’t know how to answer. Part of him thought she was just rambling nonsense from the bloodloss, but a small part of him knew she was making sense. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out where they knew each other from.

“We’ll figure it out when we’re back.” His eyes widened as Natasha’s hand gravitated to the knife lodged in her calf. He reached for her hands, holding them up and away from her injury.

“Clint,” she warned, trying to pull her hands away. “Let me pull it out and we can go after her.”

Clint had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Natasha’s stubbornness was infuriating sometimes. “That’s not gonna happen. She’s gone, Nat, and you need medical attention. Fury wouldn’t be impressed if you bled out from a knife wound.”

Natasha glared at him but stopped struggling and allowed him to help her limp back to the jet. They’d parked on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, so the stairs were a killer. Natasha’s lip bled from how hard she was biting it to muffle her cries of pain.

But the moment she sank down into her seat, memories flooded her mind, both positive and negative, but all involving Y/n. She wasn’t fifteen years old anymore with eyes full of hope, but the same spark was still there, one Natasha had fallen in love with.

What had happened to her?

~~~

The low clunk of a heavy metal door echoed through the chamber, three pairs of footsteps following suit. A female assassin, flanked by two guards, made her way to the centre of the room, her mask resting loosely between her fingers as her eyes remained fixed on the cracks in the concrete floor. The lighting was harsh, yellow bulbs buzzing, making her eye twitch.

Hushed voices became silent as she was presented before them and Y/n knew what was about to happen. She’d lived this day a thousand times.

“Agent,” one of the men called out, his voice gruff. “Mission report.”

“There was an ambush. I could not complete the mission, Sir.” Her eyes remained at her feet but she felt the air in the room shift and the guards beside her tense up. No one failed a mission in Hydra.

A pair of boots approached her and stopped only inches away. A calloused hand firmly gripped her chin and tilted her head up to the light, fingers bruising the skin on her jaw. “We taught you not to fail,” he spat, jerking his hand to emphasise his words. Y/n didn’t flinch. “All of your training, everything we’ve done for you and this is how you repay us?”

“There was a complication.”

He jerked her jaw again, forcing her to look him in the eye. “What complication?”

“The Avengers were there. I couldn’t-”

The sound of a fist slamming on a metal table made her jump and her mask clattered to the ground. The Avengers were a sore spot, and judging by the amount of Russian curse words intermingled with the Avengers’ name in only a few sentences, that hadn’t changed in the three days she’d been gone.

The agent in front of her returned to the group and Y/n finally took a breath, readjusting her jaw after its rough treatment. Although she worked willingly for Hydra, Y/n wasn’t that bothered with keeping track of exactly who they hated each week. She just did as she was told and breathed through the punishments that followed after. Work was work, unfortunately for her, and Hydra provided food and a roof over her head. Luxuries, as far as she was concerned.

A door opened to her right and she watched from the corner of her eye as a figure slipped through, sticking to the shadowed walls on instinct. The glint of a metal arm gave her a weird sense of peace and she turned to meet his eyes, his gaze softening as he looked at her.

“Soldat,” Pierce called, finally rising from his chair after staying silent for so long. He smiled slyly at Y/n who only ignored him. “Take our prized possession to the training room and make sure she never fails again. Use whatever measures you have to.” He directed his orders at Bucky who clenched his metal fist and grabbed Y/n/s forearm, dragging her out of the room.

Neither spoke a word until they reached the training room, just as dark and cold as the rest of the facility. You’d think an organisation like Hydra would have the funds to buy some decent light bulbs. All this yellow light was on Y/n’s last nerve.

Bucky threw her down onto the mats and stood with his arms behind his back as he watched the woman try to get her breath back. He didn’t intend to wind her, but the cameras in every corner were monitored so he couldn’t go easy on her.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his hair swinging beside his face and hiding his lips from view. Y/n waved him off and climbed to her feet, bringing her fists up to her face and setting her feet in a fighting stance. The cameras had no audio, so as long as they fought and he got a good few punches in, no one would suspect anything different.

“Don’t. Just hit me.” They circled each a few times, blocking a couple of punches but nothing major until Bucky grabbed Y/n’s arm and trapped her in a headlock, squeezing just tight enough that her airways were constricted. She tapped out and regained her position before they fought again, this time with her sending a few hits to his stomach.

“I need to ask you about something,” Y/n said through gritted teeth, deflecting a series of punches. Bucky grunted, which was his way of saying ‘go ahead’. “You know when you saw Steve for the first time since… you know, how did you handle it?”

Something shifted behind his eyes at the mention of his old best friend and he sent a strong left hook towards Y/n’s jaw, metal colliding with the bone with a crack. Her head whipped to the side and she let out a cry of pain, palm coming up to cradle her cheek. Bucky just watched for a moment before pulling her in front of him and forcing her to fight. They both hated this, but Y/n’s punishment would be ten times worse if he didn’t get enough good hits in. And Y/n preferred to be bruised by him than some old guard with unbridled rage and unchecked anger issues. Not a good mix.

“Was that not the right thing to ask?” How she could joke with a cracked cheekbone and bruised ribs was beyond Bucky, but humour seemed to be her preferred coping mechanism so he let her at it.

“It’s fine.” His words were more of a grumble than anything, but Y/n was used to that. He wanted to help, but you had to read deep between the lines. “I smashed several helicopters and almost killed him.” Wasn’t quite the response Y/n was expecting, or needed, really. “But they did brainwash me so I don’t suppose that helps.”

“Well, kind of?” Bucky narrowed his eyes and ducked, avoiding a punch before sending a kick to the back of Y/n’s knees. She wobbled but stayed upright, kicking him in the ribs to buy herself a couple of seconds of breathing time.

“Why do you ask? Did you see him?” It wasn’t hope that interjected his words, but Y/n noticed a flicker of something she couldn’t place a finger on.

“No, but I saw someone who reminded me of the same thing. Someone I thought I’d lost.” Natasha’s eyes, full of recognition and aspiration filled her mind and for a moment she faltered, lost in the dizzying memory, encapsulated by a flaming halo of hair. The scar in her eyebrow, her full lips, the ash that had settled on her black tactical suit; all flooding back and hitting Y/n like a truck.

She barely realised she was on the ground until she felt Bucky pin her arms above her head. She just stared into his eyes, a crease between her brows, unable to shake Natasha from her mind. Bucky watched her for a second before slapping her across the face.

“I’m sorry. Again.” He helped her to her feet. “But if they find out you know someone on the other side, they’ll do it to you too.” She’d watched many of his brainwashing sessions and even supervised when he’d come out of cryofreeze and none of it looked the slightest bit appealing. “I don’t want that for you.” She was the only good thing about this place and for his own sanity, he couldn’t lose her too.

“They couldn’t do that to me,” she said with a cocky smirk, her eyebrows quirking upwards. “I’m too valuable. Besides, Natalia won’t forget me again and would probably go on a killing spree if that happened.” Bucky shot her a look. “You’re right. That’s more my style.”

Bucky rolled his eyes slightly, unable to smile at her words. He was supposed to be an emotionless killer - they couldn’t know he had a soft spot for her.

“Luckily for you, you won’t see her again,” he said, swiping her legs from underneath her and sending her crashing to the floor. She scowled and scrambled up, jumping to wrap her thighs around his head in an attempt to bring him down. “It’s better that way.”

“Who says I won’t?” Y/n used her momentum to swing herself around, feeling his hands grip her thighs. “I want- I have to see her again. So I will.”

Successfully flooring him with an ‘a-ha’, Y/n straddled his waist and held her forearm to his throat. But she didn’t expect him to suddenly flip them both and mirror her actions, pushing her down into the thin mats and letting the cold seep through her suit as he held her there.

“So what, you’re going to kidnap her?”

Unbothered by her compromised position, Y/n just smirked, relaxing her body as she accepted defeat. “Who said anything about kidnapping?”

~~~

“Natasha, it’s a trap.” Clint was trying to talk some sense into his best friend, who was clearly having none of it.

“You think I don’t know that?” She gave him a look and returned to fixing her belt. “I’m prepared for this, so please stop stressing.”

“Oh, well forgive me for being sceptical seeing as the last time you encountered her she threw a knife into your knee,” Clint remarked with his arms folded over his chest. Natasha just rolled her eyes and stood up, adjusting her collar.

“I’m going to be ok,” she reassured, although her words fell on deaf ears. “I know who I’m dealing with.”

Clint looked into her eyes for a moment, trying to find a hint of doubt behind her bright green irises. But he found nothing but confidence, as usual. “But, do you?”

Whether it was part of her plan, no one knew, but Natasha walked straight into the trap with her head held high. It was easy, too easy. Natasha knew it, Y/n knew it. Yet that changed nothing. The blindfold was tugged from her eyes and she blinked, trying to adjust the dim light above her. The bulb only cast a small pool of light that spread not far from her chair, plunging the rest of the room into an eerie darkness. There was no sound, no gunfire or wind howling, and no windows as far as she could see. But her assessment of her surroundings was cut short when a figure stepped into view.

A small woman, slim, but muscular and toned enough to make it known that she could take down anyone of any size. Her posture was impeccable and she balanced a small blade between her fingers as if it were a feather and not a deadly weapon. Her lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t all that inviting or warm. The yellowy light cast shadows across her face as she observed her hostage for a few seconds.

“I thought interrogations were supposed to be your thing, Natalia.” The way her old name dripped off her tongue was like sweet honey and Natasha clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the woman prowling in front of her. Sure, she could get out of the ties around her wrists, but something kept her there. A desire to learn more about her. “You gave up pretty easily.”

“You know damn well I didn’t give up,” she spat, glaring up at the woman who was now standing so close their legs brushed. “I came willingly.”

“Oh I know,” the woman said with a smile, tracing the sharpness of the redhead’s jaw with her knife. “You can’t resist me.” Her Russian accent was thick and had Natasha completely transfixed. The tip of the knife trailed down to her collarbones so gently. “I didn’t think it would take years though.”

“I knew where you were.” Not exactly a lie - she’d been tracking Y/n’s work for years. She just didn’t know it was Y/n behind the killing sprees and assassinations.

“You break my heart.” There was a mischievous sparkle behind her eyes and it frustrated Natasha to no end. “Guess you thought you were too good for me now, huh? All caught up in your Avengers business and no time left for me.” She pouted like a child.

Natasha looked up at the dim light above her head before answering. It was cliche really, tied to a chair in the middle of a damp room with only a single string bulb as a light source. But the woman before her was far more calculated than she ever let on, so Natasha knew it was part of some much bigger plan.

“Well I can’t exactly have a coffee with the enemy,” she said sarcastically. “The Avengers would take you in if you stopped murdering people for no reason.”

“Ha!” She spat out, turning back around to face Natasha, her knife spinning casually between her fingers. “Avengers. What a pathetic excuse for an organisation. You think they mean well, and that’s just adorable really.”

“They’re not pathetic.” If there was one thing Natasha was protective about, it was her family. “Take a look at who you work for, you’ll find some pretty pathetic business going on there.”

Y/n’s eyes darkened. “Hydra is not stupid. At least our scientists actually do something useful instead of pottering about building metal suits.” A jab at Tony Stark. Classy.

“Yeah sure, if you call illegal human experimentation ‘useful’.”

Y/n let out a soft laugh. “Don’t get all big and bossy with me,” she replied, watching as Natasha’s stony expression cracked slightly. “The twins signed themselves up, I did nothing.”

“You lured them in.”

“What can I say, I’m irresistible.” She winked at Natasha and disappeared into the shadows, leaving a very disgruntled redhead alone.

To say she was the most annoying person Natasha had ever met was a severe understatement. That woman got under her skin and just festered there, and no amount of focus would ever make her go away.

Whether she was knocked out or drugged, Natasha didn’t know, but when she next woke the room was a lot brighter and her hands were no longer tied behind her back. Y/n sat opposite her, the same blade laying flat in her palm.

“Took you long enough.” This wasn’t the same place as before and Natasha reached for her belt, wanting to feel protected. “Don’t. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s reassuring, considering you kidnapped me.”

Y/n finally looked up and scoffed, pushing her chair back so it scraped harshly across the wooden floorboards. “I did not kidnap you. We went over this Natalia. You came willingly.”

“And then you tied me up.” Natasha gestured to her wrists, now free of course.

“What can I say, I’m into that kind of thing.”

Natasha sighed. This was her chance. She wasn’t restrained, Y/n seemed relaxed and no one else was around. She could save a lot of lives, and her own ass by killing Y/n now. But somehow she couldn’t shake the memory of all the stolen kisses and touches they’d shared within the icy confines of the Red Room. How that young girl had been through so much and yet still felt so familiar sitting in the chair opposite.

“Y/n,” she started, switching her approach completely. “What happened to you?” The woman looked up, eyes dark, scanning across every inch of the redhead’s face.

“Why would you care anyway?” Her witty sarcasm was gone, replaced by a steel wall behind her eyes that fully blocked Natasha out. The redhead plagued her mind and tugged at the knot in her stomach, but she refused to let it win.

“You were there, and then you left. And I never knew why.”

“No. I didn’t leave. You did, Natalia.” Her tone was accusatory as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You left me alone in that place and you let them take me.”

“I didn’t leave you. They told me you got out, escaped, so I asked to go on more missions. I couldn’t bear it there without you.” Natasha’s voice dropped on the last few words, almost scared to admit her feelings out loud. How could she? The woman she swore to love for the rest of her life had broken her heart to the point where she had never loved anyone since.

“And you believed what they told you?” Natasha said nothing. “Somehow you manage to escape and you don’t come looking for me. We had a promise, Natalia. No matter what, we’d find each other. What happened to that?” Y/n was no longer a deadly Hydra agent gripping the handle of her knife like she was ready to send it flying into a target. No. She was a little girl again, holding onto promises as the last sign of hope in her life. Holding onto Natasha’s pinky finger with her own like their lives depended on it.

Noticing that Natasha didn’t want to break the silence, she continued. “Do you know how hard it is to find work with our skill set? For the ‘good guys’, I mean. You got lucky.” There was a hint of resentment in her words and it hit Natasha in the stomach. “When you tell people you’re an assassin for hire, they usually want to throw you into a penitentiary or shoot you dead right there and then. I had no choice.”

“If you knew where I was, then why didn’t you come and find me?”

Y/n hesitated for a moment. “You didn’t need me ruining what you’ve already got here.” This amount of vulnerability made Y/n’s skin crawl, but all her usual standards seemed to fly out of the window when Natasha was around. It had done ever since they were barely teenagers, soft lips pressed against each other in the gentlest of kisses. The fear of getting caught was worthless when compared to the comfort they had found within each other. “Besides, if I went after an Avenger, we’d both be dead.”

“They gave me a second chance, they would give you one too. You just have to prove it.” Natasha rose from her seat and joined the other woman who had moved to look out of the water-damaged window. “I can see how much you hate it, Y/n.”

“Hate what?”

“Working for Hydra. I can see it.”

Her grip tightened around her knife and Natasha took a step back. “No, they gave me everything.” But her words weren’t as convincing as she intended them to be, her lack of will to live and keep fighting catching up with her. “I owe them everything.”

“But Shield can give you more. You deserve to have something good.” Natasha squared her shoulders and reached out to place a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “No more pain, no more manipulation. You get to call the shots, make your own decisions.” Y/n wasn’t convinced. “We’d get a second chance too.” Her nose scrunched slightly, unable to gauge how Y/n would respond to her last words.

Y/n looked down at her hands, avoiding Natasha’s gaze and trying not to focus on how comforting her touch felt. She stared at the blood that had dried under her fingernails. It never seemed to fade, no matter how hard she scrubbed. She wanted so desperately to run, leave her problems behind like she’d always done. But part of her clung onto the prospect of a second chance with Natalia - she’d craved her warmth for over a decade.

Natasha saw the conflict flicker behind the woman’s eyes, a stark contrast to the sarcastic and confident front she’d put on only hours before. She was exhausted, anyone could see that and Natasha knew all too well what it was like to want to stop running. To stop fighting for other people and start fighting for yourself.

“Why are you doing this? I thought you came here to kill me?” Y/n’s eyes turned icy and she pulled her body away from Natasha, distancing herself once again. But the emotion in her voice couldn’t be masked, and it made Natasha’s expression soften.

“I made a different call.”

Y/n bit her lip, the knife between her fingers spinning rapidly but controlled. “I don’t deserve this second chance, Natalia. Just do what you came to do, earn yourself some more brownie points for the boss.” Her jaw clenched and Natasha pulled her gun from the holster. But instead of firing it, she simply slid it along the dusty floorboards, along with her belt full of weapons. Y/n scoffed at her actions, holding her knife as firmly as she could, but the tremble in her fingers gave her away. She didn’t mean this. Any of it.

“Well that was stupid.”

But her movements were suddenly halted. The door to Natasha’s left crashed down and three figures burst in, firing shots at Y/n before Natasha had a chance to protest. They’d seen the knife and reacted, ignoring the way Natasha yelled at them. The women threw themselves down onto the ground, Natasha shielding Y/n’s body with her own.

“Stand down!” She yelled, holding Y/n against the floor whilst turning over her shoulder. Steve, Clint and Sam stood in the doorway, weapons aimed and pointing at the assassins on the floor. “I didn’t signal anything!”

“You’d been gone for hours Nat, we had no choice. Fury gave the order.” Natasha ignored Clint’s words as Y/n groaned beneath her. Their weapons were still aimed at the Hydra agent despite Natasha’s glare.

The redhead slowly removed her hands and went to help Y/n sit up, but then she noticed the blood. It was visible even through her dark suit and Y/n gingerly pressed her hand to her stomach before pulling it away with a frown.

“I don’t know if we’ll get that second chance, Natalia,” she whispered, looking up at terrified green eyes. “You’ll have to do it on your own.”

“No, don’t say that.” Natasha replaced Y/n’s hands and began to press down on the wound, muttering her apologies as Y/n whined in pain. “You’re going to be ok.”

‘I want to be good, Natalia. I really wanted to be good.” Her words were strained as blood continued to pour from her wounds, coating Natasha’s hands instantly.

“I know, Y/n, I know. You will be, just stay with me please.” She pressed down harder, tears blurring her vision as she felt blood pooling beneath her palms. No one was listening to her cries for help- why weren’t they listening?

Y/n weakly grabbed Natasha’s wrist and pulled her hands off her wound, shaking her head at Natasha’s protests. She could taste metal on her tongue and the redhead’s face faded in and out of focus as she tried to shakily cup her cheek.

“Natalia-”

“No!” Natasha’s lip trembled and she shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Y/n/s grip. “You’re not leaving me now, I swear to god. You can be good, I know you can.” Y/n smiled weakly, barely conscious now as blood trickled from her lips. “Please, I just got you back! I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me, I’ll always be here.” Her nose scrunched up at how cheesy it sounded as she reached her hand up to point to Natasha’s chest. “Right here.”

“No, no, no. Don’t talk like that! You’re not giving up on me, Y/n. Pain only makes you stronger, come on!” She was just spewing words now, her sentences all jumbled and barely making sense as she pressed down on the wound. Y/n smiled up at her and tried to squeeze her thigh where her hand rested. But the energy in her body was fading fast and she could do nothing but look Natasha in the eyes in her final moments, wanting to memorise that specific colour one last time.

When her hand slipped to the floor with a thud, Natasha’s heart stopped. An eerie silence fell across the room, the feeling of death weighted like a blanket. The redhead didn’t make a sound, her sobs silent despite the tears trickling down her flushed cheeks. A stark contrast to her pale skin.

“No,” she shakily whispered, pushing Y/n’s hair back out of her face with a bloodied hand. “I’m sorry.” She cupped her bruised cheek and brushed her thumb over it, finally feeling her skin under her hand for the first time in years. It wasn’t as soft as she remembered, years worth of scars destroying the surface, but it was still perfect to her all the same.

Tears mixed with the blood and created a watery mixture that dripped down off Y/n’s chin and into the collar of her suit. Natasha dropped her head to rest on the other woman’s chest, hands moving to grip her shoulders tightly as though she might disappear. The redhead kept muttering apologies, wanting to make up for all the time they’d lost, even if it was fruitless.

The three men in the doorway shifted uncomfortably, the scene before them an unexpected one. “Natasha-“ Clint began, taking a step towards the redhead.

“What did you do?” Her voice was dangerously low and she slowly turned around, Y/n’s hand now clasped in hers. “Look what you did!”

Sam and Steve hung their heads, not wanting to see anymore of the dead woman across the room. Clint was just focused on his distraught best friend, who’s hands now matched the colour of her hair.

“Nat, we need to go-“

“Then go,” she spat. “I’m not leaving her.”

Clint let out a sigh and slung his bow over his shoulder. He gestured to Steve to help, who looked rather uncomfortable but followed anyway. “Well bring her with us-“

“What, so you can parade her in front of Fury and show off? Yes, well done, target eliminated! You don’t touch her!” Natasha was clawing and kicking as Steve pulled her to her feet. She held onto Y/n’s hand for as long as possible before Clint gently tugged it free, triggering an outburst from Natasha.

She was a mess of limbs, uncharacteristically uncoordinated as she struggled against Steve’s body as he guided her out of the room, practically carrying her as she refused to walk. The whole time she screamed out for Y/n, her voice growing more hoarse by the second. She took no interest in her surroundings, the dimly lit stairwell not even registering in her mind. All her spy training had completely vanished.

She was placed onto one of the benches in the jet and she watched, a shaking mess, as Clint placed Y/n’s limp body on the floor opposite, blood no longer pouring from her stomach. Natasha stayed frozen in her seat, knees pulled up to her chest as a defence mechanism. She didn’t care that there was blood on her hands, nor that it transferred onto her cheek when she wiped her nose. No, she didn’t care about anything except the woman lying in front of her.

The lifeless woman.

She wanted to scream but it was as if all the emotions had drained out of her body like a flood. She was numb, just staring with empty eyes, the light behind them barely flickering now. Clint shot worried glances in her direction once the jet was in the sky, and Steve and Sam stayed well away, not wanting to fall under the wrath of an extremely angry and emotional Natasha.

Not that she cared what the others did. She just wanted the one thing she couldn’t have. Fate had shown her time and time again that it was not on her side, but this truly was her final straw. There was no fixing this.

They had found and lost each other within the space of a months. But this time there were no second chances. It was set in stone, just like Y/n’s name would be for the rest of time.

Maybe, in another lifetime, they would finally meet again.

Maybe, in another universe, Natasha Romanoff could truly be happy.

[nameless-ken]

Silent Confessions, Loud Masks - Billy Hargrove x Reader Series

I'm so excited about my brand new series! Not going to lie this first chapter was difficult for me to write. I have a serious battle with the dreaded delete button!

Anyways, hope you all enjoy this first chapter. It truly means a lot to me how excited you have been for this series <3 Comment below to be added to the taglist.

(Please reblog!!!)

Happy reading!

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: mostly angst with some slight rude remarks/bullying

Introduction to the series here!

Masterlist

(had this song in my head while writing this chapter)

In the tumultuous whirlwind of your teenage existence, embarking on your final year of high school, you've recently become aware of a singular truth: put full trust into the future that stretches far beyond the grasp of your present moment. Amidst the unexpected certainties that await, there's one you never anticipated – Billy Hargrove.

Billy reigns as the new king of Hawkins High, his “coronation” following the departure of Steve "The Hair" Harrington. He embodies the archetype of a manic attention-seeker, parading through the halls with a rotating carousel of girls, each week presenting a fresh face to the crowded hallways. It's a spectacle that leaves you utterly perplexed, unable to fathom the allure that draws countless girls into his orbit, only to be summarily discarded days later.

Thankfully, you've managed to maintain a safe distance from Billy and his band of lunatics, skillfully navigating the school corridors to avoid any unwanted encounters. While you share a few classes with his entourage, you've strategically positioned yourself in the front row, creating a buffer zone that shields you from their antics.

However, fate has a penchant for upheaval, as evidenced by your first detention – a consequence of arriving late to homeroom on three separate occasions. As you begrudgingly endure the mind-numbing 30-minute sentence after school, Robin, your loquacious best friend, offers her trademark blend of sympathy and sarcasm.

“They seriously gave you a detention for that? Couldn’t you pull the ‘I’m a straight A student who has never gotten in trouble before, please help dear little me this one time’ on them?” 

“Sadly no. I definitely tried to get out of it but they’ve been cracking down on a bunch of seniors for a couple weeks now.” 

“I'll wait up for you after band practice.” Robin slams her locker shut. 

“Thanks. See you later.” You turn to go down the opposite hallway than her. 

“Have fun troublemaker.” Robin pokes fun at your new “status” and you give her the finger back jokingly before you both wave and disappear down your own paths.

With a sigh, you resign yourself to the monotony of detention, selecting a seat near the window to alleviate the stifling atmosphere of confinement. The rules plastered on the board, NO FOOD. NO TALKING. STAY IN YOUR SEAT, serve as a constant reminder of the school’s misguided attempts at discipline.

You roll your eyes at the obnoxious nature of this situation. Why do schools think detention is ever going to work? You are put in a room for a certain amount of time with other delinquents. If anything you’re setting up a scenario for more trouble to happen. 

You pull out the current book you're reading, ignoring all the rest of the students who walk in. 

“Alright, welcome to detention. I have quite a lot of work to finish so I will be checking in periodically. When it’s your time to leave per your detention slip, come see me in my classroom and I’ll sign you out. Please respect the rules.” Mr. Thomson, the junior science teacher turned detention overseer, delivers a perfunctory address before retreating to his sanctuary, leaving the delinquent assembly to their own devices. 

Amidst the murmurs of discontent, Billy's name resonates like a discordant note, signaling the unwelcome intrusion of Hawkins High's reigning sovereign.

“Are we gonna flake out again Billy?” It didn’t even cross your mind about the possibility of being stuck in the same room as him.

“Can’t. I’ve skipped so many that they want to try and expel me.” 

“That'd be hardcore to see.” 

“Not to my dad it wouldn’t. Besides, it's not that bad. We have quite the sight sitting up there in the left corner today.” 

As Billy and his cohorts encroach upon your solitude, you bury your nose in your book in a feeble attempt to shield yourself from their presence. 

“Let’s have some fun.” You turn another page as footsteps echo towards you, stopping in front of your occupance. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.” 

You don’t give him the time of day in reality but in your head, you’re fighting with the embarrassment and attention he’s solely giving you right now. Billy's charisma knows no bounds, his toothy grin and smug demeanor penetrate your defenses with effortless ease.

“I’m Billy but you may already know that. What’s your name, little mouse?” Billy rests his hands face down on your desk, leaning in so his face is parallel with yours. 

“Such a quiet thing.” Ignoring his advances proves to be an exercise in futility as Billy's persistent pestering chips away at your resolve, culminating in a daring theft of your cherished book. Yet, you refuse to grant him the satisfaction of a response, maintaining a stoic facade despite the numerous emotions raging beneath the surface.

“It’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for.” His friend to the right chimes in. 

“There’s some ways I can think of to change that.” You look up, narrow eyes meeting Billy’s. He sends you a wink with his usual smirk resting on his face. 

“Not going to say anything?” You can feel your heart racing, hating the way he’s making you feel, more annoying that he’s causing any kind of reaction from you. 

The sudden arrival of Mr. Thomson offers a reprieve from Billy's relentless pursuit. 

“Y/N, you’re free to go.” He grants you an opportunity to escape the confines of Billy's gaze. As you hastily gather your belongings and make your exit, Billy's parting words linger in the air as he whispers close to your ear, “See you around little mouse.” 

Feeling like you could breathe again, you're greeted by a note from Robin stuck to your locker.

I got called into work :( Call me later - Robin

You groan inwardly, the frustration of detention compounded by the looming task of finding a new ride home. Billy and his entourage have succeeded in tainting what was already shaping up to be a less-than-ideal day. You trudge outside, seeking solace in the cool breeze that sweeps through the schoolyard.

The pleasant Indiana weather offers a small comfort, prompting you to forgo the immediate need for a ride and opt instead for a beautiful stroll to clear your mind. As you walk, you reach into your bag and retrieve your trusty cassette player, the familiar weight of it grounding you in the midst of chaos running through your mind. You mentally curse Billy for crowding every corner of your mind. 

With a deft motion, you slipbthe cassette into the player, the soft click of the mechanism soothing in its familiarity. The strains of your favorite mix fill the air, providing a welcome distraction from the events of the day.

Lost in the music, you barely notice the passing cars, each one a blur against the backdrop of your thoughts. That is, until a certain familiar shade of blue catches your eye, the sudden halt of the vehicle drawing your attention like a magnet.

You turn, locking eyes with Billy as he idles beside you, his presence an unwelcome intrusion on your solitary walk. His voice cuts through the quiet, laced with an air of amusement that irritates your nerves.

“Didn’t think we’d meet again this soon little mouse.” he remarks, his smirk evident even from the confines of his car.

You pause your tape, the rhythmic pulse of the music abruptly silenced as you face him, a mix of irritation and annoyance evident in your expression.

"What do you want, Billy?" you questione, the weariness of the day showing in your voice.

He chuckles, the sound grating on your nerves as he leanes casually against the driver's side door, his gaze fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.

"She speaks!" he exclaims, his laughter ringing out in the quiet of the street. "Need a ride somewhere?"

You bristle at the suggestion, your resolve hardening as you met his gaze with a steely glare.

"Not from you," you retort, tone firm and uncompromising.

“Oh come on, I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.” You rolle your eyes at his innuendo, a flush rising in your cheeks as you resist the urge to give in to his persistent advances.

"I don’t need your help, Billy.”

He relents, his expression shifting to one of mock innocence as he reaches over to open the passenger door, a silent invitation hanging in the air between you.

"Come on, little mouse," he urges, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Just this one time."

You hesitate, torn between pride and practicality, before ultimately capitulating to the inevitable. You step into the car, the door closing with a soft click behind you as you buckle yourself in.

"No speeding," you warn, your voice firm as Billy complies with a laugh, the car pulling away from the curb at a reasonable pace.

As you settle into the seat, a strange sense of calm washes over you, the tension of the day slowly dissipating in the confines of the car. Despite your reservations, there was an undeniable comfort in Billy's presence, a realization that both puzzles and unnerves you in equal measure.

“So are you going to tell me where you live or am I bringing you back to my house?” 

“I live near Curly. By that trailer park.” 

“Thought you lived more in the pristine area of the Wheelers and Harringtons.” 

“Well you thought wrong.” 

As Billy maneuveres through the streets, you couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort mixed with a strange intrigue. You steal glances at him, his confident demeanor and reckless charm contrasting sharply with your own cautious nature.

"Why'd you get detention anyway?" Billy's question broke the silence, his eyes briefly leaving the road to meet yours.

"Too many tardies to homeroom," you reply, keeping your answers short.

"That's it? Seems a bit harsh," he remarks, his tone genuinely curious.

You shrug, not wanting to delve into the details of your run-in with authority.

As the familiar landmarks of Hawkins pass by in a blur, you couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead, the uncertainty of the future looming large on the horizon. You couldn’t help but think if this would be the last time Billy would go out of his way to acknowledge you. 

Navigating the familiar streets of Hawkins alongside Billy, you're acutely aware of the palpable tension that simmers between you, a potent cocktail of unease but also lingering with intrigue. Though you strive to maintain a facade of indifference, the magnetic pull of Billy's presence proves undeniable, stirring emotions you've long sought to suppress.

You’re thankful the remainder of the drive passes by in a relative quiet, punctuated only by the loud rock n roll blasting from the radio. When you finally reach your destination, you find yourself hesitating before getting out of the car.

"Thanks for the ride," you say, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice.

Billy grins, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Anytime, little mouse."

With that, you step out onto the sidewalk, watching as Billy drives off into the distance. As you make your way towards your house, you couldn't shake the feeling that this chance encounter with Billy Hargrove was just the beginning of something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Little did you know, the lines between your world and the world of Hawkins' resident bad boy were about to blur in ways you never imagined possible.

The following day, you find yourself once again navigating the familiar halls of Hawkins High, the events of the previous day still fresh in your mind. As you settle into your seat in English class, you can’t seem to shake the lingering sense of unease that accompanies your newfound proximity to Billy Hargrove.

It’s the most infuriating feeling and you hate yourself for allowing him to overtake your waking thoughts all throughout your night and morning. 

The classroom buzzes with the usual chatter of students, the mundane rhythm of academic life marching on despite the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. As the bell rang, signaling the start of class, Ms. Paterson enters the room with her characteristic air of authority, a stack of papers in hand.

"Good morning, class," she greets as she makes her way to the front of the room. "Today, we'll be embarking on a new project that will count towards a significant portion of your grade for this year."

A collective groan echoes through the room at the mention of yet another assignment, but Ms. Paterson pays it no mind.

"As part of this project, you'll be working in pairs to research and present on a book report of your choosing," she announces, her gaze sweeping over the room as she distributed the assignment sheets. "I'll be assigning partners randomly, so I expect everyone to work together cooperatively."

Everyone exchanges a wary glance around the classroom, the prospect of being paired with someone like Billy Hargrove looming ominously in the air. As Ms, Paterson began calling out pairs, you held your breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

"Y/N, you'll be paired with... Billy Hargrove.”

You felt a sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach as Billy's name reverberated through the classroom, the weight of his presence suddenly suffocating in its proximity. You glance in his direction, meeting his gaze with a mixture of apprehension and resignation.

Billy, for his part, seemingly unfazed by the news, his trademark smirk firmly in place as he turned to face you with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of class, you found yourself hesitating by your desk, unsure of how to broach the subject of the upcoming project with your enigmatic partner.

Billy saunters over to your desk with his characteristic swagger, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"Well, looks like we're partners, little mouse" he remarks, his tone laced with amusement as he leans against the edge of your desk.

You fight to suppress the urge to roll your eyes at his cavalier attitude, instead meeting his gaze with a steely determination of your own.

"Yeah, looks like it," you reply as you gather your belongings.

Billy's smirk widens at your response, his gaze lingers on you with a mixture of curiosity and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"So, partner," he begins falling into step beside you as you both maneuver out of the classroom. "Where do you wanna meet up?"

You pause, considering your options carefully before responding. The thought of inviting Billy into your home sent a shiver of apprehension down your spine, but meeting up at his place didn't seem much better.

"How about we meet at the library?" you suggest, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. "It's neutral ground, and we'll have access to all the resources we need."

Billy raises an eyebrow at your suggestion, his smirk morphing into a grin of approval.

"Works for me," he nonchalantly responds. His tone surprises you at how agreeable it is and non combative about trying to get you into his bedroom. 

"4 pm. Don’t be late. I will not be waiting on you." You demand. 

“See you then, little mouse.” He winks, walking in the opposite direction. You groan internally at the use of that nickname he’s decided to give you. This is going to be a long year. 

As you and Robin sat on the bleachers in the gym during lunchtime, the rhythmic thud of basketballs hitting the court filled the air, punctuated by the occasional cheer from the squad as they practice their routines. Your eyes involuntarily flicker towards the court, where Billy’s shirtless form glistens with sweat under the fluorescent lights of the gym, his green gym shorts leaving little to the imagination as he moves with fluid grace among his teammates.

Robin's incredulous tone breaks through your reverie, snapping you back to reality.

"Wait, you got paired up with Billy for a project?" Robin exclaims, her disbelief palpable as she tore her gaze away from the court to focus on you.

You couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction, the absurdity of the situation not lost on either of you.

"Yeah, tell me about it," you respond, taking a bite of your sandwich as you try to mask the unease that churns in your stomach. "I have no idea how I'm going to survive working with him for the rest of the year."

Caught in a moment of distraction, your eyes lock with Billy's across the expanse of the gym. Time comes to a stand still leaving only the two of you in a silent battle of uncertainty. For a fleeting moment, you found yourself captivated by the intensity of his gaze, the depths of his eyes holding a tantalizing promise of something unknown. It was a gaze that spoke volumes, conveying a myriad of emotions that stirs something deep and unexpected within you.

As if sensing the weight of your scrutiny, Billy's lips quirk into a knowing smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief as he holds your gaze with unwavering confidence. Before you could fully process the significance of the moment, the spell breaks as Billy turns his attention back to the game, seamlessly blending into the rhythm of the practice session as if the moment didn’t just happen. 

You tear your gaze away, a flush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks as you focus once more on your conversation with Robin. But despite your best efforts to dismiss the encounter, the feeling of Billy's piercing gaze lingers in the back of your mind, a silent reminder of the unexpected allure of the boy who has unwittingly become a sudden constant in your life now.  

Robin offers words of encouragement, her unwavering support a welcome balm to your frazzled nerves.

"Don't worry, Y/N," her voice a beacon of optimism in the darkness. "You're strong enough to handle anything that comes your way. Besides, who knows? Maybe working with Billy will be...interesting."

You couldn't suppress a snort of disbelief at her suggestion, the image of Billy's smug smirk and cocky attitude flashing through your mind.

"Yeah, interesting is one word for it," you remark dryly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Let's just hope I survive long enough to at least be there for graduation."

The town library stands as a quiet sanctuary amidst the bustling small town streets of Hawkins, its walls lined with rows upon rows of books that hold the promise of knowledge and adventure. As you step through the entrance, the familiar scent of old paper and ink washes over you, wrapping you in a comforting embrace as you sought out a secluded corner to await Billy's arrival.

Minutes tick by, each second stretching into an annoying eternity as you scan the quiet aisles for any sign of your partner. Just as you begin to resign yourself to the possibility of being stood up, a figure appears in the doorway, his presence commanding attention as he makes his way towards you with purposeful strides.

"Sorry I'm late," Billy greets, his tone apologetic as he approaches, a faint crease of worry marrying his brow. "Had to drop off my step-sister at home."

You nod understandingly, "No worries," offering him a reassuring smile as you gesture towards the table. "Let's get started."

Billy's expression softens at your words, a hint of gratitude shining in his eyes as you don’t try to pry. For a moment, the weight of his troubles seem to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of camaraderie as you delve into the task at hand.

As you and Billy sift through the titles of various books, searching for the perfect one to base your project on, the atmosphere between you remains comfortably casual, the initial awkwardness of your partnership gradually melting away.

"So, any preferences on which book we should choose?" you ask, breaking the silence that has settled over the table.

"Not really," he replies with a casual shrug, his gaze flicking between the book covers with mild interest. "I'm good with whatever you want."

“Do you have a favorite book?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever really finished one before.” Billy admits. 

“That’s quite sad to hear. What do you even do for fun?” 

“You think this is fun? Holding old pieces of paper about fake people and worlds. Seems like a waste of time to me.” 

You raise an eyebrow at Billy's dismissive remark, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Well, not everyone finds joy in reading, I suppose," you remark lightly, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite the underlying tension between you. "But there's something magical about getting lost in a good book, don't you think?"

Billy shrugs, his expression guarded as he leans back in his chair, his gaze fixes on the bookshelves before him.

"I guess," he replies with a noncommittal shrug, his tone tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "I've just never really seen the appeal, you know?"

You nod in understanding, sensing the reluctance in his voice as he skirts around the topic of his own interests.

"Well, what about movies or music?" you press, eager to draw him out of his shell and uncover the layers of complexity that lie beneath his tough exterior. "Surely there must be something you enjoy doing in your free time."

Billy hesitates for a moment, his features softening slightly as he considers your question.

"I don't know, I guess I like playing basketball," he admits, a faint glimmer of enthusiasm shining in his eyes. "And...uh, sometimes I'll mess around with drawing when I'm bored."

You smile at his admission, a flicker of curiosity igniting within you as you get to witness a glimpse of the person behind the tough facade.

"That's cool," you reply, genuine warmth coloring your voice as you lean in closer, the distance between you suddenly feeling much smaller. "I didn't know you drew. Maybe you could show me some another time?"

"Yeah, maybe," Billy replies, his tone gruff and defensive, a faint edge of defiance creeping back into his voice. "But don't get your hopes up. It’s not that great"

You sense the walls he's built around himself, the layers of protection he's carefully constructed to shield himself from vulnerability. But beneath the tough exterior, you know there’s something raw and real, a flicker of longing that hints at the depth of his hidden desires.

"That's okay," you reassure him with a smile, your voice gentle as you reach out to bridge the gap between you. "We all have to start somewhere, right?"

"Yeah," he murmurs softly, a rare vulnerability creeping into his voice. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

“So, what about you, little mouse? Any other hobbies besides reading old stories?” A spark of enthusiasm ignites within you, quite surprised at his continuing of the conversation. 

"Yeah, actually," you begin, a smile spreading across your face as you lean forward, excitement bubbling within you. "I love photography. There's just something about capturing moments and memories with people and things I love that feels so special. I don’t know, I mostly do it for fun."

A mischievous glint sparks in Billy’s eyes as he leans in closer, his voice low and teasing. " I guess I'll have to watch out for those sneaky snapshots next time."

You can't help but roll your eyes at his playful banter, the Billy everyone around Hawkins knows showing back up. 

"Please," you retort with a playful scoff, feigning indifference as you brush off his teasing with a wave of your hand. "Like you're worth wasting film on."

Billy chuckles at your response, a grin spreading across his face as he leans back in his chair, his gaze lingering on you with amusement.

"Ouch, that hurts, little mouse," he replies with mock indignation, his tone light and playful despite the underlying tension between you. "But hey, don't worry. I'll make sure to give you my best angle next time."

"Keep dreaming, Hargrove," you retort, a flicker of annoyance flashing in your eyes as you notice Billy building those tough walls back up, leaving you to the same mysteries as the rest of the town. 

As the conversation fizzles out, you can't shake the feeling of disappointment lingering in the air. Despite the brief moment of connection, it seems that Billy's walls are too high to breach, leaving you with a sense of frustration at the missed opportunity for genuine connection. You can't help but wonder about the masks he wears so loudly, each one a cacophony of distractions meant to hide the vulnerability beneath. With a resigned sigh, you turn back to the task at hand, burying your disappointment as you focus on finding the perfect book not without stealing another glance at Billy as he picks up one of the books and rifles through the pages. 

If these past two days have shown you anything, it’s how little time it takes for a stranger to become a big part of your life. It's unsettling how quickly he's managed to weave himself into the fabric of your daily existence with a persistence that both frustrates and intrigues you. You've always valued your privacy, cherished the solitude of your inner sanctuary, but now, in the wake of Billy's arrival, you find yourself craving his attention in a way you never thought possible. 

Perhaps the greatest risk is not in letting someone new in, but in closing yourself off to the possibility of genuine connection. And even with the knowledge of Billy having a tangled labyrinth for a heart, perhaps he’s worth the risk after all.

Taglist: @msbillyhargrove @uselessbutinteresting @milestellergfs @periwinkle-quill @ghostcastaway

[calico-cheriies]

Hideaway |Soshiro Hoshina x Reader Fanfic|

{Chapter one}

{Masterlist}

{Hideaway Masterlist}

"I want you right here by my side, cuz' I'm dying to see your face. You act like it's something to hideaway,"

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

There it is again.

You could feel your hand slowly travel up to the collar of the lab coat, you pulled at the piece of fabric, trying to find some form of breathing room in the suffocating moment. You had done many practices before with this, that's what the schooling was for... so why did you feel squeamish this time? You turned your back away from the rather gruesome sight, you were somewhat a doctor but more of a forensic pathologist, so you dealt with the aftermath of what happened to those unlucky officers that met their demise with the kaiju's. You shuddered at the thought of meeting such fate, they were monsters who just ravaged cities and took the lives of innocent people, and the officers were just human shields that were trying to protect the people.

You quickly dug through the cabinets in search of a mask. You placed the strings behind your ears and adjusted it, it was one of those late night attacks that the third division had to take care of. You threw on the blue surgical scrub suit and you dug through the box of the gloves to pull over your hands, stretching the glove to go over your hand and up to your wrist. You already had put your hair up and you placed a surgical cap to make sure nothing would entangled into your hair. You finished dressing your up and your ears perked up at the sound of the rustling outside the room, it was at the deepest level of the building due to the grim aura that emitted. You were sure that it was just doctors or nurses working with others to bring the dead down to the morgue until you or your other colleagues could get to them.

Now it was time to get to work, you ignored the continued hectic rustling outside from the attack and you quickly got to work so you could start working on the report you would later write and unfortunately deliver to the families of the victims. You usually let your thoughts wander while you worked, you didn't want to focus too much on the cutting of the bodies and imagining what their last moments looked like. No- you liked to imagine of what the world could be if there was no kaiju. You would've for sure gotten another job, probably something less grim than this...you would have loved to do something in gardening or owning some kind of shop that allowed you to build personal connections. But those were useless dreams in this world- not when the population kept decreasing and the kaiju kept increasing.

You hadn't realized how much time had passed as you kept day dreaming and taking note of the details you gathered. It was the same thing over and over again, the same repeating details that indicted a quick and violent death. You knew you still had a handful to take care of as your other peers did, each body required clean and precise cuts so no major damage was added. Each division had a few forensic pathologists on hand since the attacks could lead to big numbers and it was easy for them to get their hands full.

You kept working, pulling in one after another to try and get through the night. That was the worst time the attacks could've happened, especially since they were picking up as each day passes. Soon they were able to lower the numbers as the hours passed, and you slumped against the counter of the room, your hands slightly shaking from the exhaustion of the repeating cuts and jotting down of notes. You took in a moment to relish the silence that was now prominent, there was no shouts or loud voices nor was there any sounds of life outside of the room. You had already stitched every organ back , or at least of what was left and did your best to try and make the body look someone presentable so the mortician could do their job properly. You placed a cover over the body before rolling the body back to the proper place so it could be transferred to the funeral home.

Now it was time to try and get a little bit of rest, at least after you properly showered. You slowly opened the door and took a peek outside, it was empty and the lights were dim for the night. You made sure not a single person or colleague was around to see you in such a state, so you had rushed to remove the entire attire you were wearing to had some unpleasant splatters from the work. You took a quick glance in the reflection of the windows that you passed by, your hair was messy and unkempt and it stuck to your forehead due to some sweat you accumulated. You didn't want to imagine the lingering smell that probably was coming off of you, the thought was enough to embarrass you to the core.

You quickly rushed through the halls and you rather have taken the stairs up to the top to avoid any interactions with the officers that could have been wandering around from the recent events in the elevators. You wanted to get a few hours of sleep to try and present the reports to your superiors. Of course you never really interacted with them unless it was for work which was just reports.

That's how you liked it.

What you didn't appreciate was colliding with a wall- was the exhaustion finally coming down on you?

It wasn't a wall,

But a man...a really strong man.

You stumbled back, your hands flailing out a bit as you dropped the manila folder with your notes down to the ground. Your back hitting the actual wall this time and your hands were plastered flat against the wall to stable yourself from the forceful contact. A gasp leaving your lips as the person stumbled back only a few steps, you  snapped your head up and squinted to see who you bumped into. The first notable thing was the violet hair that was shaped into a decently bowl cut, and his eyes- they were violet as well. It was beautiful if it wasn't so late at night and when you were in this condition, how embarrassing!

"Yer alright?" Was the first thing the vice commander asked after the initial shock died down, and your  breathing was slightly heavy once you finally responded. "Y...yeah, I'm sorry Vice captain," you were quick to apologize and you dropped to your knees to pick up the thick Manila folder, you cursed under your breath as your hands clumsily picked up the file and you leaned onto the wall for support to pick yourself up. "I hope I'm not bothering you, please have a good night," you bowed your head for a moment, your cheeks reddening as you realized how disgusting you probably looked to him, you were quick to try and walk past him on the other side of the wall.

"Aye," he called out, he found the clumsy girl to be amusing and almost adorable in the way you seemed to try and stay away from him. "Thanks... for what yer do, take care Miss (Y/n)," the way he drawled out your name was enough to make your chest tighten. Seriously- when did you start to enjoy the little accents? Maybe it's was because he was so attractive...?

Your response was just a small squeak, it's like you tried to hum but it came out too high pitch so you just sped up your pace and shut the door once you reached the end of the hall. You wanted to just collapse and curl up until you disappeared from the face of the earth, and you prayed you would never have to see his face again and that your schedule would never align again. That's how it's been for the past while, so this should never happen again.

You failed to realize the vice captain looking back over his shoulder as you left, a small smirk making its way onto his lips as he vowed he would corner you again, as a good vice captain, he should know his colleagues well, right?

{Chapter Two}

—————————————————

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 5

Summary: Trapped Under the Mountain you're trying you best to learn to navigate Amarantha's Court and your own, budding powers.

Content Warnings: Allusions to assault, slavery, mild cursing

Author's Note: This one hurt me to write, but my depression got the better of me and I needed to let my angst out somewhere; I'm so sorry.

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4

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

It’s been three weeks since you’d been dragged under the Mountain, each day counted with a little tally scratched into the wall behind your bed post where no one can see. Two weeks without word from your uncle. Two weeks without sunlight. Sometimes you sit in the dark wondering if, when this is over and you finally get to step into the sun again, if your eyes will be able to bear it, or will they be permanently altered?

The weeks are taking a toll. The girl you see in the mirror each morning is paler and paler each passing day, the lines of your face a little thinner as hunger becomes a constant companion. Amarantha has tasked someone with feeding you, but meals are few and far between, save for the assortment of stale snack Rhys has been sneaking into your training sessions. The male has spent hours each day running you through shielding techniques, followed by sparring sessions to “keep you limber” he’d said, and has only just begun to touch the well of power that sleeps beneath your skin. He’s still tight lipped about what he suspects it was, no matter your questioning. Things are, well you wouldn’t say pleasant necessarily, sometimes he still makes you want to hurl things at his head, but there has been no more threats from Amarantha to enforce upon you and so things are fine between you. The Queen has kept to herself for the last three weeks, until the Attor came knocking on your door.

The creature has the decency to not attempt to carry you by the back of the shirt this time. Instead, it walks ahead of you, leathery wings and talons scrapping the floor, it’s every breath a horribly, squeaking, rasp through it’s crooked teeth. It’s only spoken to inform you that you’re being summoned to the Queen’s chambers and than it clamps it’s thin lips shut and shoves you into the hall.

No throne room today, for that you’re relieved, most nights you can still see the bodies pinned to the wall when you shut your eyes. Instead, the Attor leads you up and up, the climb stealing your breath as you head to what you can only assume is the Mountain’s peak. Someone has painstakingly carved steps into the rock, each stone smooth and worn down over time. The door at the top is the same carved stone as all the other doors, but this one is guarded by masked sentries, both armed to the teeth. Spears glisten in their gloved hands, and you keep your questions about how well those could be wielded in such a small space to yourself. Questioning Rhys about her operations is one thing, the Attor and the rest of her cronies is another.

The sentries knock twice before pushing the door open for you.

Unlike your room, the space of her chambers is cavernous, the walls smoothed over and held by pillars of marble and sandstone. Faelights glitter and twist around each pillar, bathing the room in an unnaturally red glow.

Red seems to be her favorite color.

Her sleeping chambers are set in the side of the space, hidden from you by a crimson curtain. The rest of the room is left open, decorated with plush couches and chairs around a roaring fireplace in the shape of a lion’s head. Beneath the worn coffee table, currently plated with tea cups and scones, is a pelt of some sort of monster, the head bearing curling horns and an open mouth of jagged teeth, the glassy eyes starring right at you as the Attor all but shoves you into the room.

There’s a heavy scent of mirthroot and incense in the room that makes your head feel fuzzy.

The Queen emerges from behind the curtain wearing little other than a silk robe, the bare expanse of her legs on full display.

You reign in the disgust you feel at seeing her, try not to picture what she was doing back there, so flippant after she’d ordered an innocent male killed simply for knowing you. She’s a monster. But she’s also the monster with the power of the High Lords and you’re not so foolish as to upset her here in the quiet of her chambers where no one will hear you scream if she decides she wants to punish you for any slight you might offer.

“Y/N,” she says with a grin that looks wrong on the sharp planes of her pale face. “Glad you could join me! Come, sit.”

The Attor watches you move towards the couch opposite her like he thinks you might pounce on her and drag your claws across her throat.

The couch sinks in when you sit, like it’s been used a lot. You try not to think about why.

“Tea?” She asks as she grabs her own cup, her red lipstick smearing across the rim as she takes a deep drink.

Your stomach rumbles, a reminder that they’d forgotten to feed you again. You pull your hands into your sleeves, trying to keep your hands from reaching out to take what’s offered on instinct. “No.” The chances of you being drugged in here are high, you’re not taking any chances. Mentally, you do a quick check of your shields, just as Rhys had shown you, to ensure the doors of your mind are shut from whatever power of his she can wield over you.

She frowns. “I can see that you’re scared of me.”

You lean back in the couch, arms across your chest.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like that,” she says as she sets her own cup down. “I’ve been training with Hybern for many years, I’ve often thought of him like a father, and so I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward when I say I hope that some day you’ll see me like a sister.”

The urge to unleash your claws and slash them across her face is overwhelming. You’re thankful you’d had the good sense to pull your hands into your sleeves, it hides the way you dig your nails into your palms to keep yourself still. “Oh?”

She clasps her hands together, the eyeball in her ring swiveling to look at you. “My relationship with my own family was… rocky, I’d like to think fate is giving me another chance with you.”

You’re not so desperate to get out that you buy it, but you know, from somewhere deep inside of you that if she’d waited a few more weeks, if the hunger and the dark were really starting to get to you that she could have been convincing. That’s what scares you the most.

“I know I come across extreme,” she continues like she hasn’t noticed your reservations. “But, girl to girl, I really want to see you thrive. Rhysand has been telling me of your progress. He says you’re a fast learner.”

He’d told you that too. “He’s a good teacher,” you say carefully. You mean it, he’s very patient with you, even if he is an ass about how he gets results, he’s never been harsh, never pushed too far--not since that first day had he come into your mind uninvited--but you can’t have her getting suspicious of why you’ve been such a dutiful student. If she suspects you’re trying to awaken your powers too soon, you’re as likely to end up chained to her as the High Lords are. Hybern needs a weapon, not a time bomb, you have to play your cards steadily to unsure you can get out of here at the end of this.

“Charmed, are we?” She asks in what feels like it’s meant to be conspiratorial girl talk, but the look in her eyes... You swear the eye on her finger widens in warning.

“I haven’t had any training before this. It is nice to have a guide for my questions.” As close to the truth as you can get.

Amarantha leans back in her seat, arms spread across the back of the couch, as she studies you. Her eyes are so dark they’re almost black, nothing but cold calculations in a gaze you know has been wielded with extreme precision on the battlefield. It’s like she’s pinpointing all your weak spots when she looks at you. You can’t look her in the eyes, not without fidgeting, you find yourself picking at the fraying edges of your shirt sleeves instead.

“You poor thing,” she coos. “You must have been so confused.”

That much is true too. You still haven’t been able to figure out why they’re doing all this. What terrible power does she think you posses that she’s so desperate she’ll invite you into her personal chambers instead of attempting some dramatic event in the throne room?

You stare at the wall. You can’t give her the satisfaction of asking her those questions. Maybe she does have the answers, but they’re from her mouth and you know better than to trust a damn think that comes out of it.

“I thought everybody was ahead of me,” you admit. “We travelled a lot so regular schooling was out of the question.”

“Oh I’m sure your uncle was a master at weaponizing your naivety. Most males are.” She brings her hand with the ring up to her chest and begins to trace a pointed nail over it, as if she’s thinking about something else.

“He’s a good male,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

She huffs a laugh, “Good males do not steal children from their parents.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

“Your parents were very powerful people once, and your uncle had always been jealous of your mother. I wish you could have seen her, Y/N, when she stepped onto a battlefield, males coward. I watched them piss themselves just at the sight of her. She was everything I hoped to be as Hybern’s general.”

You’d always imagined your love of books and ancient things had come from your mother. In your mind she’d been a soft woman who grew gardens and was always reading books under big oak trees. In your mind she was kind and gentle and had lost you tragically in some sort of accident. To hear anything else, from Amarantha of all people, made you want to throw your hands up over your ears. Your uncle had alluded to your father not being the best of people, but you had never imagined it would be this bad either.

“Your uncle couldn’t stand it,” she continues, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “I tried to warn them that he was a jealous and dangerous male, but your mother loved him too much to see it. And when he stole you out of your room that night, well, her heart couldn’t handle it. That’s our curse as women, I suppose, we care too much.”

You look into the fire. That can’t be true! You don’t want it to be true. Because, if it is, you’re not only wrong about your parents, you’re wrong about your uncle too and then you will have no family left at all.

“And look at you, following in her footsteps,” she presses. “Caring so much about him that you’ll sacrifice your own peace of mind to spare his miserable life. He’s a monster, Y/N, why are you protecting him? All he has ever done is hurt you.”

The flames dance in the fireplace, reaching towards the carved teeth of the lion’s head. You trace the ash that’s dusted up the creature’s face with your eyes, anything to avoid looking at her. Your shields might be in place, but your face will betray you all the same.

She stands and comes to sit next to you, the heavy scent of earth and incense a cloud around her. “Your powers could have driven you insane without the right teaching. He very well could have killed you. You want to protect a male like that?”

 Maybe it is all true, gods above you can barely stomach the thought, but even if it is, you can’t sell him out to her. “I already told Rhys where he would be. I’m not protecting anyone.” These last few weeks, no news of him had been a relief, it meant he was safe, but as time ticked on, the doubts were starting to get to you. None of her huntsman had even heard whispers of where he’d gone. Was it possible he’d abandoned you?

She reaches out and places her nails under your chin, turning your head until you’re looking into her eyes. “You poor thing. I feel for you, I really do. I know the terrible sting of betrayal all too well.”

The eye on her ring swivels to stare at her, like it’s questioning the statement.

Maybe it really is alive; the thought makes your stomach roll.

“What do you want?” You ask.

She laughs like you’d told a joke. “As I said, I want us to be friends.”

“You killed a male to threaten me into submission and suddenly you want to be friends?”

She stiffens a little.

“This is about the twins, isn’t it?”

“Do you smoke?” She asks instead.

The shift makes you pause for a second, long enough for her to shout for someone behind the curtain leading into her sleeping quarters. A moment later, the same male from the throne room appears, shirtless, wearing nothing but his boxers and a glittering, golden collar. In his hand is a small, silver tray and as he seats himself on the arm of the couch, he holds it out to her. A rolled cluster of cigarettes sits on the tray next to a golden lighter and she grabs the nearest cigarette. Out of what can only be habit, the male sets the tray on the table and lights the cigarette for her as she brings it to her mouth. You’ve been in enough taverns to know mirthroot when you smell it, the smoke making the room hazy.

“Helps with my headaches,” she says, holding it out to you.

You glance at the male, now draped over the edge of the couch like this is normal. Like it’s normal that there are scratch marks across his chest; a collar clinging to his throat. So much had happened the last time he’d been around you hadn’t really noticed what was happening, but now…

Amarantha is speaking again but you honestly can’t hear what she’s saying.

What kind of female does this to people?

There’s something prowling beneath your skin, a caged animal pacing the bars of it’s enclosure. The first bits of your talons poke through your skin, digging into your palms to keep it at bay.

“Y/N?” She asks, and by the tone its clear this isn’t the first time she’s called you by name.

You force yourself to draw a breath, then another. You cannot fight her here like this, no matter how badly you want to. No matter how much the sight of that collar makes you want to destroy everything she’s ever touched. She has the power of the High Lords and if you fight her here in her chambers, untrained, you will loose.

You draw another breath. Rhys had said that half the battle was knowing when to throw the first punch. It isn’t time yet.

You repeat it to yourself, to the thing that slumbers in your chest until it quiets.

You know Amarantha is watching, can feel that oily gaze on you. You draw another breath and force yourself to look at her. “I’m sorry, I… I was just wondering…” You should placate her, pretend your just some untrained, naive little girl she found on Calanmai. At the start of this conversation you might have, but the shift you feel beneath your skin…

You need to get out of the room before you implode.

And you need her to know you’re not just some stupid pet.

“I was just wondering what’s so bad about the twins that’s got you rattled, Your Highness?” Maybe you can’t meet her gaze yet, maybe you can’t win a physical fight, but you’re not some helpless toy at her whims. The last couple weeks have weakened you, but they haven’t beat you.

She growls at you, eyes flashing dangerously.

The male on the end of the couch scatters out of range, ducking behind the curtain long enough for you to get a flash of the room, see another body laying in her silk sheets.

You’re going to rip this mountain apart brick by fucking brick if you have to.

“Is this what you’d rather do, little mouse?” She asks, her voice dangerously low. “Play games with me?”

It's too late to take it all back now. The words are out and despite the shiver running down your spine, you know if you back down now she will hold it over your head forever. Might as well stand your ground and see what she'll reveal to you if you keep pushing. “I’m bored in my cell,” you counter.

She takes a drag of the mirthroot. You'll ask Rhys later why she needs so much of it. Is it possible that holding all that power is effecting her physically somehow?

“How forgetful of me to not keep you entertained.”

“Isn’t that what friends do?” You over emphasize the word, put all your venom into it. You can’t spar with her physically yet, but you’ve always been quicker with your words than your fists anyway.

She flicks the cigarette away. “You should come to dinner tonight, if you’re so bored.”

You hope she can’t hear the way your heart thunders in your chest. This is dangerous, so very dangerous. You’re almost sure you can hear Rhys screaming in your head. “I’d be delighted,” you say as sweetly as you can.

Amarantha motions the Attor over, a dismissal. “I was hoping to protect you from the cruelty of this court until you were ready. My subjects aren’t always as kind as me, but since you’re so keen on getting out of your room, I suppose I can’t help you.”

She’s going to throw you to the wolves.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’ll have to get acquainted with my father’s court eventually.”

“You’ll remember this conversation after dinner,” she hisses as the Attor grabs your shoulder and lifts you off the couch.

“I’m sure it’ll be a good laugh for both of us,” you say like you don’t hear the threat.

As the door opens, you throw over your shoulder, “I’ll see you tonight.”

The powers she’s stolen rumble as the door slams shut behind you, the mountain shaking.

You tuck your trembling hands into your pockets as you walk back the way you came. At least no one is dead this time, but still you can’t shake the feeling that you’re royally fucked.

Doesn’t help matters that, as you turn the corner back towards you room, Rhysand is there, frowning as he leans against the closed door. That intense violet gaze roams over you as you approach, as if he’s cataloging every detail of you, then the Attor.

“Why is she out?” He snarls at the Attor.

“Well hi to you too,” you grumble.

You’re not entirely sure what powers come with being High Lord of the Night Court, but you’re sure he once was able to burn holes through people’s heads, judging by the intensity of the anger in his eyes. He won’t even make eye contacting with you, only the Attor, who lumbers past you, chuckling.

“Her Majesty requested an audience.”

“She’s only to leave her room with me,” Rhys snarls, pushing away from the wall so he’s standing at his full height. Wisps of darkness unfurl from his shoulders, thrashing behind him like living things.

You shiver a little. These last few weeks had made you forget the male you had seen on Calanmai--what Darkness Incarnate was capable of given the right push.

“Funny,” the Attor rasps, unbothered by the display. Maybe when you spend so much time with Amarantha, only big, powerful displays matter. “She hasn’t mentioned you all morning. Maybe she’s gotten tired of you.”

“And maybe,” Rhys prowls forward, the stars you can sometimes see glittering in his eyes winking out with each breath he takes. “I was out dragging Tamlin’s sorry ass in for you.”

The Attor pauses, wings twitching. “Spring surrendered?”

“His time is up,” Rhys snarls. “He didn’t even fight me.”

Shit shit shit. She’s actually done it. Tamlin had been the last High Lord on his throne. When Hybern came in a couple of months, there’d be no one standing in his way. Amarantha would have all the High Lords sitting and waiting for him to do whatever he wanted with them.

You look at Rhys, really look. There’s no damage on him, no cuts or bruises, not even dirt, no hint that he was lying about bringing Tamlin in. He doesn’t look at all bothered by it either, as if this is just another part of the job.

The Attor makes a hissing sound, “Guess we both didn’t get what we wanted today, lordling.”

“This will be the last time you take her anywhere,” Rhys snarls, his voice wholly taken over by a High Lord. Not the male that sits on the floor in the training room, showing you how to shield; not the male who sneaks you snacks to ensure you’re not starving to death in the dark. There is no room for argument, no room for a fight, he is High Lord and he will get his way. “And if I find out any harm came to her while she was under your watch I will take my gods-damned time flaying the skin from your measly bones.”

Measly? The Attor is twice Rhys’s size, yet you know, just by looking at him that he’d win. It’s no idle threat.

“You talk a lot of game, whore,” the Attor snarls as it backs away. It knows it’ll loose too. “But lets see you put that same energy out in front of Her Highness when she has her new pet out for dinner tonight. I’m sure with the Lord of Spring joining us, things will be interesting.”

It scurries away before Rhys can ask what that means, or before you can tear it’s ugly face off it’s bones. Yours claws are piercing into your palms, blood pooling between yours fingers. You hadn’t realized you’d done it, they’d slipped, your control waning at his words. Rhys hadn’t seemed to notice them, hadn’t reacted at all, just as he hadn’t that night in the throne room, but you can’t stand it. And you can’t even explain why.

“Are you hurt?” Rhys asks as soon as the Attor is gone. The wisps of darkness disappear in a rush, like all the energy needed to summon them had suddenly vanished.

“No, I’m fine,” you reply, but you can’t stop yourself from looking down at your hands, the indents you’d left in your palms. Little tendrils of your own darkness slip from them, like it’s leaking out of your skin.

Rhys is on you in an instant, taking your hands in his own, looking at the damage.

“Guess I was clenching my fists a little tight,” you say.

The world tilts and spins, the sound of wind rushing in your ears, and then you’re standing in another bedroom. It’s as barren as your own, lit with a dozen, half melted candles, most of the space taken up by a bed with black silk sheets. There’s some furniture covered in dust around a cold fireplace; it looks less used then your own had been when you’d arrived.

Rhys’s hand is around your wrist, pulling your towards the bathing chambers. He’s breathing hard, as if the winnowing had taken a lot out of him; his skin a little more pale, dark circles around his eyes. How much of his power does Amarantha steal on the daily?

“What did the Attor mean about tonight?” He asks as he motions you to sit on the edge of the tub. It’s bigger than your own, not by much, but there’s enough of a lip around the edge that you can sit without falling completely in. He lets the water run until it’s warm.

You pinch your eyes shut. “She gave me this whole speech about how she wants to be friends.”

He guides your hands under the water and you wince against the sting.

“I was going to wait her out, just not say anything at all, but…” but you kept seeing that male in that godsdamned collar, and the bodies pinned to the wall of the throne room, and the male who had been murdered on the floor.

You know you should be careful here too, no one has explained what his role in all of this is. Was he like Tamlin once? Dragged in when he ran out of options? Or had he come on his own? And you can’t shake the queasiness you get in the pit of your stomach when someone calls him a whore, because all you can do is wonder if Rhys has any say at all what happens to him down here?

“But?”

“But she’s a monster and the last fucking thing I want to be is her friend.”

He steps away long enough to get a towel and dab at the open wounds, still bleeding, the water red as it runs down your hands.

“So I guess I kinda goaded her into doing something with me instead of leaving me in my room all the time.”

Rhys huffs, but you can’t tell if it’s annoyance or anger. He doesn’t say anything beyond that as he shuts off the water and start rummaging through the cabinet under the sink. There’s a lot of vials and bottles and hand towels organized in the small space, the only real sign that anyone ever stays in the room at all.

“You’re lucky she didn’t tear you apart,” he growls as he comes back with a bottle of what looks like antiseptic. He dabs some on another towel and presses it to your palms, ignoring the hiss you make at the sting. “She’s ripped off people’s arms for less.”

“Yeah well one of the joys of being me is she needs me alive,” you drawl.

He tosses the used rag in the tub and then opens a small bottle of salve. It’s half empty, the contents clinging to the sides of the container. It’s applied to your hands with the care of someone who has done this over a dozen different wounds.

“How’d you find all this stuff?”

He’s got gauze too; wraps your hands carefully. “One of the joys of being me is she needs me in one piece,” he returns.

When your hands are all wrapped, he puts all the stuff back and washes his own hands.

“What…” this is dangerous ground, it sounds an awful lot like you care about him. You run a finger over the bandage, trace the sleeve of the shirt you only have because he’d given it to you. You’d still be in a shift in this frozen place if it wasn’t for him. You’d be a lot worse off, if it wasn’t for him.

“What exactly do you do for her?” Do you even want to know? Why torture yourself with the truth when you find out he’s done all of this for her because he wants to? Because he was born a monster just like she was and had only decided to latch onto you because maybe you were as much a ticket to Hybern’s graces as you were for Amarantha?

You watch the way his back shudders as he draws a shaking breath.

Something in your chest cracks and you jump off the edge of the tub.

“Whatever she wants,” he says so softly you almost can’t hear him.

You take a step closer, then another, until you’re right behind him. “And do you… want to do that?”

He turns slowly, head to his chest.

You take the final step so that you can look up into his eyes. So you can see him. There is so much there, in his eyes, in the shadows across his face that you’re pretty sure you have an answer. But you can’t be pretty sure of anything Under the Mountain. You need to hear it said.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he whispers.

“Yes it does,” you press.

He shakes his head, onyx hair falling over his eyes. This is the most rumpled you’ve seen him, he’s always so put together. “Not with what I stand to loose.”

“What could be worth all this?” You’ve unconsciously brought your bandaged hands up on his chest, the beat of his heart quickening beneath your palms. He lets you, as if that pulse might show you that he really does have a heart that works under his shirt.

He brings a hand up slowly, gently running his fingers over the back of your knuckles. His mouth opens, and closes without an answer.

“Rhys-”

He pulls your hands away, straightening, whatever emotion had been on his face before is gone, that cold mask of indifference in it’s place once again. “I am High Lord,” he explains, “my duty is to protect my people at all costs.” Whatever he was going to say before will remain buried behind that mask. You don’t know how he does it so easily. Just when you think he might open up, might let you in, might show you that the male you had met on Calanmai was real, he shuts it out behind this mask.

“And who protects you?” You dare to ask, because even though you know you can’t get past that mask, you can’t stop yourself from trying.

“I don’t need protecting,” he says, but it’s not confidence in his voice, nor pride, it’s… broken, as if he doesn’t think he’s worth protecting. “Careful, Y/N, I might think you care about me.”

Caring in a place like this very well may get you killed. But if you stop, if you find your own mask and shut down every piece of yourself behind it, aren’t you just as bad as him?

 “Would it be so bad?” You whisper. You can’t help but feel small in a place like this, would having a friend be so terrible?

“Yes!” He snarls and darkness leaks from him again. “The more people you care about in this gods forsaken mountain the harder it is to get out! You might only get one shot and if you don’t take it, you’re likely to get stuck here forever.”

Somehow this is worse than Amarantha asking to be friends, this feels an awful like some sort of rejection and that chasm you often feel after Calanmai, when you’d ignored him, cracks and splits wide open in your chest. You feel yourself tumbling down, down into the dark void.

“Why do you care so much if I get out then?”

“Because you’re-” he bites down on the rest of the sentence, shakes it off with a deep breath. “No one else will tell you the truth, so here it is: You will be the death of all of us if you stay. So yes, I want you out of here. I want you as fucking far away from here as possible!”

You can’t breathe.

The chasm swallows you, drags you under until you don’t know what way is up. You know you’re crying, but you can’t stop the tears that stream down your cheeks. Rhys doesn’t bother to try and wipe them away this time.

“Fuck you,” you whimper.

“It’s not my fault you were so damn isolated the first scrap of attention you got you confused with something else,” he replies. “I’ve kept you alive out of necessity and I will continue to do so until it is no longer required of me. And when the time comes for you to get out, you’ll take it and not look back, understand?”

The world spins again and you’re suddenly back inside your own room.

“Do you understand?” He repeats again.

“Perfectly,” you hiss.

“Good. Now let’s fucking hope I can get you out of this gods-damned dinner before your throw away your chance.”

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Tag List: @mariahoedt, @lovelydove, @twsssmlmaa, @sleepylunarwolf, @judig92, @willowpains, @annaaaaaa88, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @myheartfollower, @uniquecolorwizard, @eternallyelvish

*I've seen that some of my tags aren't working for this list, I'm trying to figure out why it will let me tag some of you and not others, but I'll keep trying until I figure it out. :) As always, if you want to be added to the list, let me know! :) Thank you all for your support in this fic you guys are amazing! <3 *

[quantomeno]

My Little Pony and Bionicle

They both already have a team of six heroes who gained their powers from magical stones, a deity-esque figure with an evil sibling, a seductive villain with a horde of bug minions, a focus on the importance of working together and the species of the focus society is weak and helpless in the face of all the crazy threats that live in their world. I could go on but let's leave it there.

More importantly, and what I got to thinking about, was what element toa would the Main 6 be.

Restricting myself to the 6 main elements:

Applejack: Earth. This is so obvious it's not worth discussing. She would probably have a pakari (mask of strength for any MLP fans in the audience). A rode (let's the user see through lies) would also be very fitting given she's the Element of Honesty.

Pinkie Pie: Stone. This may seem surprising, but she grew up on a rock farm and is an Earth pony. She's a toa of stone in the Pohatu mould. One wants to make her air, but she was specifically chosen to not be a pegasus during development. She could have a miru or kadin (levitation or flight) or a calix ("allows its user to perform at the absolute peak of their natural physical abilities" i.e. do seemingly impossible things).

Fluttershy: Ice. This was tough. I wanted her to be water (and she could be comfortably), but her shyness and quietness made me think this is the better fit. She's a little like Matoro (bot hopefully without the same destiny). She'd have either the faxon (lets her copy any rahi (i.e. animal) powers she knows that live in the environment she's currently in), the zatth (can call a random rahi, but can't control them) or the unnamed mask of rahi control. A rau (translation) could work too given it lets you talk to rahi. I think I like the faxon best for its usefulness.

Rarity: Water. She's elegant and beautiful and I would've considered her for earth (for her gem-finding ability) or ice (because she's quite aloof sometimes), but she is altogether too dramatic for those elements. Though water toa are often known for their calmness, we have enough who are decidedly not calm and I feel she fits the image of the ocean being able to go from beautiful to deadly. She'd have a kiril (repairs damaged inorganic substances) which ties in to her generosity. I could also see her with a hau (shielding) because of her shield powers in equestria girls.

Rainbow Dash: Air. I was thinking fire but no, it has to be air. She needs to be able to fly. She 120% has a pakari (mask of speed) and tools that double as wings.

Twilight Sparkle: Fire. She's the leader; it has to be her. She's more a Vakama-style fire toa though. She has perhaps a rau (translation, for reading those dusty old books), a matatu ("Levitation would have been a breeze~", a garai ("I actually studied gravity spells thinking it might be on my test!"), a kualsi (quick travel is the closest we have to teleportation), a mahiki (illusions, vide Magic Dual)... let's just say she loves collecting masks and has a suva full of them. I'm going to say she most commonly wears a matatu for convenience (and because she'd totally have a scope attached and this way I don't need to imagine how it'd work for other masks).

This has opened up too many ideas and I could go on all day.

Also Spike is their chronicler. I mean, he already writes letters to the Princess and was Rainbow's official biographer that one time.