#bolt x diamond

[luv-lock]

⸻ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere Batfam x Fem Reader Part 1

Headcanon: What if Bruce find a kid with spider powers?

Notes: Reader have the same abilities as spiderman. She's 10 years old and a year younger than Dick. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You were on your way back home with a hefty diamond in hand—a steal worth more than anything you’d swiped before. Sure, it wasn’t exactly something a kid could sell at a pawn shop, but you weren’t stupid. You knew where to go, who to talk to. You weren’t scared of the shady underworld—it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.

That was until the Bat and his little bird found you.

“Drop it,” a deep, commanding voice called from the shadows.

You froze mid-swing, perched high on a rooftop with the bag strapped to your back. Turning your head slightly, you caught the unmistakable silhouette of Batman. Next to him, Robin—a kid about your age—stood with his hands on his hips, looking ridiculously eager.

“Oh, hell no,” you muttered under your breath before shooting a web to the nearest building and bolting.

But they were faster than you anticipated. They cut you off at every turn. You snarled and swung as fast as you could, but a Batarang snagged your web mid-flight, sending you tumbling to the ground. Before you could recover, a pair of strong hands pinned you down.

“Let me go, you big asshole!” you screamed, thrashing wildly as Bruce cuffed your hands with some high-tech restraints.

“Not happening,” he replied gruffly.

“Language,” Dick added with an almost scolding tone.

And that was how you found yourself in this position. They tied you up like some kind of psycho, ropes binding your wrists and ankles as you sat in a chair in the Batcave. You didn’t make it easy for them, twisting and spitting curses like a feral cat.

“Let me go, you freak!” you yelled, thrashing as Bruce stood over you, arms crossed. “You think this is gonna scare me?!”

Dick stepped forward, trying to defuse the situation. “Hey, uh...bro,” he said awkwardly, his boyish grin in full force. “Look, I get it. You’re upset. But this place is actually kinda cool, don’t you think? Like—wow, are those real bats up there?”

You turned your glare on him, looking him up and down with a sneer. “Wow, are you real stupid or just playin’ dumb?” you snapped. “Do I look like I wanna talk about your creepy bat zoo?”

Dick blinked, clearly not expecting your hostility. But then he grinned again, undeterred. “You’ve got powers, huh? That’s pretty awesome. Maybe we could be—”

“Shut up, Robin Hood,” you interrupted. “I wouldn’t be caught dead hangin’ with some sidekick in a green elf costume. You’re embarrassing.”

Dick’s face turned red, and he fidgeted, unsure how to respond. Meanwhile, Bruce crouched in front of you, his piercing gaze boring into yours.

“You’re very...hostile for someone so young,” he said calmly. “Why don’t you tell me who you’re working with? That diamond you stole isn’t something a kid like you can sell on your own.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair as much as the ropes would allow. “Oh, sure, let me just spill my whole evil plan to the Bat Guy,” you drawled. “What are you gonna do, ground me?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened slightly, but he stayed calm.

Dick, meanwhile, was still fuming from your earlier insult. “You're such a bitch, you know that?” he blurted. “I was just trying to be nice!”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Aw, poor baby. Did I hurt your little feelings? Go cry about it, Boy Blunder.”

“He’s… feisty,” Dick whispered.

“That's a girl,” Bruce corrected flatly.

Dick blinked, his face going red as he stared at you. “W-Wait, you’re a girl?!”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “Duh, dumbass.”

“I-I just thought—”

“Yeah, yeah, you thought wrong. Congrats. Now SHUT UP!”

Bruce sighed. “Robin, step back.”

“But—”

“Now.”

Dick retreated reluctantly, glancing at you with a mix of irritation and curiosity. Bruce leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “Let’s try this again. Who are you working with?”

You spat on his face. “Your mom, bitch.”

That was it. Before you could blink, Bruce grabbed the ropes and hoisted you upside down, letting you dangle in mid-air.

“HEY! Put me down, you psychopath!” you yelled, kicking uselessly.

Bruce's jaw ticked. Without a word, he stormed off, leaving you hanging upside down like a piñata.

Dick stayed behind, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Finally, he managed, “S-So... uh... you... doing okay up there?”

“What do you think?!”

Dick winced, laughing nervously. “R-Right. Yeah. Of course. Stupid question.” He paused, glancing at the ropes holding you up, then back at your upside-down glare. “Uh, you're really a girl huh?” he stammered, cheeks red.

You stared at him, unimpressed. “Yeah...”

“Wow... That's so cool, I—I mean, uh, I know you’re a girl now! B-But before, I—I thought you were a... a guy. B-But not in a bad way! Just in a... ‘cool guy’ way! But now you’re, uh... y-you’re a cool girl!” He laughed nervously. “You’re different from other girls I’ve met, I mean, in a good way! Like, you’re cool, and, uh—”

“Please stop talking before I lose what little respect I have for you.”

“Right. Uh. Got it,” he mumbled, backing away slowly. “I’ll, uh... just... be over here if you need anything! Or, uh, don’t. That’s cool too...”

You groaned, closing your eyes. “Kill me now.”

“Y-You don’t mean that, right?” he asked nervously, his voice cracking slightly.

“Robin.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“R-Right. Shutting up now.”

The next day, Bruce returned with new information. He sat in front of you, untied this time but still under his watchful gaze.

“I know why you’re stealing,” he said simply.

You stiffened, your usual bravado faltering for a moment. “Yeah? Good for you.”

“Your mother has cancer,” he continued. “And you’re trying to take care of her and your siblings. That’s a lot for someone your age.”

Your throat tightened, and you clenched your jaw. Your blood ran cold. “You leave them out of this.”

Bruce’s expression softened ever so slightly. “Don't worry. I’m going to help them. But you have to stop stealing.”

You blinked at him, suspicious. “Help?”

“A house, medical care for your mom, clothes, food—everything you need.”

You clenched your jaw, tears threatening to spill. You wouldn’t let him see you cry. “Why would you help me?”

“Because I can.”

For once, you were speechless.

True to his word, Bruce Wayne—Batman—changed your life. He bought your family a house, new clothes, paid for your mother’s hospital bills and now you and your siblings going to school. You didn’t know how to thank him. So, you didn’t. Not right away.

One night, two years after Bruce first caught you, you climbed through his window at the Manor. He had just returned from patrol, removing his cowl when he saw you.

“The new clothes suit you,” he said, his usual gruffness tinged with something softer. “You look...lovely.”

Your face heated. You looked away, fiddling with the pink clip in your now longer hair. "Thanks," you mumbled, then, after a pause, "I… I wanted to say… thank you. For everything." You shifted uncomfortably, still not used to feeling like someone actually cared about you.

"No need," he said.

Bruce smiled, and there was something in his eyes that made your chest tighten. Then, without thinking, you blurted out, “Can I join you? In... whatever this is. I mean, you’ve helped me. So… it's only make sense if I do the same, right?”

Bruce studied you for a long moment before nodding. “We’ll see.”

And for the first time you smiled back.

Side Headcanon

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?” 

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile.  And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…” 

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too. 

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off. 

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved. 

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered. 

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter,  “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

[punk-in-docs]

A song of broken skin and fated lovers: part V

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 7.1k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV — Part V —

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW!! There’s some description of wounds and if you squint some dub con. Proceed daintily loves-

It seemed your dreams were the only place you could reliably escape too. The only plain you’d find any peace.

You picture the hill before your home. Every night away from home you dreamt you’d be walking up it. Feeling the dappled shade of olive trees curling above on your skin. Passing along your back in freckles. Dotted light, spots of shade interspersed.

Your soft skirt swishing around bare calves. The creak of your sandals meeting the dusty road. The one that kinks and bends and shows you that endless glimpse of searing ocean waiting just beyond. Aegean water. Sage fields. Boundless heavens.

You remember these fields. You played in them as a child. The ones that thrash with soft grasses. Ruffled by salty sea air. You can hear your sisters laughter brushing along to you like sweet blossom petals garnished on the wind. Sweet and calming. Crushed honeycomb and milk.

A sound as familiar and as comforting to you as their calls and voices that make the shape of your name.

Every night in your dreams you walk up this hill.

Every night you come home.

You can see them - your sisters - on the winding ribbon of the road ahead. Running out the front door of the house. Tullia with her dress flying behind her. Ever decorous eldest. Calling to Diana, with her hair falling in waves and telling her younger sister that ladies don’t run. Diana isn’t listening she’s too joyous. Too forthright to pay attention.

And Ceres. Sweet little Ceres sprints for your arms. Gap toothed grin. Clutching her cloth doll. Skirts held past her knees, she runs for you.

You can see mother in her dark plum linen stola. Gold jewellery on her neck and dangling from her ears. She lingers in the shade of the the hallway. Her dark wavy hair shot through with a fierce bolt of silver - lightning struck - at her temples. Radiant. As she watched from the door with a smile at their graceless display.

Her smile wide and brilliant, you always thought so, exactly as you remember it, as crows feet sit by her eyes. Emboldened and etched deep with her mirth. Hers is a face that has seen years of sun and sea spray. Made serene as placid waters by it. She is tanned and weathered elegantly by decades of watching sunshine bouncing like rows of diamonds off the sea. Salt and sea foam as hemmed in her blood as it is in yours.

You run to them - crying and wailing - feet slapping the dirt and dust, and you’re aching, legs burning, lungs aflame and you won’t stop. Calling their names til your throat is as dry as the dust below your feet.

Then the sun is too bright. It’s too far and you can’t see them. They can’t hear you. Swallowed from your grasp.

There’s just blinding light engulfing them just out of reach of your scraping fingertips. It’s like brushing grains of sand. It tumbles away before it grows into actuality. Your fingers brush empty air as your whole being lurches and mourns.

You jolt awake, body clammy and sheened in sweat. Eyes snapping open as you jerk upwards in the cover of fine smooth sheets. You feel your hair slip over your naked shoulders. Jewels and gold still around your neck. Sunshine blares harshly at your crusted eyes.

Aches and pains come swimming back to you in sharp degrees. Bruises on your neck and your hips. Fading to ugly yellow black already. Bite marks ring your collarbones and the meat of your shoulders.

Out the window you can hear a bustling city. The clamour of crowds. Hot sun baked dirt and filth. Bells peeling from temples. Servants scurrying in the courtyards below and beyond. Horses baying in the streets.

You smear sleep from your eyes, twisting over in the huge slab of a bed to see the sheets behind you are still filled.

Geta slumbers on golden pillows under the same sheets as you. On his back with bis face turned to the sun. Arm slung over his belly. The thin sheets stick to the climes and outlines of his body. His stomach. Thighs. Hips. The heavy bulge between his legs.

His expression seems almost gentle in his rest. Pillowy lips and dark lashes kissing onto his cheeks. Kohl still smeared on his eyes from yesterday. Naked same as you, save for golden decorations, jewelled rings…

A wedding ring. Matching bands. That’s the weight that comes crashing down on you so fiercely.

Acid bile claws it way up your throat when you shift your legs. Finding the edge of the bed with a breathy sigh. The stickiness between your legs and dried around your cunt doesn’t bear thinking about. You screw your eyes shut so as not to think about it.

Stirring silk. Rustles from behind you.

“Where do you think you’re going wife?” Comes a sleepy drawl across the pillows and sheets. Slithering across to you. Husky from his slumber.

You swallow and twist your head over your shoulder. Hair matted and twined close from sleep. Bite marks wedged deep in your back and neck throb as you move.

His eyes are lidded heavy but their burning gaze rests on you. Branding like a hot knife. White hot from the fire. You’re beginning to think that gaze of his always will.

“I’m not used to having my bed filled in the mornings. The kind of company I’m used to promptly leaves after the pleasuring is done.” He explains. Inflection of lust in his tone. He smirks with it. Wide and filthy.

Now he has a little plaything to trap into his bed whenever he feels like it. An ornament he can use and decorate his already gilded arm, and bring out to inspire envy in all peoples of Rome.

You pause where you sit on the bed. Caught.

“I wanted to fetch some water.” You grovel. Voice scraping raw. Throat feeling full of sharp rocks when you speak.

His eyes harden. Laychromose, but deepening with his anger. The way he slips into intimidation if he doesn’t immediately get what he wants. The way he snaps his fingers and has this world uncurl and offer itself up to his desires. That too must apply to you. Your role now was obedience in all things.

Bend and break and mould yourself for your husband, little nymph.

“You may… when your emperor is finished with you.” He plays and toys with your emotions at his whims. Eyes intently gazing at you. His words come with a bladed meaning.

“Come here-“ He orders. Voice softer but the command cuts straight to your spine. Arrowhead sharp. Studs deep.

You curl back into the bed. Back stiff. Trying not to wince at the cuts which burn and tear at your skin. You feel the pull and tug of barely closed wounds. His teeth had drawn blood. You feel the congealing wound at your back shift. The scab lifting. A bead of blood rolls over down your shoulder blade.

He notices. Shifts on his side behind you. Curls a hand to the hill of your hip. Catches that drip of blood with his lips. Savours it. Sea foam flavour of you bedded on his tongue.

The warm stinging path of his tongue on your back takes your mind back to what happened in these sheets hours previous.

How he’d pushed your thighs, widened your legs, opened the bowl of your pelvis and drunk from you. Showed you the various ways a man can please his lover with tongue, lips and hungry teeth.

He’d done it til you shivered and begged. Tried to writhe away. He meanly tugged you back where you belonged, bullied you, recaptured in the cradle of his hands, and did it again. Smirked when you asked for clemency.

“I warned you I was without mercy, Salacia.” He’d leered. His smirking lips and sharp teeth shining with you as he smeared his warm nose against your thigh. Slaked in the taste of you from chin to cheek. Makeup running under his Umbrian eyes. Panting like a beast to your skin and because of the scent he finds synonymous with you. Lemons and salt.

He hovers behind you now. Hands sliding for your waist. Chin on your shoulder. Breath tainted copper. Pressing his lips to bruises and tender spots. You were right. He had to achieve to sting of pain in order to feel something.

He dips his mouth to your neck again. Lapping and nursing a new bruise near an already painful one. Layering pain on pain.

His hand slips lower for your thigh. Warm stones in each of his fingers foreign and hard as he slips his hand between the soft of your legs again.

He’d moaned when you’d grabbed his hair or left nail marks in his large arms and shoulders. He liked that he could draw an emotion out of you. Even if it was overstimulation or desire. He’ll match and meet you in either. As he so wishes.

He’s pleased to find you tacky with the remnants of him from the previous evening. “A fine fruitful offering for your beautiful cunt my wife.” He purrs. Fingers delving deeper to your sex. Rings nearly an unwelcome sensation. “In time mayhaps the gods will bless us.”

Hallowed Saint. Hallowed fate. Bestowed by the gods, he says.

You’d say it was more akin to downfall. Curses and ill fate. Tantalus and his fruit. Medusa and her coiled snakes. Actaeons fateful stag.

He noses onto your jawbone. Fascinated by the scent of you still. Smothered all over these sheets. It grew stronger the longer he was near you. In his sleep it smothered his mind, his every second. Lemons, salt, and you-

He loses himself, mouthing to your neck and into the wild nest of your hair. He inhaled you. Drank the essence of you like a starving peasant. Hungry greedy hands.

“What is about that scent of yours that drives me wild? What is it?” He seeks. Almost angry in his demands.

“Lemon oil. For my hair.” You explain weakly as he plucks and grabs at you.

Descending into lustful madness. He catches the ripe berry of your clit with his rings and it makes you gasp. Bucking back to his chest. He likes that. When a little of your feral reaction to his touch makes you buck and lose your usually placid control. The man is taunting the seas and welcoming in a storm.

“Use it. Always.” He ordered huskily, Huffing as your hair sticks to his lips. Melding with the salt of ocean that he now understands beats through your skin and veins.

He would order ten thousand lemon trees to be bought here just for your use.So he can kiss your shoulders and your skin and always find it brimming with the bright note of that yellow fruit.

A small surrendering of your body as you arch back to him. Having pleased him brings something forth in you: something that eases. His pleasure allows you to relax the stiffness of your spine. Lower your guard.

He tugs your hair out the path of his lips. Delights in the evidence he found of his teeth all over your neck. His claim was skin deep. And he soon hoped it would be even deeper.

You are tugged back to the bed so his hands can wander all over you again. Your back curled to his chest as he lays you on your side. His hand sliding for your thigh to widen you open for him. Behind your hips you feel the hard length of him. He guides himself to you and your breath gets punched out of you as he pushes inside.

He pushes your leg open further to move to you deeper. He delights in finding evidence of your restless wedding night squelching deep inside your cunt. Throws his head back and groans with it.

He moulds his body to yours. Tacky skin. Warm cotton sheets kicked down the bed. Ringed metal and sharp jewels on every finger gripping the fat of your leg tight until he’s sure he’d left marks. Holding you open so he can plunge inside.

Your hand finds his where he crushed one breast in a grip so tight it makes tears spring to your eyes. Melding with the pleasure you cannot deny coming forth as he moves his hips to you so fiercely, your skin smacks where you meet.

Despite the sting of pain from being so overused, to way his fingers reach down to knowingly pinch and caress your clit where you’re spread open around him, makes wordless cries come out your throat. You clutch into the sheets and grit your teeth. His breath muggy hot against your neck. His hair a mess. Golden and fiery. Like stomped down wheat stalks at sunset. A lazy Bacchusian god.

“Let your husband hear you.” He encourages. Your moans and sweet as rare wine. Inbetween sucking and biting your neck. Asking for your sounds of ecstasy like he deserves them. A holy offering that praises him and washes away all sin.

“I don’t think you are goddess of the sea my love. With a cunt this sweet and tight? I think you must be a fertility goddess instead.” He proposes into your ear through harsh chuffs for breath.

“So tight. So fucking Intoxicating” he huffs. Cupping your tits and still moving to you as harshly and deep as he’s able.

He makes sure your breath cannot come as you steal his. A warm sweaty palm on your chin twists your head back to his. He anoints your lips with a messy kiss that echoes with the ghost of last nights wine and the tang of salt from between your legs. His tongue licks over your teeth. He drags every part of you up for devouring.

A commotion over by the door takes your mortified eyes over.

You see Aeliana and some of her maids coming in. When they see you both naked in the bed with Geta thrusting into you like a madman, you watch her eyes blow wide with shame. Head bowing. Arms laden with todays gown for you to wear. She halts the girls by her side.

Geta doesn’t even spare them a look. They are below his divine notice. He manages to lever his mouth off yours for a mere few seconds, to bark his orders and send them scurrying.

“Get out.” He shrieks. Voice ringing through you with the harshness of the sudden shout.

You twist your head into the sweat slicked pillow. Ashamed that they’d even just glimpsed you being used so.

His spit drying on your chin. His hand possessively cupping your cunt again as he fucked you so deeply, something tender within your pelvis had you nearly wailing.

His mouth goes to your neck again. His pace growing faster and faster. Sloppier. Noises of your sex only increasing. His hold on you is so intense it’s an ache. His fingers trailing through your curls and your folds to find that spot that will surrender you entirely to him.

He rears up behind you. Skin glued with heat to yours. He grabs you close as if you’ll fade under his fingertips like smoke. Hips hammering as he reached his pleasure. Yours came snapping down on him not long after.

That telltale tip and then the surge of ecstasy that broke through you. Cunt snapping down right around his cock as you came in shudders. Pulsing through you as his spend burst deep into you. Exactly where he wanted it. Wave after wave of pleasure. You let it take you. Little else you could do. Your strength to fight had turned stone cold.

You laid against him in cooling sheets. Listening to his chasing breath behind you. Feeling the wet and heat between your legs twofold. His sweat drips onto your back. Smeared as he laps at your neck. Fresh bruises and teeth indents are more raw than before.

You can barely notice. You’re more taken with the way your pussy squishes as he pulls free. The hot rush of his spend.

Hot breath comes over your ear again. You shudder and you’re not entirely sure it’s of pleasure. His lips kiss to your jaw and cheek. All this sweat and sex soaked skin. and still he finds lemons in your taste when he kisses you.

“Shall I have the maid fetch you water?” He seeks.

“I shall do it.” You shrink down with sex flushed cheeks. Pushing away from the bed with a wince. Hair draping down your back as you take a smooth sheet from the bed with you. Padding to the side. Hips swaying under the cotton. Your pelvis and thighs feel tender and aching - low and bone deep like sun burn - as you move to the amphora and goblets you’d used last night.

He sits on his elbows to watch you. Uncovered, cock laying soft against his thigh. His thighs and groin sticky-wet with evidence of your joining. Unabashed as to his naked state.

His eyes are hungry and you certainly give him a feast to watch. Clad in sunshine from the great maw of the window. Skin littered with violent red and purple marks in odes to his ownership of you. The smeared blood from bites at your back that he’d licked away.

You stand at the side. Laying your hands flat to the table where the jug stood. You found you didn’t reach for it right away. You looked at the very unfamiliar sight of the wedding band in your finger. The gold surrounded by the two dog heads fighting over the sapphire. A helpless jewel caught in between rabid teeth. How fitting.

Your shaking hands pour clear water into a cup and you drink it all quickly. The taste of metal and sleep fading from your tongue.

Bare feet padding the floor come behind you. The rustle of a fine robe. The red and gold one. He’s barely bothered to tie it closed around his chest.

“I must go and ready for the day. Loathe as I am to depart your blissful company.” He says. His hand slipping round the back of your neck. Bringing you in. Tasting the new wetness on your tongue as he kisses you. You muffle a moan to his lips as he possesses you in a kiss again. Squeak a little as he pulls away.

You don’t know what else there is to say.

Enjoy your gilded cage, little nymph. It’s all you’ll know from now on.

“Wear jewels and something pretty. I’ll come find you later. Wife.” He promises with a salacious smirk. Eyes you up and down like he wants to tear that sheet off and bend you over the lectus here and now. Smack the fat of your ass and claim you again.

A dark smile aimed your way. A thumb on your chin to bring you in for one more lippy kiss. And he’s off - stalking toward the doors. A lascivious look shot your way as he turns away.

You say nothing. You feel nothing. Nothing except for empty hollow rage that shakes through you. Pounds at the bony trap your ribs. Enough for you to shiver even in the warm morning air.

You feel scraped through. Brittle like fraying rope. He’s taken you from your home. Exiled your father. Forced shame upon your family. Killed your brother. Pushed his twisted lust upon you, and now expects you to react as if it’s dressed up in love.

You floated into his life like a midsummer’s night breeze. And he found you breathtaking, enchanting. Now he had you he wanted to cup you close. Seal you to his skin with his nose buried in the crown of your head whilst crowing mine mine mine.

He was in two minds of what to do with you. Cherish you, love you, pour crimson rose petals before your steps. On the other hand, he only knew violence when it came to love and to lust. He wanted to break you apart piece-by-piece like dry clay. Tear at you like those tigers in the coliseum and see what’s left.

He’s never known what to do with his things when it comes to love. Maybe he didn’t even know it at all. Only knew how to demand and take. Never to please or to give. He’s never had too.

And now he expects mightily. For you to sit pretty and wear jewels, rings, gold, and fine stolas. Support his every shrieked command. You must learn to sew your mouth shut and keep your opinions tamed back behind that same silent closure of thread.

An Empresses role was silence. How your soul quakes with that new pain.

The huge doors rattle again. The exit of the Emperor meant the maids were safe to come tend you.

Aeliana walks towards you. You raise your eyes to hers. Wet and wide. Tears on the quivering brink of your lashes.

She is unable to hide the noticeable switch of shock in her expression, when she sees the wounds you’d been saddled with. Teeth marks and bruises. Like you’re a slab of meat and not a cherished spouse.

She cannot fathom how you have more cuts for her to soothe balm on after your wedding night.

“Let’s get you to the baths, Empress.” She soothes. Opens her arm. Encouraged you to follow. She tries a bolstering smile but you both know it’s fragile. Her husky voice is the only kind thing you fear you’ll ever hear in this rotten place.

You nod. Swallow. Stand tall and let her manoeuvre you.

You can allow some tears to slip free when you’re in the water. Then you must banish your feelings. The maids must strap finery and silks onto your body again and truss you up in this farce. You steel every last splitting nerve whilst you can. Tamp them down. Gather the ragged ends up and soothe them. Clutch tight.

Naked, you wade down the steps and sink under the surface of the huge bath.

You’re tempted to not come up for air again. The water lulling you in its cradling warmth like an old familiar companion. As if a siren that you let drag you down. Plunge headlong into waves and succumb.

Unlike Odysseus, you don’t have the strength to fight its pull.

The bite on your shoulder turns the water clouded and rusty.

One salient thought gives you solace as the world around you grows numbs to your ears.

Atleast he drank deeply from the lies you’d fed.

~

Many sun and moons had set since your wedding night. Time marches its onward parade in the beautifully rotten imperial palace.

Geta and Caracalla were summoned to a Imperial Consul with the senators. To discuss the matters of their particular wish to expand the Roman empire to Persia and India. And possibly beyond that. They held Rome and all her starving subjects in a gold fisted vice. Refused to relent like a bratty child clutching a beloved toy. One that they would rather break to splinters in their grasp than see it enjoyed by someone else.

That was not the way of the gods, after all. It was their damn birthright.

They both slouch in their sloping marble carved chairs, in front of the rows of Senators, as the magistrate drones through the Verba fecit. Then they would read the protocols to address problems within the city.

Geta is not attempting to look amused or even mildly interested.

He slurps at a golden goblet of dark wine. A scowl like rolling thunder on his face. Dark eyes smouldering at any old senator who dares contest his gaze. Garbed in gold with rings on every finger. His black and gold silken robes folded in his lap, spilling to the ground.

Caracalla appears more interested in feeding grapes to Dondus. His manic grin shining. Gold tooth glittering in the half dim as he laughs. His creatures chirps and shrieks accompany the low drone of the voices rolling around the great marble room. Bounding off the pillars and echoing back.

Geta ground his jaw tight as he flickered a look to the side and caught sight of the very thing that had begun to vex him from the second he stepped into these chambers. Set far back behind him. Amongst the senators seats.

Your cushioned lectus remained vacant.

He grips his wine goblet too tight. fingers strangling the stem. His attention was brought back to the room as Senator Thraex cleared his throat. Summoning back his attention.

“… I would also like to wish you joy on your recent union. Caesar…. You have bestowed a fine and fair Empress onto Rome and her peoples…”

Geta narrows his eyes at the man. Coaxing out the rest sharply. Or else.

“Yet I cannot help but notice It has been four moons now since the Empress graced us with her presence here at counsel…. I do wonder if all is well. As Rome does deserve the full compliments of its masters here to guide us.”

Geta ground his teeth around an answer. The room throbs in the heady silence as he glares. Punctuated only by the monkeys chitters and the shuffling of Senators gazing at each other in arch amusement as to the meaning of the levied comment.

“The Empress is occupied elsewhere at present. I should hope you are not suggesting me and my brother are lacking in our duties in any way. Senator.” He replies curtly. Eyes thunder heavy and dragging over the dry old man. Umbrian danger.

“Of course not. Sire.” Thraex replied. Seeming unimpressed with the answer. “If you’ll permit me I should like to discuss the issue within the city of what is to be done of taxes within the Porta Capena quarter…”

Geta sunk into his cup again as the Senators droned on. His mood plunged below foul. Jaw tight. He turned to look at the lectus again. Venom in his blood at your absence.

When counsel finished. He stormed from his seat without another word. Robes sweeping the ground as he raced from the room. Sandals meeting the floor like slaps. Rage evident in his stride. He summons the nearest Praetoria. Who promptly comes to his side.

“Where is the Empress?” He snarls. A snake in coil about to strike. Bad enough he had to suffer the thinly veiled barbs of Senators asking why you were absent. Even worse was that you made him look a fool without even being here. They were casting foul allusions as to your marriage.

The guard hesitates before giving an answer. “She has left the Palace, Caesar.” He answers.

Geta’s anger comes sharp and packed in poison. A hiss. He asks so curtly it echoes to the ceiling. “And precisely where has she gone?”

~

At first, the noise and bustle of Rome was repugnant to you. Rancid and dirt and heat. Too much noise and not enough air.

Made putrid by stale sweat en masse bodies, horse manure, and smoke from fires mingling with roasting meat or oily charred fish from street vendors.

There was always shouting, someone selling wine, someone selling exotic wares, and bartering filling the air. Music bleeding from some side alley. Jugglers and slight of hands weaving through the crowds of servants and nobles and peasants, ready to part people from their coin.

You watch and just listen to it all from where you’re seated. A palla folded around your head and neck to block the otherwise fierce sun, also to obscure your features, give you shade wherein to hide your golden jewellery and rich dress.

Though you doubt anyone in this riotous city knows or even cares who you are. To a glance? You are just another rich merchants wife. Or noble woman. Unseen. Unremarkable. You do admire Rome for that small mercy atleast. To make you invisible in a crowd of thousands.

You’re seated at the edge of the fountain. The marble lip cold under your dress. Your hand dangling down into the clean waters. Trailing your fingertips through the cool of it. Water shimmers off the blue stones and pearls of your rings. If you squint, they are treasures cast on the shore. You can imagine you see specs of sand. Golden shells. Milky pearls waiting to be picked - tucked cosily in cream oyster shells.

You try to pretend. You fail.

Your personal praetorian guard lingers not far away. Varro. A perpetual huge shadow to you since your wedding.

Geta told you the morning after that you were to have him watch over you at all times. The man has been hulking after your every footstep since. It’s cloying, but nowhere as much as that palace is.

Varro boasts a huge figure and not one to be easily missed in a crowd. A warriors build. A scowl that could curdle milk. He’s solid. Brawny thick chest, stocky as a barrel, thighs thick as tree trunks, large arms and immense shoulders even without his plates of armour.

He had a proud chiselled face, dark hazel eyes and a prominent nose that had been broken before. Evidence of a pinking scar bumping at the bridge of it. Also a small nick dissecting his lower lip. His life had known pain. You can tell. Typical soldiers life. A body cut from the cloth of war. From polishing armour, baying for unease, and stepping to commands.

It’s hewn in the way he carries himself in crowds. Darting eyes and not feeling at ease, or any kind of sane, unless he can see all four clear corners around himself - and you. And convinced danger lurks behind every brick corner and down every side street. Huge hand permanently slung over the pommel of his sword. A warning.

He stands a little way across from you now. Looming proud as an old oak in the shade of a building and a market stall slung with rich cloth for sale. Shirking the sun and scowling at everyone. Basalt black hair falls like long thorns over, down his brow. Down the nape of his neck and collar, beaded in sweat.

Children scarper around him. Street urchins that clamour like flies on rot at his appearance. He gives no inch and tells them to move along with a curt nod. Steel stiff spine standing to attention. A merchant tries to sell him a cup of wine - red or white - they are silenced by his frown. He won’t touch a drop whilst on duty. Truth be told, You don’t think he knows how to be off duty. He’s not capable.

He’s an austere reminder of your station. Almost literally, in his dark black plate armour and wisteria purple cape swinging from his wide shoulders. A storm cloud eternally perched on the horizon of your day. His words come few and far between. You don’t think you’ve heard him string two full sentences together once. Except possibly in daggered warning;

You draw too much attention. Empress. It is bound to invite trouble.

You wanted to scoff at that irony.

You? In your hooded palla, draw attention?

When it is he, the man who guards you - like a grizzled dog - who is a thick immovable column of uniform widely recognised as imperial praetoria, wherever you turn in these streets? Unfathomable.

I am going to temple to pray. You may either escort me. Or explain to my husband why I have gone into the capital, alone.

His answer was a gruff glare. Acceptance and frustration entwined.

You have caused him to furrow his dark brows at you several times with a “Yes, Empress.” That came dragged through a displeased drone. A hound showing you his teeth before the jaws snap. Having to escort you into the city each day was laying contrary to his regulations to not have you in harms way.

You insisted. He obeyed. With little choice in the matter.

Every day you came here. One corner of the beating, shouting heart of Rome. You went to the Temple of Vesta and you prayed. And you went to a public fountain and let real life ebb in upon you once again. To find some peace away from the rabid emperors, who blaze at the palace with all the ferocity of fiery twin suns. They encompass all. Left little room for anything else. All life revolved around them. You float off in distant orbit.

You wave your fingers through the cool water. Tethered to one small piece of home again. Cool tides that brought you comfort. Reminded you of the sun soaked shores of home. Sunlight fracturing in diamonds off clear blue waters.

Feeling the sun beat down now on your neck through layers of cloth. You cast your eyes over the monuments to Neptune sat in this ornamental fountain. Sea gods and goddesses and creatures of sea foam. The other side where you are, women are washing clothes, or chatting over baskets fetched from market. You can smell perfumed oils, dried flower petals, and the sweet plump of ripe fruits tucked safe in the shade of their baskets.

How wild it is that until four weeks ago, that too had been your life. You didn’t sleep on silken sheets, get trussed in gold, and have servants poised so you never had to even lift a finger.

You knew comforts - of course. You had fine clothes and didn’t have to toil the fields. But you weren’t beyond spinning cloth or running errands. Helping clean and tidy your home. Fetching food or helping prepare meals. Coming home from market in the small town with oiled fish, scorpion fish, or boar, fresh chestnuts or olives. Dried meats sometimes too.

You thought of the olive trees lining the road to town. Huge and ancient. Offering branches that white doves often sat in - cooing away their calls. You thought of buying chestnuts for Ceres because she adored them so. Goats cheese for your mother that she liked with honey. Bunches and bunches of aniseed to make into Canistrelli biscuits for father.

The happy creak of your basket on your arm. Feeling the sun tangle in your hair as you shaded your eyes, felt the sea kissed breeze caress along your arms and back as if an embrace of a lover.

All those things you’d lost in one fell swoop. A life that had been snatched from you without your even getting a chance to bid it goodbye. Just like your brother. Your father.

And here you were now. Hiding away in the crowds. So lonely you felt its sting like the deepest shrapnel. A wound never closing. Always being prodded some more by the dire aspects of your circumstances. Anything to not be trapped in your gilded cage. Being reminded daily that your one use in that foul place, lay solely between your legs.

Two small girls come stumbling to an ungraceful stop, laughing, breathless and slowing from a run. They come right to your side to fill some amphorae with water. Dunking the clay jug into the clear water and letting it fill.

They each have dark hair and dark eyes. One must be close to Ceres’ age of six, toddling, milk teeth smile, youthful weight clinging to her cheeks, the other slightly older. Longer hair and a fuller smile. They have flowers pinched from a stall stuffed in their rusty coloured linen apron pockets. Some bay laurels and cornflowers.

You smile warmly at them. They smile back, unabashed. Joy seeping out of them. That brand of innocent fearlessness that grasps the young.

Turning your head you hear the clank of armour, feet shifting fast on dirt. Varro steps towards you with his scowl and his hand already on his sword.

You reprimand him silently. Gaze packed in ice. Jaw set. Mouth flicking to a grim line. You calmly hold up your hand and motion for him to step back. He’d scare the poor things.

You feel a gentle tug on your dress where it splays at your shoulders. Turning back, you see the younger one has her small hand on your dress.

You gently return your hand to your side. Seeing what she wanted your attention for. They both looked at Varro with much wide eyed curiosity. Only very rich ladies could afford a soldier. Only those of very high status. You fear he’s just betrayed your standing.

“Pardon me…” She utters. Her unsure voice carefully picking over the words. As if she was still learning larger words and their uses.

“Yes?” You smile. Touched by her boldness. Treating her with gentility.

“Are you the Empress?” She seeks. Forming words slowly. A curious tilt of her head.

You see no reason to lie.

You can feel Varros eyes burning a glare into your back. Harsher. More furious than the sun. Don’t.

“I am.” You respond.

They smile as if excited. Sharing a look. Both each producing a small laurel sprig from their stuffed pockets. They each step forwards and present the small branches out to you. A gift. You lay your hand flat and accept them both. Curling your fingers around branch stems.

“Gods blessings be upon you, Empress.” They speak in clunky unison.

You take the branches with reverence. Feeling the smooth leaves. The verdant and subtle scent coming from them.

“Pray tell me. What are your names?” You enquire.

The eldest speaks first. “Amata, Empress.”

The youngest follows suit. “Junia, Empress.” She tells you proudly.

You reach for your purse. Stowed safely within your dress folds away from the hands of beggars. You pluck out two coins and place them in their small hands. Junias hand reminds you if a small pudgy starfish. Curling round a silver shell.

“Blessings be upon you both. Amata. Junia. For your kindness…” You beam to them both.

They shimmer with mirth. Taking their jugs and scampering away through the crowds like nymphs.

Varro appears at your shoulder like an omen. “Empress.” He says your name lowly. Chiding you with his tone alone for revealing yourself to them.

“Surely two little girls holding flowers in their pockets, pose no danger to me.” You reply archly. Watching across the crowds where they’d disappeared.

“I only seek to resupply you of my one duty.”

“I don’t need reminding.” You tell him. Not unkindly. But he can hear the way you might be tempted to let the words be sharpened to little blades off your back teeth.

He’ll say this for you; you don’t have sharp teeth or poisonous tongue like every other noble in that palace. You are made different to their spoilt ways. Something sleeker and softer. All foam whipped off waves. You can sting and lash if required - you simply choose not too.

You hear bells toll for midday from the temple beyond. Clanging off the golden stone of every building around you. You fancy you can see the ripple of the sound sending waves to burst across the fountains surface.

Varro is giving you that stern look that urges you to be heading back. Before you’re started to be noticed. Before you become a perfidious gap in your Emperors day, when he isn’t vying for blood, gold or war. That or applying himself ruthlessly to the detriment of this great city, crushing his own people in the same way his favourite wine is made. Squeezing every drop til dry.

You hate to return. But you fear what wrath will come if you don’t. The thought of slipping away into these crowds and dipping into another form of life mocks you. Cowardice curbs your actions.

With some of the meagre coin in your pocket, you could try and make for the coast, possibly. You could disguise yourself as a merchants wife, or a servant. Anything to slip the golden net you’ve been landed in.

You wonder how far you’d make it, running away like a common ruffian, before the stomping hooves of a Roman battalion would be on your heels. Snatching you back here to be humiliated at Geta’s own insistence. The punishment he’d dole on you doesn’t bear thinking about. You were property after all.

You watch men and women weave in and out of the crowds, wishing you had half their luck as to put your back to this palace and peel away. Your mind wanders over that idea. A faint ember that dies to a curling puff of smoke. Snuffed out.

It doesn’t bear thinking about-

You take your offered laurel branches and stand. Varro takes up his guard. Eyes flicking all around. Searching for those corners he requires. For that split second of danger he can cleave his sword onto treasonous limbs for your protection.

You make your way back through crowds. Varro cutting a swathe for you. You keep your head down and remain quiet. Mind vacant as you move through the paved streets.

A flash of a body pushing past you takes your attention down a side alley. One arched with fabric awnings thrown over merchants stalls.

The flash of white turned out to be a senators robe. The vivid plum purple bordering white. You bat away the bitter thought of once recognising it as your fathers noble robes.

You catch sight of three people, stood on a street corner. One of them you don’t recognise but you know him to be a Senator. The two people he’s stood conversing with does make you stop in your tracks.

General Acacious and Lady Lucilla.

They are conversing deeply. Attention not given to you where you stand on the other side of the street. Shade cloaks them all. A moment out the sun. A place they hope guards them in obscurity. Talking with each other in hushed tones. Marcus and Lucilla wear hoods so as to hide their fine features from any obvious recognition.

The crowd trickles on around you. Water carving on around a large rock in the way.

Lady Lucilla raises her eyes. They flash to you in an instant. Dazzling green. A sun dappled meadow holding you in sight.

Her face falls as she halts her words. Lips parting. The General and the Senator both turn to follow her gaze. Finding you, caught static, at the other end of it. You recognise a prickle of panic when you see it.

You turn your head. Eyes snapping away as you hold your skirts and continue on.

Your guard says nothing. Though you know he saw what you just did. It’s not his place. He forgets all he sees or hears - all that doesn’t pose risk to you.

Maybe you weren’t the only person in Rome to wish the Palace walls didn’t have treasonous eyes and ears. You can’t help but wonder if perhaps Varro was right;

There is danger round these street corners in Rome.

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

@ceriseheaven @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @gvtosbith @munsonswhoresposts2 @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[tadpolesonalgae]

Mercy, Devil — Part 3

Poly-vampire!Batboys x reader

a/n: so much classical music was listened to while writing this

warnings: vampirism, blood drinking, poly batboys 

word count: 5,250

-Part 2-

If you had been somewhere brighter, somewhere happier, you might have risen more promptly. Surprisingly the threat of three supernatural beasts you imagine are currently either stalking the halls of the labyrinthine castle or dining on the blood of a naked virgin isn’t enough to goad you into leaving the sweet warmth of bed. You’ve never slept on a mattress so comfortable, and it’s been years since the last time you woke feeling heated and soft. 

But sweet things rarely last, and a bolt of lightening outside your window has your heart jumping in your chest. Surely it’s dangerous for one to strike so close—it had been right outside. Thunder rumbles in the distance, the sound of a stomach growling in the far North, a hunger so deep it can be heard throughout the land. You imagine the creature to who the stomach belongs to would have to be mighty, stronger than all three of the beasts in this castle combined—a dragon of some kind. After all, if they exist, why not anything else? 

Slippers warm your feet as you make your way to the door of your bedroom. The last time you had woken in here it had been one of them to find you; you’d much rather go to them than have them come to you, covered in the bedroom you’ve been put in. To your relief the wardrobe hadn’t been filled with useless scraps of lace, pale strings to sweep across your hips or decorative pearls to clasp over your front. You’d found actual dresses. Only in blacks and whites as far as you could see, with the exception of a few grey pieces but they had each seemed all too cold for a castle as frigid as this one. Ultimately the gown you’d settled on had been cream-coloured and almost shapeless with a high collar. Its sleeves cover the unbitten skin of your arms and faintly cinch around your wrists. The skirts of the dress rest just shy of your feet, long enough they will have to be clutched higher should you encounter any staircases, but once again, blessedly concealing. You tie the pale ribbons at your back to pull the dress to fit your waist, briefly sitting before the vanity to sort out your hair, before daring to venture out into the red-washed hallway. 

The statues of armour now seem far more puerile than they had the last time you’d seen them. Do the beasts keep them around as entertainment? Shells of former humans. 

A scent catches your attention and you pause at the height of the large staircase, palm resting against the cool, balmy wood of the banister. Fingers squeezing the width as you cast your eyes throughout the interior of the great entrance hall, the chandelier above still twinkling diamonds like crystallised teardrops. The tension of your stomach grumbles through your bones, hunger having your feet softly tipping over the first stair, then flowing in a decisive decent, lured down into the ground of the hall as that warm, fluffy scent beckons you further. Something sweet, like sugar and pastries with sliced fruits baked atop them, jams and clotted cream, the warm heat of freshly made tea held within a thin ceramic mug making your fingertips tingle. 

In the back of your mind you can recognise the pathway your feet are leading you on, continuing with your trail until you’re pausing to the side of a door, just the other side of the threshold. The crisp notes of music string along to soothe your pricked ears, violins gentle tumbling down through arpeggios as they’re wrung out across their strings. Lilting melodies harmonise with one another, three or four blending seamlessly into one beautiful tune, the tinkling of a few spare notes of a piano trilling. You hope it’s loud enough to muffle any of your own noises from their hearing. 

With your breath held firm, you lean yourself into the wall, front pressed flush to the patterned paper as you slowly peer round the corner into the spacious dining room. 

The table stretches straight down the middle, silver trays laden heavy with pastries and tarts and fresh bread and heated wine and hot tea and ripe fruit and delicacies that make your mouth water from the sight alone. Peering further down the table however reveals two of the three beasts, leaving one stray unaccounted for. 

Rhysand is sat at the head of the table where he belongs, looking as noble and aristocratic as he had when you’d first foolishly stumbled into his bewitched castle. The cravat at his throat is the colour of fresh blood, icy spider legs skittering up your spine now you can confidently assign a name to that shade of red. To his left, your right, sits Cassian, the sheer bulk of him taking up all of his chair, muscled forearms sat heavily over the chair arm, ankle crossed lazily over his knee as he leans back into his seat. His shirt is crisp and freshly pressed, yet half the buttons aren’t even done up. 

Compared to Rhysand, he looks more like a scoundrel than a nobleman. Just as threatening, though. Just as finely bladed as the other. 

You swallow, forcing yourself to straighten. To meet them at the frontlines instead of waiting to be surrounded. Nails dig into your palms but you make yourself breathe—albeit quietly—before taking that first trembling step out into open sight. 

Eyes so blue they’re violet lazily find their way to your own set, the rougher hazel eyes of the man at his left, your right, cutting to you without the grace Rhysand had afforded, and you’re offered the distinct feeling of the tip of a blade zipping up the ridges of your spine. You stand straighter, forcing yourself to take a decadent few extra seconds to sweep the table, as if you’re seeing it for the first time. “I didn’t think your kind would like human food.” 

Rhysand’s violet eyes twinkle and Cassian shifts in his chair, jaw propped upon one hand that you’re certain is large enough to cover your face entirely. “You’d be correct,” Rhysand muses, those cruelly soft lips curving themselves into an invitation as he nods to the empty chair at his right—your left. “It’s for you.” 

That startles the fear out of you. 

“For-…me?” You can’t keep the surprise out of your tone, nor hide the way your muscles spin loose ounces of their tension. Your stomach at least seems to be delighted with the opportunity, reminding you of its needs and hunger. But your sense remains intact and you incline your chin by a singular degree, “Why?”

Rhysand smiles a closed-lipped smile. “You’re my guest, and you shall be treated as one.” 

“If that’s what you want,” Cassian adds, with a sharp flash of teeth that has pain flickering in pin-pricks in your neck. You clear your throat, ignoring Cassian’s comment, though your skin isn’t immune, heating in response to his sonorous drawl that was dripping with lewd suggestion. You make your clarification, “What benefit does it serve you?” 

Both their smiles stretch at that, the silence answering for them. Come sit, and you’ll find out. 

They’ve locked onto you now—you no longer have the choice of running, or attempting to escape. Steeling your spine, you cross the threshold, knowingly putting yourself into their territory and you send a silent prayer than your knees won’t buckle as they walk you over to the chair that sits, open, at Rhysand’s side. Opposite Cassian. Hazel eyes catch on your own from across the table, his smirk widening into something indolent and you flinch away as his leg brushes your calf beneath the tablecloth. Fangs glint beneath the light with pleasure. 

You consider repeating your question, but if Rhysand had refused to do so, it would be a submission of sorts to afford him the respect you’d been denied. 

His lips quirk, the unsettling feel of his approval shivering across your skin. But with an incline of your chin the words come across easily enough. Tell me. 

“We have an offer to make you,” Rhysand declares, forearms gracefully bracing themselves atop the table, long, silver-hooped fingers interleaving with one another. Your head tilts at the seemingly diplomatic approach, glancing from Rhysand to Cassian, before cautiously asking, “‘We’?” 

“All three of us,” a rasping voice clarifies from the shadows, the third man appearing in the doorway you’d emerged from. Had he been following you? To make sure you hadn’t tried to escape? You hadn’t even felt a pair of eyes on you. 

You swallow, trying to keep your shifting to a minimum as the third man silently steps into the room, pulling out the chair to your right, and seating himself with no more noise than the soft stretch of fabric. Azriel. Utterly soundless, without even the beat of a heart to detect. “…Your offer…?” You ask Rhysand, though your attention lingers on the man to your right. Cassian’s leg again brushes your calf, and a frown slips between your brows, sitting yourself straighter, tighter, in your seat. 

“You should eat first,” Rhysand muses, his violet eyes flicking over the feast. “We wouldn’t want you feeling faint.” You make to protest, but movement catches your attention and you turn to see Azriel taking your plate, lifting a thick, flaky pastry with a silver serving knife, along with a few narrow, fresh slices of dripping nectarine. He sets the plate down before you, cutting hazel eyes feeling like a stab wound as they pierce the sheer veil of your soul. “Eat,” he tells you in a voice that’s shadowy and fallen, soft enough to register as intimate. “It will help you recover strength, to have food in your system again.” 

“So you can feed off of me again?” You whisper. 

The smile he gives you is cold and deadly, but non-threatening. Like he means well but cannot or will not muster up the warmth of the living. 

He reaches out, his thumb like ice wrapped in leather as it pushes gently across your cheekbone. Once, then twice. His hand falls away, the lifeless smile remaining. “Eat.” 

It’s not confirmation that you’re correct, but it’s not denial either. That they’ll pounce as soon as you’re ready. Rip you to shreds in the blink of an eye, if it will satisfy their wicked desires. 

“Hear our offer out before you assume the worst of us,” Rhysand drawls, eyes openly displaying his amusement, resting his face on his thumb and index finger, thumb pressed beneath his jaw while his second finger rests against the strong bone of his brow. A beasts’ entertainment. 

You swallow, trying to sit straighter as you pick the silver cutlery from the table, slicing off an edge of the pastry, “You’ve mentioned this offer a few times now, but I’m yet to hear a single detail.” You bite the pastry from your fork, chew, and swallow. Set the cutlery back down. One of Rhysand’s brows raise but he makes no comment, instead lifting himself from the lazy sprawl he had previously settled on, shifting into a position of severity. “Very well,” he drawls. “Should you at any point feel the need to flee from our presence and run screaming through my halls to relieve your agitation, you are welcome to do so.” 

Discomfort slithers through your gut, unease wrapping itself around your bones. But you wait for him to progress. 

His cruel mouth quirks, forearms returning to their brace over the table top, fingers interleaving. 

“Your offer is this: you will remain in my castle, keep the bed you now occupy, never hunger beneath my roof, and never again fear a chill or fever in your flesh.” Rhysand’s smile stretches into something alluring. Goading you to answer before he’s even finished spilling the terms of the agreement. “In return for all your needs being met, for living a life of absolute luxury, and protection, we ask that you allow us to take our fill, also.” 

Your eyes widen in your skull, staring at him. “You-… All three of you?” You gasp. “At once?” Your hand subconsciously lifts from the table, palm cupping the faint trace of pin-pricking pain that’s echoing through your skin.

“We’d spread ourselves out,” Cassian drawls, grabbing you attention as he leans forward in his seat, foot brushing yours but this time you’re too startled to even register the teasing caress. “Unless, you wanted to take us all at once?” He asks. Where Azriel’s voice had been rasping shadow, Cassian’s is rough and gravel-like. Heavy and husky, drenched in whisky and then jaggedly hewn from the mahogany wood that should have caged his long dead body. “That way you could get it all out of the way, without being bothered for a while?” 

His suggestion is lewd in a way you don’t understand, heat spreading up through your chest despite the confusion. Your instincts know well enough to recognise a wolf when it’s watching you. Something far more threatening than anything vulpine. 

“You’d kill me,” you force out in a panicked exhale. “You’ve almost killed me twice already. Why would I agree to your proposal?” 

“You would be taken care of,” Rhysand promises easily, ice cold fingers slipping beneath your own, sliding his thumb over your knuckles. Luring you deeper into his web of desire. “We’d make sure you wouldn’t be hurt,” Azriel murmurs from your other side, icy breath zipping up the length of your throat. You turn, drawn by his voice only to find those cutting hazel eyes mere inches from your own and your lungs lock. 

Your heart is pounding. Beating hard enough for all three of them to hear. 

“I don’t…” What were you going to say? 

You don’t even notice that his arm has found its way behind your back, fingers smoothly tracing up the final notches of your spine, using the lightest pressure to encourage you forward, your body curving to fit his pleasure as his digits span the back of your neck. A presence without constraint. “If you stay with us, we can make sure you’re taken care of,” Azriel murmurs, practically able to feel his mouth shape the words, so close together. Where did the space disappear to? 

In the back of your mind you hear a chair scrape across the floor, followed by an absence of presence along your calf, then a broad, calloused palm is cupping your throat. Cassian looms behind your chair, pulling your gaze away from Azriel and obscuring Rhysand from view. “It can feel good, too,” he drawls, fingers flexing their grip. “It wouldn’t be like last time. We were too rough with you then.” 

Cassian leans down and your thoughts float away, a pulsing suction latching onto your attention and feeding, his hazel eyes filling your world with new colours and excitement. Waves of emotion beginning to hazily dance through your vision as you keep staring up at him. His lips part in a smile, but this time the flash of razor sharp fangs hardly registers as anything other in your mind. His smile is promising pleasure, and your bones are aching. Lethargy so tightly wrapped around your muscles, squeezing them tight and tense. 

“So? What do you say?” 

You blink, head swaying on your shoulders as you land back in reality, a heavy breath gushing from your lungs and fear flutters through your stomach, hastily dipping your head to free yourself from Cassian’s hold, Azriel’s touch disappearing along with it. You could swear Cassian shoots a glare Rhysand’s way. 

“How-…,” you fumble, shifting in your seat, all too aware of their presences surrounding you. “How is this any better than the last deal you offered me?” 

Something shifts through the room, noticeable enough to have you tensing as an unnatural silence passes over the table. 

“Bastard,” Cassian grits through a feral smile, glaring at Rhysand. “You were going to keep her to yourself weren’t you. Leaving us out of it.” A muscle tics in Rhysand’s jaw, calculation passing through his cool, violet eyes. “I would have invited you for a glass,” he relents, gaze turning reluctant as he yields the information. A huff of icy breath ghosts along your neck, caressing the shell of your ear. “A glass,” you hear Azriel murmur under his breath, a whisper of amusement in his tone. 

Your brows narrow, focusing again on Rhysand, “So this time, I’m being offered the same as before, while you all get more from it than I do.” 

“You’re forgetting your place,” Rhysand hisses, and you’re frozen to your seat from the unearthly darkness in his eyes. You’re reminded of the glittering eruption of shadow just before you’d lost consciousness. That rumbling strength that had thrummed through the castle like thunder. 

The other two men don’t seem the slightest bit perturbed. If anything, you feel them lean closer. 

“Wound a bit tight, Rhys?” Cassian drawls, resting his elbow on the back of your chair as he leans in, watching eagerly. “I think I’d like to hear her out here,” he says, making you stiffen when their attention falls back to you, “what else do you want? We’ll throw something extra in, if we can give it. Just for you.” 

You swallow, mind swimming. Something else to ask for? You need to take this seriously, figure out what to ask for to give yourself as big an advantage as you can. Something to level against them. 

You sit straighter in your chair, “I want three favours.” It can’t be blatant enough though, that they would realise it might put them at a disadvantage. Make it seem like a game. A beasts’ entertainment—not to be taken seriously. 

“A favour from each of us,” Azriel murmurs from your side, and you think you can hear the amusement in his voice as he grins at Rhysand. “That’s a good request to make.” 

But, “No.” You clarify. 

“Three from each of us?” Rhysand inquires, his brows narrowing. “You overestimate my generosity.” 

“No,” you repeat, hurriedly. Swallow, sitting straighter still. “I want two favours from you, for your two offers. One from Cassian, for his offer on having three of you at once. None from Azriel. For being the most welcoming.” It’s a shot in the dark, but if you can find a way to exploit even the slightest of fracture in whatever strange bond they have with one another… “That’s what I want. In return for agreeing to stay here, and letting you feed from me.” 

Are you really doing this? 

It’s your best chance. 

Now the attention has shifted back to Rhysand. His cool, violet eyes glitter, brows narrowed as he calculates. Then the faintest edges of his mouth curve. “Two favours from me, one from Cassian,  one from Azriel, sealed with a blood promise.” 

The ghost of Azriel’s laugh skitters up your neck, and Cassian whistles. 

“What’s a…blood promise?” You don’t like the sound of it. Especially not if it’s bad enough to have him adding a favour from Azriel. Rhysand smiles, a dead smile. “Something to ensure that even if you request all three of us to release you, you won’t be able to escape.” 

“Without our will,” Cassian clarifies. “If we choose for you to leave, then you’re permitted. But you will not be able to ask for us to release you as one of our favours.” 

“And since the conditions are four favours in return for your blood, neither will you be able to ask us to starve ourselves,” Azriel murmurs, cold shadow caressing the shell of your ear. You experience the exact feeling of some elegantly fluttering creature writhing around in a three-dimensional web, only binding yourself tighter and tighter with every circle of your small, lithe body, each flicker of web drawing the eight-legged beasts closer, venom dripping from their hungry fangs. 

“So- But-…then what can I ask for?” You ask, hopelessness bleeding into your voice, torso deflating into the seat. You’d thought… 

It doesn’t matter what you’d thought, though. 

Cassian’s hand drops to your shoulder, in a gesture that would have been comforting perhaps if you didn’t know he wanted to eat you. His fingers trail a stitch in the plain gown, tracing the seam of the shoulder. “Touch,” he drawls, surprisingly close to your ear. “Physical comforts.” 

“Don’t encourage her, Cass,” Azriel murmurs from your other side, both of them far too close for your liking. They seem to be finding this entertaining. “She can think for herself.” 

“Azriel.” Rhysand’s voice cuts through their amusement, hissing like steel through air. The two men pause, attention returning to the man at the head of the table, who seems to have more power than they do. The leader, of sorts? But violet eyes remain soullessly attached to you, pinning you into the padded, wooden seat. “You seal with her first. I will seal with her last, as our bond will require more due to its nature.”

“Wait! You haven’t told me how it works,” you exclaim when Azriel wraps his hand around your wrist, dragging it from your lap so his icy lips can have the pleasure of grazing your pulse. Rhysand cocks a brow, “you’ll figure it out shortly. Remember to keep your one favour in mind though, or you’ll end up with a seal and no benefit.” 

“My favour in-” You cut yourself off as you inhale sharply, Azriel’s needle-point fangs gently splitting your skin, hot tingles singing up your forearm and spreading through your fingertips. His venom is acting swiftly, though not enough to paralyse your entire body. Just enough to slow you—numb the part he’s drinking from. 

Your favour. You need to keep your favour in mind. Or you’ll come away with nothing. 

He owes you a favour. 

“Enough.” Again, Rhys’ voice slices through the room, quiet but honed, breaking Azriel from his hunger and you gasp as his fangs slide out from your wrist, his tongue swiping slowly across the narrow puncture marks, savouring the small beads of rouge. Before you’ve even managed to separate yourself from the sweet numbness that Azriel had put into you, Cassian’s taking your other arm, lifting it up above your head, calloused finger pads dragging your sleeve all the way up to your elbow. Cassian doesn’t look at you once, all his attention zeroing in on your pulse point, taking a deep inhale of your skin before running his tongue once across the expanse, his fangs sinking in swiftly after. 

Your fingers tremble, weakness flooding your body as you slump back into the chair, Azriel’s cold fingers still carefully encasing your wrist, savouring the lasting seep of blood from the wound he’d given you while Cassian drinks and oh god you need to remember the favour the favour the favour he owes you… 

Your eyes stutter, lids stammering until they give way, sliding shut as you attempt to focus, to remember, to keep one thought in mind, that he owes you your favour. 

The world changes after he’s drank. Even once the wound is sealed, you’re finding it hard to think of anything other than the favour they each owe you. Your arms pulse at your sides, tingling numbness tickling your flesh, thrumming faintly at your fingertips. 

“Azriel,” Rhysand warns, a fondness in his tone. You turn, heart leaping to your throat when you find his teeth experimentally grazing the bite marks. As if he’s considering re-penetrating your skin. Cassian’s own fangs scrape, guiding his bitemark a little wider to allow more blood into his mouth before swiftly sealing you away, taking his last lick. There’s still so much hunger in his eyes, and you’re reminded of how swiftly everything else got out of control before, when they’d tasted you for the first time. 

There’s enough tension in their bodies that there’s a moment of hesitation when Rhysand orders them to leave. But it’s overruled by discipline, hands releasing your wrists that fall back to your lap, allowing you to catch your breath as they take their departure. 

“And now you understand a blood promise,” Rhysand muses from his chair. “You remembered to recall your favours, yes?” 

“I did what you told me to,” you manage, forcing yourself to sit straighter despite the minimal feeling in your arms and the dizziness that’s gently sucking at your eyes. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t request three favours from each of us?” Rhysand laughs softly, “Imagine how drained you would be.” 

“You still owe me two favours,” you say, refusing to allow your eyes to shut for another second until you take those favours from him. The small chances you need. 

Rhysand’s lips tug upwards at their edges, leaning back in his chair, eyes glinting. “Come and take them from me.” 

You grit your teeth, exhaling a heavy breath before shakily rising to your feet, taking a moment to ensure you’re going to be steady while rounding the corner to reach him. He seems to find your weakness entertaining, as he doesn’t once remove the weight of his crushing attention from you until you’re stood at his side, one of your hands needing to rest on the table for security. His chair slides across the floor as he comes to a graceful stand, making you lift your chin to meet him. 

Ice cold fingers graze the hollow of the underside of your jaw, tilting you just that little higher as he smirks down at you. Far too close for your liking, but you need those favours. “Just get it over with,” you murmur, fighting the lethargy weighing your eyes. His smirk widens, pushing hair away from your shoulder, making you tense. Hands tremble at your sides while those deft fingers slowly trail to the buttons that head downward over your front in a straight line, keeping the bodice of the dress together. The dress you’d chosen specifically because of its high neck.

“Are you scared?” Rhysand whispers, moving closer, making sure you feel every stroke and caress of his fingers as they trace your front, exposing skin to the air as he pushes the fabric away. He smiles, cold breath ghosting across your lips, close enough to consider intimate. “I know you are,” he smiles. “We can smell fear. I could hear the beat of your heart from the other side of my castle. Or seek you out on scent alone, through the forest.” 

A cold palm cups your waist, squeezing possessively. To think you had ever thought him trustworthy enough to spend the night with. Without knowing the kind of beast he was. 

“Tilt your head for me,” he instructs, a hint of arrogance in his violet eyes. Enjoying your submission as you flush, tipping your head to one side. Fangs scrape your neck, a teasing shiver skittering up your spine. “Have you thought what your first favour will be?” He asks, canines grazing your throat as he speaks. “Not yet,” you admit, panting and surprisingly hot despite the blood that’s been drained. “I look forward to hearing what you come up with,” Rhysand murmurs against your throat, his hold further tightening around your body, the hard lip of the table digging into the very tops of the backs of your thighs.

 “Don’t disappoint me,” he whispers like the devil.

You fight to give a reply, but his fingers have combed themselves into the roots of your hair, dragging it back and away from your throat, tilting your head completely to the side as his fangs slip into your flesh. A spike of excitement zips from head to toe before weakness sizzles throughout your body. 

An unpleasant curse floats through your mind for his swift-acting venom, legs like flour as it spills through your blood stream that’s warming his mouth. Your lips part, breath becoming laboured as his own lips seal around the puncture wound, sucking, drinking, thirsting. Before your hazy vision come puffs of condensation and you have to rest yourself in his hold, practically sitting atop the banquet table as your legs give out. 

Rhysand doesn’t release you. Instead his mouth becomes warm, palms heating around your waist almost enough to feel like a living man’s. A man with a pulse of his own, and blood to be beaten around his body instead of stealing it from yours. 

Two favours, you repeat over and over in your mind. Two favours. He owes me two favours.

Rhysand’s fingers curl at the nape of your neck, tucking your head back so you’re arching into his hold as he presses his body against you, curving you into the table. His fangs sink deeper, a tingling pleasure zinging from the puncture point as he widens the drinking incisions, hot tongue suctioning deeper, drinking more, and more, and more. 

Your hands push weakly at his chest, fumbling over the silver embroidered threads of his lapels, clutching desperately. “Let me go…” you breathe, breathing ragged and shallow. “I…stop…” 

You nearly slump when he pulls away, a final drag of his tongue sealing the wound. 

Rhysand’s lips are bloody, teeth and mouth filled with dark, rich red. 

“I…I need…” 

His smile looks like hell as he pulls away, your legs falling out from under you, leaving you in a crumpled heap on the floor, struggling for breath. Panting shallowly. Bastard. 

Rhysand swipes the blood from his lower lip away with the pad of his thumb, licking the remaining red up with a flick of his tongue. “Azriel will return you to your chambers,” he drawls, seating himself in his chair once more. “Rest well, little devil. And this time wait for one of us to seek you out before attempting to explore my grounds.” 

A pair of boots appears in your vision and you realise it must be Azriel. 

By a force you can’t hope to understand you’re listen from the ground to be resting in his arms, tipping into the solid wall of his chest. 

“How do I know…if my favours…?” You pant, forcing yourself to keep your eyes open just long enough to locate his own charming set. But his expression shows little besides mild amusement, and you don’t have the strength to protest as Azriel sweeps you from the room, carrying you to the top of the curved staircase and back down the stretching hallways. 

The bed is soft beneath you and warmer than you remember. 

Maybe you’re just colder. 

Azriel’s thumb grazes across Cassian’s bite marks, and your heart pounds as the man leans over your reclined body, breath hitching as he dips to your throat. 

“What are you doing?” You try to hiss, attempting to struggle beneath his dominating figure. “You’ve already taken enough-” Something cool, silky and dark wraps over the lower portion of your mouth, cutting your voice to silence. More of the darkness pushes your head to the side and you’re too exhausted to resist. 

Azriel lowers his hungry mouth to your throat but you’re surprised when he doesn’t bite. 

Instead his mouth parts over the patch of skin where Rhysand had been, his lips sealing almost tentatively around the wound. 

A shudder ghosts up your spine as he licks Rhysand’s bite mark, teasingly circling the edge of the punctures with his own needle-point canines, playing with their indentations. 

He seems to be doing it for a pleasure outside of drinking. 

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove

mercy, devil taglist: @illyrian-dreamer @kyebirdi @fae-glamour-petrichorus @saltedcoffeescotch @reggiescat @darling006

[jamneuromain]

Ari's Payback

Mob!Ari Levinson x Reader

Warning: Mob!Ari, Wife!Reader, Ari being petty, a lot of cursing

Summary: As your husband, Ari did what he does best: annoy you.

A/N: Happens right after this event. Part of Venomous Vows series in collaboration with @biteofcherry

Ari cursed silently in his mind.

There was an intense debate going on about whether or not he should do this.

The brain cell of stupidity argued: Do it. Let’s give her hell.

The sane part of his brain said: Let’s just kill her instead.

Okay. Maybe he shouldn’t leave both his brain cells wandering in his mind after a few too many glasses of scotch.

Plus, killing her meant that he could only enjoy the look on your face once. While initiating the plan, on the other hand …

He reached for the box, and snatched the object inside with ease.

A part of him grew curious as to why his wife did not wire her stuff.

Then, at the back of his head, a slurred, drunken voice of his own reminded him that it was his home. It was your home. It was your shared home.

Ari watches as you rummage through the house, ask the maid (he forgets her name once again, Charlotte or Shari or Shar-something) to help you rummage through the house. A while later, the valet is commandeered. Then your chauffeur.

Together, the four of you search every inch of your bedroom, your bathroom, your walk-in wardrobe, and your second walk-in wardrobe with handbags.

He pulls out his phone to take a look at the time.

Ten minutes to eight pm.

He could imagine the guests murmuring, glass clicking, heels clattering, air thickening with his men huffing out cigarette smoke.

He could imagine the guests glancing at their wristwatches – having received a pat-down at the entrance and removed all electronic devices such as their phones like taking some friggin’ SATs – and getting all disturbed, wondering if they should bolt or would FBI come surrounding this goddamn place as this could very well be the largest mob family gathering along the east coast.

Yet, he muses, they should grow accustomed to your tardiness, as there hardly were times when you weren’t late for this annual gathering since your marriage.

He finds a box of cigars in one of the drawers of the coffee table and a box of matches to go with it. He lights the cigar and enjoys the rich spicy odor of it, feeling particularly like a club owner from the 1920s, watching in the dark as the mime continues in front of him.

Well, not a mime-mime, but a –

“It can’t be just gone.” You snap at no one in particular, though it is clear as day that you are not in a good mood, while the helps you’ve summoned keep their lips shut.

Ari allows a small whiff of cigar smoke drift from the corner of his lips.

Poor them. But it’s not like you are going to bite their heads off.

“Charlene, please check my jewelry box again. Marco, my coats. George, my handbags.” You grit your teeth tightly, “It’s a necklace with a ring of pearls and a fuckin’ big-ass pink diamond in the middle. It can’t be gone.”

And it is lying in the deepest darkest corner of his safe in the study. The pleasant bitter taste of the cigar filled his lungs, ghosting Ari’s face with a faint smirk. He takes time to pour himself a glass of scotch, knowing that this fiasco will last forever since he was the thief who wants payback for your last not-so-peaceful encounter when you decided to sabotage his online meeting with the loudest porn.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. It’s not in the jewelry box.” Charlene exits your bedroom a couple of minutes later, apologizing even if it was not remotely her fault.

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Ari’s valet, Marco shakes his head and refuses to meet his eyes with yours after coming back to the living room.

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Your driver George echoes.

You stand in the middle of your living room, hands resting above your hips, full make-up and properly dressed, with a beautiful strapless on you, and on your neck – nothing, nada.

Ari savors his scotch with his eyes closed.

First of all, in his defense, you look beautiful in anything, even a rag. Despite his hatred towards you, he is not blind. And you certainly do not need one specific necklace to bring it out in you.

Second of all, that necklace was a gift from a man before your marriage. A man who is not Ari Levinson (nor your father, for that matter). A childhood friend, to be exact. Ari has always suspected you felt a thing towards that man. Luckily, that man was off to some adventure in a godforsaken jungle in the middle of nowhere.

Ari prays that the friend of yours dies there. He could send a team of armed mercs to annihilate his opponent, but he chose not to. Ari Levinson is not a complete monster, just fyi.

Last of all, it was so worth it, making you mad.

“Fucking stupid goddamn pearls I swear-” You ignore Ari being all suited up on the couch, heading to your bedroom to check under the bed again, cursing under your breath.

The soles of your heels click on the floor hard enough to poke a hole in it.

“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck FUCK!”

He hears you lash out your fury into the soft beddings. He hears your anger pent up with no one and nowhere to aim at. He hears you curse louder.

Ari puffs the silvery smoke into the air.

See? The brain cell of stupidity tells him. Totally worth it.

[veturiusofserra]

when you know, you know | s. r.

𑁤 synopsis: in an interview she opens up about how easy it is to be loved by Spencer, sharing the story of how they met and how his love inspired her music.

𑁤 pairing: spencer reid x singer!reader

𑁤 words: 1.090

𑁤 disclaimer: This was 100% inspired by something my bf said a while ago, and I love the song. I hope you will enjoy it too <3

“As we reach the close of our conversation, one thing’s bugging me. In your song “Margaret,” there’s this line ‘when you know, you know.’ Like, how do you just know someone’s the one? I’ve been through my share of relationships, yet I haven’t experienced that kind of thing you sing about. In your song, it’s all so clear-cut, like you can predict the future. It reminds me of a kid believing in the tooth fairy – sweet idea, maybe not quite real. But that’s probably what makes the song so good. It talks about this perfect love where everything just clicks, and all your worries disappear. Maybe that’s what I’m still looking for, or maybe it’s just for some lucky people. Either way, your song paints such a strong picture of love that it makes me wonder if I’ll ever have a ‘Margaret’ of my own.”

“It’s funny, right? The answer everyone gives is so simple: “you’ll just know.” Like love hits you like a lightning bolt, destiny calls, happily ever after guaranteed. But maybe that’s the problem. We get this picture-perfect idea of love from movies and books, and then we miss the real thing when it’s right under our noses. We set these high expectations, these checklists of what “the one” should be like. And if someone doesn’t tick every box, we write them off. It’s like searching for a flawless diamond, forgetting that even the most beautiful gems have tiny imperfections. Because guess what? We all mess up. You make mistakes, I make mistakes, everyone does. Maybe that’s what makes a real connection so special – accepting someone, flaws and all. Speaking of which, there’s this story I wanted to share with you.”

“We're all ears!”, the interviewer and the crew smile with waiting faces.  

“For the longest time, I believed I was destined to give love, but never receive it.  Maybe because... well, let’s be honest, I can be a bit self-absorbed, lost in my own head and neglecting others. But even with the no love life mantra, there was always this yearning for a family, a deep desire for children I could call my own. The ‘what ifs’ terrified me, though. Would I be a good parent? Would they be happy? Could I provide for them? Eventually, I resigned myself to a life of music, making people happy through my art, having a few friends, maybe a tragically young death – you know, the artist’s curse. 

Then, I found him. We both know Penny, but run in different circles. He’s in law, I’m an artist – about as different as you get, except for maybe a shared love of fancy vocabulary. We met at Penny’s birthday party, and while he claims it was love at first sight for him, I just thought he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. But that was it. He was too shy to introduce himself, and I was sworn off men at the time. Funny how fate works, right?  We never crossed paths before, but after that night, it seemed like everywhere I turned, there he was. That’s when I decided to take a chance, and boy, I was so scared!

All those stories about soulmates and butterflies? They weren’t for me. Anxiety had been my constant companion for as long as I could remember. Butterflies just meant another battle brewing in my head. What I craved was peace, a steady hand to anchor me until I was ready to set sail. So, I built a friendship with him. We shared secrets, dreams, and vulnerabilities. He turned out to be a brilliant mind, a walking encyclopedia with an IQ of 187. Yet, he never made me feel inferior. He found humor in my quirks, and we seemed to complement each other perfectly. The more time we spent together, the more his words resonated: “We were designed for one another.”

And then, it hit me. Love. Deep, unexpected, and all-encompassing. It felt effortless, a perfect fit. But fear gnawed at me. It was all so new, so unfamiliar. Just as I was drowning in uncertainty, Penny, our mutual friend, reached out. She had something to show me – “Margaret.”

“She wrote it?” she asked, intrigued.

“Well, she started it,” I clarify. “Inspired by him, she penned the first lines that night after the birthday party. She couldn't shake the image of his longing gaze, a sight she’d never witnessed before. It felt sacred, a raw glimpse into his heart. The initial draft, rough around the edges, went something like this: ‘just writing for a friend. My shirt's inside out, and penmanship is messy. He met her on the rooftop, and she wore white. He said, ‘I think I’m in trouble.’ He saw flashes of the future.” A gentle smile graces your lips. 

“Seriously, that’s adorable.”

I nod, a blush creeping up my cheeks. “Right? Her words sparked inspiration within me. I wrote the rest, my mind consumed by-”

“By him.” she prompted, leaning in.

“He made love feel simple. Loving me was effortless for him, a stark contrast to the struggle I’d always imagined. It was like breathing, a natural and easy rhythm. He helped me discover the light that had been hiding within me all along.”

“There’s a saying,” the interviewer began, “to be loved is to be changed.”

I smiled. “I prefer a different one: to be loved is to be known. Because maybe, just maybe, he saw the affection within me all along, the part I couldn’t quite see myself.”

“You are indeed full of affection,” she said warmly. “Thank you for sharing this story with us.”

“Thank you for listening. I know it's a cliché, but there truly is someone out there for everyone. You never know what tomorrow holds, but deep down, a tiny spark ignites within us, guiding us towards that love. Trust it.”

“That wraps it up for our interview with the lovely Y/n! But before we say goodbye, there's one more message for her. Can we play it, Jonah?” A nod later, the studio fills with the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hey there, love. Just wanted to say congratulations on the album! You poured your heart and soul into it, and I’m incredibly proud. But hey, can you come home soon? Two days feels like an eternity without you. Miss my other half. Love you tons, sweetheart. And everyone listening, stream Ocean Boulevard! Dex says hi to mom, too.” A meow erupts in the background, eliciting a laugh from you and the studio crew.

thoughts? or prayers idk

[syoddeye]

like i'm winning it - 02 wellspring

ghost x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 cw: alcohol, threats of violence, power imbalance, sexual harassment (quid pro quo offer), reader is in over her head, male ocs You've never made it this far. Not on your own.

Win comes around a lot more after your date. 

He buys booths, bottles. Slips tips to any of your work friends who so happen to breeze by and drops bills on the host stand. In one month, more money passes through your hands than the last three combined.

You pay off the rent you'd been dodging. Renew the subscriptions to your motorized blinds and water filter. Get your nails done. A balance of necessities and luxuries. Indulgence to feel alive, practicality to stay afloat. 

In return, every night you're not working, you accompany him on dates—restaurants, galleries, and shows. Stuff previously out of reach for you. He asks you to read, dead scripts that'll never see the screen, but good practice. You show him your self-tapes. A list of the classes and workshops you want to take. And it's like that first dinner. No jokes, no teasing. Win takes you seriously. Says you got a gift, that you're a little diamond in the rough. Raw potential that only needs polishing.

But as nice as Win is, you're not naïve. His attention is a well that could dry up like Tahoe. You're determined to enjoy it while it lasts, though.

Mal stops you one night, just as you're shrugging your coat off, mid-sentence with Irina. She tilts her head and says there's a 'big guy' waiting for you out front. Your shift's covered, and your pay won't be docked. It doesn't click until she tacks on as an afterthought, "Does he always wear a mask?"

You stop, coat half-off, a cold rush prickling the back of your neck. So. Ghost is here. No big deal—it's probably something for Win. However, when you check your messages, there's nothing recent. Must be a surprise, you think, smiling as Irina jabs her elbow into your ribs, purring out, "Have fun, my little Star."

You pull your coat back on, zipping it to your chin as you bolt out of the dressing room. The club isn't quite to capacity, but you weave through the crowd until you reach the doors. You say goodnight to security as the doors swing open and see him dead ahead.

Ghost pops the door to a sleek red car, but the back seat's empty.

"Where's Win?" You ask as you climb in.

"You see 'im?" The door shuts in your face.

Rude. You don't recognize the car, but Win mentioned owning several. Even curiouser, there's no uniformed driver. Ghost slides into the driver's seat.

You give up on questions. All Ghost does is grunt and answer monosyllabically. 

You temporarily lose your ability to speak at all, anyway, when the sidewalks outside get cleaner and the stores trend nicer. You don't want to believe it when he takes a particular turn, heart swelling in your chest, but then yes—he turns again, and the street narrows, feeding into a set of chrome gates reading CynoSure Studios. 

You've never made it this far. Not on your own.

The car slows but doesn't stop as the red light of the gate's security sensors wash through the interior, then flick blue. The gates open automatically, and you're on the move again, passing warehouse after warehouse. All locked up and closed. Ghost takes you to the last one tucked in the corner. The car door opens for you, inviting in the breeze, carrying the faint scent of cigarette smoke with it.

"Get out, go in, and give 'im your name."

"Win?"

"No."

"Who, then?"

The look Ghost gives you in the mirror tells you ought to try your luck with the stranger. Not him.

You step out and straighten your skirt, and risk one more question. "Can you at least tell me how long this will take?"

"As long as it needs to."

Helpful bastard. 

Your heels click against the pavement, the sound ricocheting down the boulevard of silent studios, the street stretching out, empty but for the murmur of jazz seeping through the warehouse walls. The door gives when you pull the handle, and warm air brushes over you as you step into the dimly lit, cavernous space.

In the center is a small set. Parts of an old school, traditional family home. A kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. A set of speakers on the cement floor. A man leans on the counter, staring at a spread of papers on the table. 

"Hello?"

He looks up, a smile slowly forming on his face. "Can I help you?"

You give him your name, eyes darting around, finding no others. "I think my–I think Win Goforth set this up?"

"Senior or Junior?"

"Junior?"

His golden oculars flicker, the faint glow brightening as something shifts behind his pupils—an interface scanning through a list, maybe a calendar. "Right. Come on in, then. You're the last girl of the day."

You laugh a little incredulously, confused, and glance back at the entrance. Ghost would hear if you screamed, right? He'd also…respond. Right? 

"I'm the last girl for…?"

"The Lumina Vitae shoot? The skincare line?"

Your steps falter. When you didn't hear back after you'd sent off a dozen self-portraits—your hands lit as best as you could manage with a desk lamp and a timed lens—you prepared yourself for rejection. You knew it was a longshot. No professional help, no proper gear, just hoping beyond hope they were good enough. Yet here you were, apparently in the running. 

"Oh, right. That shoot. Of course, thank you. Hard to keep up these days."

He chuckles. "Sure is. I'm Max, by the way. If you'd just…"

Max helps you onto the raised set, immediately positioning you under one of the dangling set lights. He retrieves a small control from amongst the papers, which you realize are printed stills of various hands carefully posed and photographed. 

"No paperwork to sign?"

He ignores the question and turns up the music. "Hands out." You do, arms slightly bent, palms facing down—basic stuff, he mentions. No papers necessary since he knows the Goforths. With a tap to his temple, a small photographic drone floats onto set from somewhere unseen. Its lenses adjust automatically.

"Remain still."

Then, it's all too fast, snapping photos at a dizzying speed, its movements fluid. He must take a hundred pictures, peppering you with generic, scripted questions. How long you've known Win, your day job, if you're a local, and your family. That sort of thing.

Suddenly, he stops, humming, dark shapes moving over his irises as he reviews shots.

"I'm afraid this lighting is too severe. Mind if we…?" He walks toward the bedroom. "There's a better lamp in here."

"Of course." 

You scurry after, the drone following, and sit on the bed, close to the nightstand where he turns on a gentler lamp. The light's warmer, softer. He instructs you to lay one hand over the other, slightly offset, and you're suddenly thankful for the manicure and the little luxuries Win's generosity affords you.

If this goes well, I could get more than a manicure.  

You buzz at the thought, at the domino effect this opportunity might have. You're so caught up in your daydreams that you barely notice Max moving closer, pupils dilating manually. He reaches out, his fingertip pressing gently against your chin, tilting your face toward his.

"Is Win your only agent?"

The question catches you off guard. You're about to correct him, explain that Win isn't your agent, that you wouldn't even call him your boyfriend, but remember your lie. "Yes."

The drone hums past, its tiny turbines leaving a heated wake. It hovers above Max's shoulder, an impersonal observer. "You're not affiliated with any other studio? You've never worked for Echelon? Parallax? You're not, ah, fucking some other big wig?"

You pull back, lips pressing together, but keep your hands in place. After years of trying to wedge a single finger in the door, scrabbling for every chance, you're not about to fold to a sleaze like him. He's not the first, not the last. Still pisses you off, though. "No."

His irises shift from the soft gold to a harsh, ophidian yellow. "No? Good. Then, maybe we can help each other. I'm, ah, inclined to give you this job. Your hands aren't bad. Small, but nothing a shop job couldn't fix. And no mods. No synthetic patchwork. I like that. Makes me curious how much of you is natural." 

You wrinkle your nose.

"Problem is, Win's signed to take half of your earnings," He shakes his head. "That doesn't seem right, does it? You're the one putting in the work."

You don't answer.

"Why don't we cut the middle man out?"

Dread and disgust churns your stomach. What he's insinuating, what he's suggesting—you think of calling for Ghost just to see Max wet himself. He must not know the lug's here. "And I'm sure you're offering this out of the goodness of your heart."

He snorts. "Of course not. This lot isn't booked until tomorrow morning, and there's a perfectly good bed here…" His voice trails. "I'm sure you can put two and two together, sweetheart."

Bile, sharp and bitter, rises to the back of your throat. You have half a mind to spit it onto his shoes, but instead, you swallow it down, determined to keep it together. 

"Thanks for your time, Max," Hundreds of nights coddling drunk assholes at the club have prepared you for this. "I'll be going."

Max doesn't budge when you stand, forcing you into the narrow gap between him and the nightstand. "You sure about that?" He ducks his head closer, the drone bobbing beside his face. "I'll tell Win you're being difficult, and you know, we actually go way back. Might be difficult to find work on a blacklist."

Your lip curls, Ghost's name tucked behind your teeth as a last resort. "You can tell Win whatever lie you want, I'm not doing this. Not for you, not for anyone. Win's been nothing but kind to me. I don't care who he is, I'm not going to–" You glance at the cheap stock bed, "I'm not going to betray his trust like that."

You don't know where you stand with Win—how serious he is about you, or if anything is even there—but you do know that he's been kind, generous, and this…Fucking some slimeball? Cutting him out for a stupid fancy lotion commercial? You couldn't.

Turning on your heel, you make for the door, fuming, and nearly fall off set.

There, leaning against the far wall beside the door, is Ghost. Arms crossed, relaxed, and looking bored as ever. Has he been inside the whole time?

Behind you, laughter. Max follows, clapping and squeezing an over-familiarly hand on your shoulder. "Oh, Win's got a live one, Ghost. Don't you think?"

What the fuck?

You jerk away from him and trip over your words. "What–I don't–Aren't you with Lumina Vitae?"

Max shakes his head. "Oh, I'm no, not at all. I just work for Mr. Goforth. This," He gestures at the hovering drone. "Is his toy. Feel free to wave. Win will watch this later." He taps his temple twice, and the tiny bot emits a melodic chime before lowering obediently into his hand. "Good job by the way, you passed."

"I…passed?"

Max steps around you. "Win's a high-value individual. The Goforths have enemies. Rivals. He likes to vet his, ah, company before he gets in too deep." He gathers the stills and shrugs. "Next time you see him, he'll probably have you sign an NDA. That's the usual timeline."

Heat floods your skin, blooming over your face and neck. The entire situation is outlandish, bordering on absurd, but that's the point, isn't it? It's a test. Win is the heir-apparent to one of the biggest names in film, his family worth billions. You knew that, of course, but you've spent weeks skating around it, choosing instead to lean into the fantasy, pretending it wasn't reality until now.

Max watches you stumble off the set unassisted. "Congrats again. See you around sometime."

Ghost stares past you as you hurry across the warehouse, desperate to put distance between yourself and the stooge. Your arms fold over your chest, hugging yourself tightly, the pressure a weak attempt to steady the choppiness of your breath. He peels off the wall, following close enough that you half-expect him to grab you, stuff you into the trunk, and kick off another leg of this hazing ritual.

But he doesn't. He doesn't say a word when you leave the CynoSure lot, or when you kick off your heels and curl against the door. You press your forehead to the cool glass, mind buzzing with static. Again, you're the one who breaks the silence.

"Does Win…Does he test everyone?"

"Yeah."

Your eyes snap to the back of his head. "Does everyone pass?"

"No."

"What happens to–"

"Don't ask."

"Can I ask one more?" You lick your lip and ask before he can refuse. "Would you have helped me, if he…if he tried something?"

The car jerks suddenly, swerving as it barely misses a motorbike you blast past. Ghost swears, hands choking the steering wheel. After a moment, his shoulders sag, and he cracks his neck with a grunt. "'Course. Don't want to be out of a job."

Ghost doesn't take you home. He takes you to Win. No message or call is needed. He's expecting you. You try to think of something coherent to say to him, but you keep circling back to fuck you. You can't say that, though, glancing at the man behind the wheel.

You follow Ghost from the car into the building, squeezing past him into the lift, and settle into a rear corner. One arm wraps across your torso, the other bent at the elbow, fingertips hovering near your mouth, the impulse to chew your nails loud. The doors close, and the lift starts, numbers climbing in a muted LED glow. You stare into the middle, at and through your reflection.

The jolt is sudden. The lift grinds to a halt, and you instinctively reach for the bars on either side to keep yourself from falling. White light shifts abruptly to red. Your gaze whips to Ghost, mouth opening at the sight of his hand eclipsing the screen, a thumb pressed firmly to the emergency stop.

"What are you–" The question shrivels when he takes one step and closes the distance. The space between you almost nonexistent, and erased further as he leans closer. His head tilts down, all angles and shadows under the crimson light. His eyes are a dimmer red than usual, earthy, like rust. His hands slip over yours, his weight shifting to apply pressure. You try to ignore their smothering warmth.

"You and I are gonna have an understanding."

Your tongue twists. You nod.

"You passed Junior's stupid test. Good for you."  Each word drips with disdain, clipped with irritation, like he can't believe you made it this far. "Doesn't mean your pretty arse belongs in this building, on 'is arm, or anywhere near 'is family. Don't care 'ow much 'e likes you or that cunt of yours. One step out of line, an' you'll be landfill. We clear?"

Landfill. "We're clear."

Ghost grunts and lingers a moment longer, his eyes dropping, and for a second, you think—no, you're sure—he's sneaking a look at your tits. But then one hand lifts, and he plants it against your neck. His thumb settles in the notch above your collarbone, pressing lightly. A scan passes over you, invisible but invasive, crackling in your ears. Then he pulls away with a huff, apparently unimpressed by what he found.

The lift moves before you do. When the doors open, it takes every ounce of willpower to unstick yourself from the corner, legs unsteady beneath you.

The condo is quiet. Ghost disappears ahead without you, before you can toe off one heel in the foyer. Your feet throb, but it's nothing compared to the cement block of stress resting on your shoulders. You should've stayed at the club. Between the 'test' and Ghost's brief, terrifying warning, you think you're close to collapse. You walk as quietly as you can, slow, still at a loss for what to say to Win.

You turn the corner into the living space and flinch at a loud pop, followed by a familiar burst of sparks. A champagne bottle sparkler flares, held aloft by a grinning, dressed-down Win. "There's my beautiful star, my Stella," he calls out, jerking his head. "Get your cute ass over here, and let's celebrate, baby."

This night keeps getting better.

"I look cute, huh?" Win teases as you reluctantly tiptoe closer. "Like I'm you. All I need is a skirt."

You don't know how much longer you can keep playing along. "Win, we need to talk–"

He pours the champagne over two glasses, spilling a bit as he looks between you and the bottle. "I agree. We've got to talk contracts." A wide and knowing grin spreads across his face. "Just got the call—you're in, babe. You're gonna be a Goforth Girl. You got the gig."

You blink. "I what?"

Win chuckles. "Don't look so shocked. I've got a buddy over at Lumina. This one was a gimme. Not all of them will come this easy, but hey, it's your first big one, right?"

You sit before you keel over, swallowing hard as your stomach turns in slow waves. Disbelief, confusion, and the remnants of your indignation tangle together in a knot. Your first gig. A real one. Not some odd job handing out flyers in costume or paid-in-exposure promo modeling. A real commercial for a real company with real reach. Still. You need to say something.

"Yeah, but Win, we need to talk about your friend. Max? The creep at CynoSure? He, um, he told me–"

"We'll cover that, too." He brushes it off with a casual wave as he hands you the flute of champagne. "Got a form or two for you to sign in addition to some business about exclusive representation." He looms over you, ringed fingers twisting the stem of his glass. 

You gape up at him, your head a mess from being pulled in so many directions in one night. It would be crazy, right? To say no now. Max's voice echoes in your head, steady and certain: Win's a high-value individual. The Goforths have enemies. You can't blame him for wanting to protect himself, to protect his family. If roles were reversed, wouldn't you? And if you're going to continue your…entanglement, isn't signing papers in your best interest, to protect yourself?

Win extends his drink. "You'll be a star. We'll make it happen."

We'll make it happen. What else can you say to that? To his complete confidence in you?

Your smile is a brittle thing warped into a crescent, and you watch it in the reflection of your glass as you lift it. "Well, to us, then."

The glasses clink, and you swallow a bitter sip. Win draws you back onto your sore feet for a prolonged kiss.

The slap of bare feet against the floor breaks the moment, eyes popping open as you make a noise into Win's mouth. Across the room, in the kitchen, Ghost reappears. Shirtless. He looks even bigger now, his back a hulking mass of muscle, ridiculous in its sheer width. Scars line his skin, some mods, some implants, but the rest speak to his chosen career. Black ink coils up his arm in a cluttered tattoo, and his skin's slick, the dampness of his blond hair suggesting he came from the shower.

Win pulls away, his mouth smudged with your lipstick.

"Ghost! Join us, we're celebrating! Grab a glass."

The behemoth pauses at the refrigerator, glaring. Despite his state of dress, he's taken the time to hook a cloth mask over his ears, one of which looks puffy. His brow furrows and his gaze shifts between you.

"No." He grinds out, voice low, and a shudder runs down your spine. He lumbers off, water in hand, and Win tuts in playful exasperation.

"Such a buzzkill. Now," His mouth skims your cheek, moving to your ear to whisper. "Where were we, baby?"

[ceruleanangel]

Diamond of Zaun- Chapter 4

Pairings: Vi x Reader, Silco x Reader

Tags: f!reader, performer!reader

Content Warnings: Drug Use, Angsty Angst, Blood

a/n: writing another chapter of DoZ > studying for my midterms. Guys college is quite literally kicking my ass, wish me luck

Also I made a Spotify playlist for DoZ, pls accept this as my apology for the time this chapter took to make: Diamond of Zaun

Chapter 3

“He’s here for you again Y/n!”

A shiver runs through your body as your head quickly dodges into a hand mirror, brushing strays of hair away from your face, reapplying your new lip tint before setting it back on the table. You smooth your skirt down, lounging into the green vines that rest about the chaise. 

“Let him in.”

You pretend to be enamored by a small novel as the curtain to the room is drawn to the side. The tall silhouette slips into the room, making its way towards you, taking a seat on the table in front of you. You feel the book being guided upwards as he glimpses at the front cover. 

“A love story? I didn’t take you as a hopeless romantic.” your eyes glide up from the words on the page to glimpse into his heterochromic ones. A smirk pulls at your cheeks, “Can’t a girl have her dreams?”   

Your last words are cut off by patrons enjoying themselves next door. He glances back at the book, a rueful smile on his face, “Not here.” 

A moment of silence passes before he takes the book into his own hands and moves to sit beside you on the chaise. He reads the contents of the page to you, your head moving to rest on his shoulder.  Despite the distracting sounds of pleasure from across the curtain and raucous shouting from outside, you shut your eyes, drowning out everything but the melancholic words of romance and grandeur pooling from his mouth. 

It’s only when the cacophony outside becomes too much that his words come to a stop as he folds a tassel into the book, setting it on the side table. You feel Silco’s eyes slide on to you as you knowingly avoid his eyes, a smile slipping on your lips. You feel the warmth of his hand resting on your thigh, “Sweetheart?” “Hm?” 

“May your voice tonight?”

You look up into his eyes and for the first time tonight your cheeks slightly flush. “You desire to hear me sing that much?” you avert your eyes, whispering, “you ask this every time you visit.” Silco chuckles, lowering his head to speak directly into your ear,

 “and I thank the gods everytime you grace me with it” 

You playfully sigh, trying to calm your heart, sitting up. And you take a deep breath, releasing your siren song. 

Current Time 

Your breath grows ragged in your throat as you finally reach the door to the hideout, almost slamming into the door. The doorknob turns in your grip as you enter, your body freezing on the spot as you see her. 

You glimpse her pained expression as she presses her hands to her dripping torso, gritting her teeth, as your blood drains from your skin. It feels as if you’re at the bottom of a lake, the air dragging on your limbs as you take one step, willing your feet towards Vi, coming to a stop a step away. Caitlyn rushes past you, going to sit next to her, feeding Vi some of the liquid. Vi wrenches, bolting upright. You instantly drop down to your knees, cupping her cheek, your thumb tracing her cheekbone, “It’s alright, it’s alright…i’m right here,” 

Vi slowly comes too, her eyes focus on yours, widening. You begin to slip your hand away to give her space but the very next moment her hand is clasped to yours, holding it flush against her face, 

“No…stay.”

You feel your face begin to buckle as you feel a lump in your throat that you can’t quite swallow. Vi’s other hand comes up to brush back your hair, studying your face, the new scar on your nose, the purple tinted triangles under your eyes, the way your ears have been pierced. You in turn search her eyes, looking from one to the other as the tears in your eyes threaten to fall. 

Vi’s mouth begins to open as Caitlyn, who has stood up, mentions their search for Jinx, “...who’s powder?” Vi’s eyes leave yours, looking to where caitlyn stands by the door, she sits up, answering her question. Vi stands and as the two begin to speak once again, but your ears catch an increase of howls. Your hairs stand on end as you rise, moving towards the door, closing one eye to focus your attention through a splinter in the wood. Your blood goes cold, eyes becoming round as you glimpse the tall figure standing, holding his arms graciously to the beggars, poison in hand.

Your head whips around to glimpse Vi also becoming aware of the noises, before you can say anything, her hand is on the knob of the door. Thousands of thoughts fly through your head. Silco never hid that he wasn’t fond of this particular Zaunite, and if he sees you holed up with this particular ghost…

In that split second you fling yourself against the wall out of sight as Vi opens the door. Inadvertently you bump into a pillar that shakes the foundations of the hut, the walls rocking and creaking as the sway. You hear Silco’s voice echo across the chasm, the volume of your heartbeats beginning to drain it out.

All you can hear is the escalating drumming in your ears, as the world becomes a hazy blur of brown and gray…

What if he sees me? 

What if he already saw? 

What’ll he do if…? 

He won’t trust me anymore.

he won’t …need me anymore. 

You’re knocked forward as the splinter brimmed beam behind you sways forward under the force of Caitlyn’s fist. Your vision becomes clear as you’re jolted back into the moment, head shooting up to glimpse the creaking nails slowly being wedged out of their posts. You step back just in time as Vi turns, striking the beam with her fist, the sounds of cracking wood and bending metal filling your ears. Your eyes close out of reflex, arms moving up to shield yourself, before you feel a grip on your wrist urging you forward. When you open your eyes you glimpse the red of Vi's jacket, dodging the falling debris as she guides you both towards the lights of the city.

Looking back, you see Silco cowering on the ground, surrounded by his collapsed minions, the flickering neon light illuminating their hunched, distorted forms. 

As your attention is drawn away you manage to side step on a beam, your ankle giving way, folding under your weight. A strangled cry escapes your throat as you go down, but Vi is quick to wrap your arm around her shoulders, hoisting you both forward. The three of you climb and manage up the ravine to make it to an upper area, you taste the dirt coating your mouth as you heave ragged breaths, unable to keep up. You stop to catch your breath, biting your lip at the dull throb of your ankle. Vi turns to look at you but your attention is drawn by a billowing blue smoke rising above the city tops.

“Powder…” You hear Vi whisper, her eyes glossy. You put together the puzzle pieces in your mind and sooner than you can realize it, you place your hand on her cheek,

“Go to her.” 

She turns back to you, brows furrowed, “No- I’m not leaving you I-”

“Vi” You speak more firmly, “I will be okay…go to her.” You glimpse her lip trembling as she looks into your eyes, jaw clenched. You glance at the smoke once more, whispering

“She needs you more than I do..” you summon a smile of reassurance, trying to distract from the tears collecting in your eyes. Vi looks at you, eyes helpless as she looks from you to the smoke, biting her lips as she thinks. She finally squeezes her eyes shut, launching forward as she embracing you, her death-like grip hardly giving you room to return the touch

“I will be back, I promise.” 

She releases you, hands coming up to cup your cheeks, face inches from hers. You gaze up into her eyes, the world seems to still for this very moment, unable to hear anything other than Vi’s rough voice 

“I-” 

Her mouth hangs open, words on the tip of her tongue, eyes earnest as she searches yours. She blinks hard, eyes casting down

“I promise..” 

She whispers the reassurance to you before turning to sprint down an alleyway towards the smoke, Caitlyn not far behind. You let out the breath you unknowingly held, leaning against a wall, letting your eyes fall shut. Only then does the staggered buzzing of a neon light remind you of another. 

As quickly as you can, you limp back down the way you came, cascading the side of the ravine. You traverse the broken beams and metal sheets. You hear him before you see him, a crazed shout that you’ve never heard from him before. He erratically kicks and yells before going limp on one of the metal beams. You can’t help the shake in your voice.

“Silco…?”

His head whips to meet your voice, his eyes holding a cold hatred that you’ve never seen directed at you. Just as soon as he realizes it's you, his eyes widen turning back to the rubble 

“What are you doing down here? I’ve told you it’s dangerous.”

Your steps are slow, avoiding the debris, teeth grinding as pain shoots up your leg. “I know.” You come forward, placing a hand on his shoulder as he buries his face within his hands. You smooth your hand across his back, sitting alongside him

“That ghost is not dead” he grits out, your hand stilling for a moment, breathe leaving your lungs. You blink rapidly before intaking a breath, continuing your motions

“Let’s go home, Silco.”

Chapter 5 Coming Soon...

#fem!reader #thediamondofzaun #viarcane #vixreader #caitvi #caitvixreader #silcoxreader #arcanesilco #arcanexreader

[cry4mina]

Pomegranate

(Jeongyeon x fem!reader)

Word Count: 6.3k

Angst/Smallest drop of fluff

Summary: Jeongyeon was coming home from tour and you were going to propose but she comes home later than expected and throws a wrench in your plans.

TW: ANGST. Alcohol and lots of it, throwing up, sad, big sads, panic attacks, the big sads, screaming, mentions of blood (it's in once sentence), food, uh...yeah angst.

A/N: Me 3 days ago: i'm not doing birthday fics. Me right now, HAPPY EARLY JEONGYEON DAAAAAAY! Have a not so happy moment to celebrate! I decided I was going to attempt to do one for her and Momo before I moved soooo ta daaaaa (it's been so long since i've written angst, i'm rusty pls forgive me) @psylocke142 helped me find pictures and let me yap about this (also read it before I posted it to make sure it wasn't ass) <33 thank u fren!

Everyone pls stay safe and have a lovely daaaaay<3

After weeks of preparation and consulting with Jihyo virtually, you were finally ready to ask your girlfriend of 4 years to marry you. Picking up all the components, you rushed home to get ready for what was going to be one of the best days of your life.

Tonight’s the night!

The house is set up perfectly, rose petals from the front door to the living room, a bouquet of roses on the table that are blooming, candles everywhere, and you’re in a brand new fully tailored suit that fits you like a glove.

Preparing dinner was the most tedious part of this. While Jeongyeon was on tour for a few months, you took it upon yourself to take some classes to master her favorite dish so you could make it from scratch for tonight. Even taking it a step further and asking her mother for the recipe she used when Jeong was a child.

Dinner is ready in the kitchen, you check your watch to see it’s 7:13pm. Jeongyeon should be walking through the door any minute, flight having landed an hour ago- she texted you when she landed saying that she was dropping Jihyo off and heading home.

Time sludges on, 7:45pm, still no sign of her.

Then it’s suddenly 8:30pm.

Every minute feels like an hour of nothingness.

No call

No text.

Nothing.

You: I hope everything is okay…let me know when you’ll be home. [9:01pm]

You: I love you. [9:01pm]

Walking into the kitchen, you decide to pack dinner up. Putting all the food in Tupperware and stacking it in the fridge in portions for when your girlfriend got home.

Hopefully, your soon to be fiancé would hurry back to you.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out the suede box and pop it open, revealing a classic square shaped diamond on a gold band.

Taking in the sparkle of the gem, you reminisce on your favorite memories together. All the soft, tender, silly moments you had with your loving girlfriend and wishing she was here so you could just ask her to spend forever with you.

Checking your phone to see no response from Jeongyeon, you sigh and frown. She usually updated you with what she was up to, so this was out of character for her.

Especially, under the circumstances, she usually hurried home to you.

It had been months since you’d seen her, since the tour was taking up most of her time. It was easy to be impatient. Even with FaceTime dates, phone calls, texts - it wasn’t the same as having her with you. Being able to hear her laugh outside of a speaker and feeling her warmth against you as you slept instead of falling asleep together through a screen.

Taking a seat on the couch and kicking your feet up on the table, you lull off into a peaceful sleep with happy memories of the two of you replaying in your mind's eye.

—

The latching of the door rings in your ears, you hear light footsteps through the hall and into the kitchen.

A deep sigh seeps tension into the atmosphere of your home. The tapping of nails on the counter makes your eyes slingshot open.

She’s home.

Jumping up and almost losing your balance, you grab the roses and bolt into the kitchen to see a teary-eyed Jeongyeon standing there, leaning against the counter.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” immediately putting the flowers on the counter and walking out to hold her.

Jeongyeon halts your movements with a single hand up, palm facing you to stop you in your tracks. Her eyes never leave the floor. Confusion tenses your shoulders and back, concerned at not only the gesture but her demeanor and emotional state.

“Jeongyeon…what’s going on?” the soft nervousness of your tone makes her wince at the words spoken.

“We need to talk.” she’s still unable to look at you. Eyes tracing the grout on the tile, looking for literally anything but you to focus on. Tears trailing down her cheeks, she’s trying to collect herself.

“Okay..?” hopping up onto the counter and placing your hands within themselves, you patiently wait for her to say what she needs to.

“I’m…not happy.” stumbles its way off her tongue and into the air.

The flavor is putrid and sour.

There’s an ache building in your chest, brain and heart trying to process the words you just heard her say.

“…what do you mean?” Unable to grasp what she’s just spoken.

Unhappy?

“I…don’t want to do this anymore. I feel bad being away for so long and it really hurts both of us when you say how much you miss me. I can’t expect for you to just wait around for me to come home all the time. It’s not fair to either of us.” Voice shaking as she explains herself.

Weighed down by a devastating ton of bricks that build the foundation of this relationship, you slide off the counter. Your eyes not leaving her face for the time it takes to approach her.

Watching as your stability crumbles underneath you. You can’t believe this is what she’s saying…

“Jeongyeon…baby, I’d take missing you over being with anyone else…any day. In any life. You’re my everything…” hands now on her forearms, trying to make eye contact so she can see how much care you have for her.

“I’m sorry.” whispered to you through tears.

She still can’t even look at you.

The cracks through your chest are loud enough to make the earth shatter. Lightning shoots through your veins, flashes of heat that immediately run cold inside you.

Trying to make sense of all this as fight, flight or freeze kicks in, you leave the room.

Walking into the living room, you sit on the couch you had just dozed off on. Head in your hands, sobbing into them violently, a physical reaction to your heart being ripped from your chest.

Not even noticing her stepping into the room, you continue to let out the devastating wail, trying to ease the emptiness in your chest from the abrupt pain it was now experiencing.

Her sniffling pulls you out of your hands.

Looking up to see her with matching tears flowing down her cheeks.

Standing up, you pick up the box of tissues on your shared coffee table and hand them to her. She offers a half smile before taking one, you don’t return the gesture.

“Can you tell me what I did?” Through the shivering as you try to regulate your emotions.

“What? What you did?” Jeongyeon is confused by this question, dabbing her tears from under her eyes and trying to compose herself.

“Yes, what did I do to make you want to leave?” Looking her in the eyes and waiting for the reasoning.

“I…I’m sorry, I have to go.” Grabbing her keys and bolting for the door.

Never offering a response, or even a glance back. She left you to your own devices that night in your once shared apartment.

—

3 months later and you can still hardly take care of yourself. The agony of her not being with you, completely ruining every day you’ve had.

Work was always slow and dreadful, not offering any reprieve from the weighted down linger of what was no longer in your life. Leaving you all the time in the world to ruminate and try to make sense of everything that happened.

The scene of her leaving the house that night played in your head over and over again, like a nightmare that never stopped. A broken record that continued to spin, playing the same tune until your ears bled.

Getting mail for her everyday ruined you. Seeing her name on the letters was just detrimental, a reminder around every corner - the entire house coated in the same layer of hopeless despair you found yourself in.

You didn’t even know where she was staying or what her day to day was like. Always wondering if she was feeling these aftershocks of your split.

Turing to alcohol to ease the feelings, you drank alone until you passed out every single night. Blaring music and singing at the top of your lungs while heavily intoxicated was an escape, but it was only temporary.

Isolating was something you did well, never really wanting to let the world know how you were suffering. Jeongyeon was good at pulling you out of that but…she wasn’t here anymore.

Turning down every picture in the house of the two of you together, you were no where near ready to get rid of them no matter how much they hurt to see.

They were little glimpses into the past…tiny portals into a happier time and it was devastating to think she might not share that sentiment. Most of you free time spent on the questions of whether or not she ever actually loved you and whether or not you would see her again.

—

One drunken night, your phone rang. The vibrating against the table startled you out of your dissociated drunken state that was practically slumber.

Picking it up without being bothered to read who was calling, you put your half empty bottle of whiskey down on the table and answer the phone.

“H- hiccup-hello?”

“Hey Y/n! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. How are you doing?” The voice is immediately recognizable.

“I’m alive, Jihyo. If that’s what you’re wondering.” The sulking was dripped off your tone, knowing this was your ex girlfriend’s best friend brought up too many feelings for you, very aware that whatever you told Jihyo would be passed on to…her.

“I was wondering…but I wanted to check in with you.” Her tone seems saddened, worried and hesitant to ask what she really wanted to.

Knowing she was aware of the plan to propose and encouraged you to do it, helping you organize everything - including getting Jeongyeon to the house when you needed her there for the perfect surprise, you had a bond with Jihyo that was strong and she knew that you were not okay.

She couldn’t have known the internal workings of Jeongyeon’s mind, though she did tell her everything. No one expected you two to ever break up in their wildest dreams.

You were meant to together.

Or so you and everyone else thought.

“I’m alive. That’s really all I have to shhay.” Slurring your responses to her, unintentionally.

“Y/n…are you drunk?” Concern now lacing her voice even stronger than before, she knows you’re not much of a drinker so this was worrisome to her.

Hearing keys rattling on the other side of the phone, assuming that Jihyo was about to head over to your house - you shut that down, quickly. Not wanting to see her or even entertain the thought of pretending like you weren’t in the depths of your own dejection.

“I’m fine, Jihyo. Just let me shhuffer in peace.” Hanging up and putting the phone back down on the table.

It vibrates for at least 15 minutes, you choose to ignore the buzzing and take another long swig from the bottle of whiskey. Who needs a glass when you’re just going to drown in your own tears anyway?

Your world lost it’s light. There’s no reason to pretend like you gave a shit about anything, nothing was worth caring about now that she was gone. Yourself included.

A hard knock on the door startles you out of your thoughts.

Looking at the clock, it’s 1:27am.

Who the fuck is at your door?

“Go -hiccup- away!” followed by another swing from the bottle, stinging your throat as it slips down to your stomach.

“Y/n, open the door or I’m coming in!” A stern tone comes through the solid wood that is all too familiar for all the right reasons.

“You and -hiccup- what army?” Standing up and almost falling over but catching your balance on the arm of the couch.

The lock clicks open, knob turning quickly and the door flew open, smacking against the wall to reveal…

Her…

Jeongyeon.

Steppping in to see the house in shambles, she takes in the empty bottles of alcohol everywhere, garbage and empty plates and cups all over the coffee table and the mess that was you, standing next to the wreck with your bottle gripped tightly.

Sighing at the sight, she closes the door behind her and sets her stuff down on the counter in the kitchen. Jeongyeon scans the house, looking around to find any semblance of your old happy life. Seeing the picture frames turned down stops her in her tracks, flipping her favorite on up and leaving it.

“What -hiccup- are YOU doing here?” Slurring and pointing at her before plopping down on the couch, glaring at her for fixing the pictures, not wanting to remember the good times because there wasn’t a light at the end of this tunnel, as far as you’re concerned.

Trying to take a swing from your whiskey, she runs over and snatches the bottle out of your hand.

“HEY! -hiccup- That’s mine! Get your own! I don’t want to share with -hiccup- you.” Reaching for the container again, only for her to push you down by your chest back to the couch, brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and disgust.

“Sit down! I can’t believe the mess this place is…what’s gotten into you?” The anger in her voice shakes the frame of your soul, snapping you as far sober as your body would allow.

“I…don’t think you care anymore.” Tears fall unstoppably, coating your eyes and cheeks with pure grief and misery.

Jeongyeon’s face is made of stone, stoic in nature and unmoving as you cry. This causes you to break completely. Maybe she never really cared…

Laying down on the couch and rolling over to face the back of it, trying to hide your descent into the pit of despair that you were trying to pull yourself out of everyday but with her reactions, she pushed you deeper unknowingly.

You lacked the will to keep up your strength, yet you persisted in your attempts, even if they were futile. Refusing to showcase how thoroughly this had devastated you. It consumed you entirely.

The experience gnawed at your bones, turning your world upside down, leaving behind only a hollow shell of what once was—every trace of love you held for her and for yourself, devoured in its wake.

“Y/n…” the tinge of sadness in the way she said your name caught your attention but you were still stuck in the void and didn’t want to turn over to look at her.

“Y/n…come on…” sitting down at the bend of your legs, rubbing your back in a familiar act of comfort.

“Don’t do that.” Harshly spat at her through gritted teeth, scooting closer to the inside of the couch and farther away from her so she would get the hint and taker her hand off you.

“Y/n…look, I’m sorry okay…I know I shouldn’t have come…I was just worried about you. I heard you slurring and I know you don’t really like to dri-“

“You HEARD me?” Rolling over with fury leaching from your eye to see the shock on her face. She had given herself up and the realization already set in, even though you were inebriated.

“…did you make Jihyo call me to check up on me?” Glaring at her in disbelief, anger boiling in your chest as you waited for her to say something.

Jeongyeon stammers, looking for a good excuse as her eyes shift from left to right. She opens her mouth to try and but ends up just looking at the ground…unwilling to tell the truth even having been caught.

“Get out.” Standing up too quickly and almost falling to open the door for her.

“Y/n, please just let me explain.” Begging for a moment of your time so she can try to fix this.

“You have 2 minutes -hiccup- and then I never want to shhee you again.” Voice cracking as you try to stand by yourself, wobbling and stumbling over to the door, gripping the knob to steady yourself.

“Can we please talk about this when you’re sober? I think that would be better than trying to have a conversation when you’re like this…” Jeongyeon motions her hands at you, tears welling up in her eyes at the disheveled state she found you in.

Taking your hand off the door, you turn around and face her. Letting the tears fall freely from your eyes, taking off the mask you wore to try and hide the suffering. Trying to wipe the destress from your face as you formulate your sentence.

“What’s wrong, Jeongyeon?” stepping up close to her with a frigid demeanor and a spiteful scowl that contradicts the droplets of emotion that fall from your eyes as you step closer to her, inches from her face, giving the final blow.

“Having trouble facing me? Or do you just not like the way you found me?” sniffling through the ending of that sentence, you stumble off to your once shared bedroom, leaving Jeongyeon in the living room by herself.

Falling onto the bed, you rip off your shirt, bra and pants and curl up on her side of the bed. The room starts to spin as you finally laid still and the alcohol took over again. Moaning and groaning to yourself as the minutes pass.

It hits you all at once, the overwhelming sensation of being wasted, the fact that your ex was in the house and the anxiety that ran your life all clashing to create a wave of nausea that you could not escape.

You struggle to get to the bathroom, knocking stuff over on the way before finally sitting down in front of the toilet and purging your stomach.

Retching all the toxic fluid out of your body takes an hour or so. Dizzied by your drunken state, dehydration, and sorrow, you’re unable to stand so you just sit and wait for it to pass like a bad thunder storm.

A small knock at the door, startles you out of a sleep that you hasn’t realized you slipped into while waiting for the room to stop spinning against your will.

“Y/n?…Are you alright?” softly spoken from behind the door, the pit of your stomach falls and you start to cry again.

Not because she left, not because you couldn’t control it but it was the act of her checking in on you that tugged on your oxytocin, giving you another hit of Jeongyeon that you so desperately craved.

Lifting your chin up barely removing it from the porcelain, you muster all the strength you have to produce one malicious, guttural scream.

“GO AWAY!” the words rip from your throat like the sharp blade of a chainsaw, slicing haphazardly through hard wood, splintering and shattering every millisecond it touches your vocal chords and leaves a blood stain of regret and hatred behind.

Not for her.

Never for her.

For yourself.

You hate that she left, but you never blamed her. It’s not like it was unheard of, a break up before a proposal but you never understood why. Always assuming you were the problem there was no solution for.

Jeongyeon cracks the door, peaking in side and seeing you just your underwear hunched over and collapsing to the floor. Rushing over to you, stabilizing you with her hands- she forces you up on your feet.

You are dead weight at this point, leaning on her because your legs just won’t function underneath you. Pulling your arm around her, she practically drags you to the shower and makes you sit in the bathtub with your head against the wall.

Turning the water on you, it’s ice cold. Yelping at the sheer shock of the frozen water hitting you, complaints slurring out of your mouth instantly hushed when she gets into the shower with you. Sitting behind you and letting the faucet soak her with all her clothes on.

Positioning herself sitting with you between her legs, she brushes your hair off your forehead as the water crashed down on you both and shushes the spewing of your sadness and conquers your anger just by her touch.

The peace her presence brings you in this state has soothed the crashing waves of your heart that drenched every fiber of your being. The broken state of your soul was nothing more then a scratch on the surface while she was holding you and soothing you through this horrific break down of grief that was misguiding you to lash out.

Calmly rocking you back and forth with her, you finally gained some sobriety. Jeongyeon stands to turn the shower off and offers you a towel, while grabbing the matching one you didn’t bother to put away.

Taking your underwear off, now completely naked with a towel barely wrapped around you, attempting to dry off and failing miserably, dropping the towel and whining out of frustration. Picking up the towel, you give it another sloppy attempt.

Jeongyeon is just watching you, the smile in her eyes and smirk on her face feels so condescending considering everything that has happened between the two of you.

“What?” snapped at her while you wrap the towel around your body again and make your way to the bedroom to get something to wear.

“Nothing…it’s nothing.” Jeongyeon removes her shirt and pants, standing there in her shower soaked underwear and bra.

“Did you…uhm…are my clo-” softly uttered before hanging the clothes she was wearing on the shower rod for them to dry.

“Yes. They’re still here. I haven’t gotten rid of…anything.” choking on the words as the tears threaten to spill again.

This beautiful woman, standing in front of you had not only gone out of her way to make sure that you were okay and took care of you knowing that you weren’t…

The nurturing nature of her was what sparked the initial fire that set your heart aflame. The gasoline was how sweet she was, and how much she cared about everyone around her.

Her habits of focusing on everyone but herself was to her detriment- always checking in on others and not really checking in with herself…but that was what made your relationship so pure. She was worried about everyone and you were worried about her.

Given the opportunity, Jeongyeon would move the world for those she loved. Fitting herself in a box so small that she would be uncomfortable to make others feel comfortable. The details of her were never lost on you, always letting her express whatever she needed to and making sure that she knew that you would never judge her in anyway. It was so comfortable and perfect, that’s why it stung so much.

When she dropped that bomb on you those weeks ago, it was like a nuke - scorching every single atom that you ever had and what was happening right now was the fallout.

“Y/n…Can we ple-”

“Not tonight…please…no more tonight.” cutting her off again, not to hurt her but you just couldn’t handle another moment of discourse between the two of you, especially while you’re still drunk.

“Tomorrow.” stated to her, not offered to her.

The conversation you had been needing would happen tomorrow…finally. The closure, the end…whatever you want to call it, would be tomorrow.

The anxiety building in your stomach brought on a different kind of nausea. One that wouldn’t go away from just throwing up the contents of your body but only with comfort that you were too nervous to ask for.

Throwing on a big shirt that was hers and a fresh pair of underwear, you crawled into bed and got comfortable. Letting out a big sigh of relief that your sheets were finally consuming you again instead of the alcohol or complete and utter sadness.

Jeongyeon puts on some of the clothes she left behind, a shirt you got her, underwear and a pair of her sweats that she usually only wore around the house.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch…just so I can be here…if you need me…” timid, almost as if she was asking permission to sleep in the house that had her name on the mortgage.

“No.” calm and steady leaves your mouth.

Sitting up in your bed, you look her in the eyes before throwing the comforter off her side of the bed that you had been sleeping in, patting the sheets as a signal for her to come and lay with you.

Even if it was for the last time.

“Are you sure?” her voice is so gentle and lovely.

“Please, Jeongyeon…” throat clenching around the words as you pleaded for what you assumed to be one more sleep together.

Just one more.

Her eyes soften further, the familiar puppy eyed love you had always known crawls into your shared bed and gets comfortable on her side, like she always did.

Fuck, you missed this so much.

Laying on separate sides of the bed, you just take in the feeling of her warmth in the sheets next to you. The sigh she lets out was one of relaxation and ease. It was very hard to miss.

“Jeongie?” breathed so soft it was barely a whisper as you roll from your back to your side to face her. It was what you always called her when you wanted something, she knew what was coming without even asking.

“Yeah?” worry laces her words as she follows your movement and faces you.

“…I miss you.” the cracks in your voice shatter and sprawl out like lightening, cascading down your chest, through the sheets and up to her.

Not the words, not the tone, but the crack of your voice that let the misery you had experienced the three months she’s been gone…

Silence.

Jeongyeon just looks at you, eyes coated in despair as her own emotions display for what you feel like is the first time. Wondering if it’s her own distress or if it’s just pity for you.

A hand comes out of the darkness, placing itself on the small of your back and dragging you into Jeongyeon, so close you can feel her heart beat and feel her breathing - pressed up against her chest in the hug that you needed from her.

Nuzzling into her neck, you silently sob as you take in the smell of her skin and in the comfort of your bed no less. The peace it brings you brings happiness, even if it’s temporary.

Jeongyeon just holds you, rubbing your back and sniffling. Leaning down to kiss your forehead, she coos and sighs as the tension of her back decreases while holding you. Feeling her harms relax and her back unclench was worth every second of devastation that would follow, knowing you could be this for her…one last time.

“I miss you too. So much.” Whispered to you as you finally drift off to sleep in the comfort her arms, finally getting the safety that you had been missing.

—

Throbbing behind your eyes and a massive wave of nausea wakes you up from the deep sleep you were in. The most sleep you had since she left.

Groaning as you rolled over, you reach out to her side of the bed, hoping and praying that she would still be asleep next to you.

She wasn’t.

Sighing at the empty and cold sheets, you wonder if this is all a dream or if she was actually here last night.

Did she really shower with you?

Was it all just…a drunken daydream?

Slowly sitting up, you grab your head as it pounds into your skull. This hangover was the worst one you’d ever had, like a whip cracking against your brain at every movement you made, no matter how slight.

Taking a second to charge your movements and build up the courage to get up out of bed, you sigh again and give up. Rolling over to Jeongyeon’s side and shoving your face in her pillow, just to take in her smell again.

“Good morning” a familiar voice so angelic breaks your concentration on the memories you were reliving before you could fully immerse in them.

Sling-shotting up, you grab your head and let out a wince and a huff at how dizzy you got with the movement, the pounding continued as Jeongyeon giggles.

“With how drunk you were last night, I knew you would not feel great today…” lifting up a brown paper bag, shaking it at you before plopping it in front of you.

The smell of the burger nauseates you thoroughly.

Flinging a hand over your mouth, you jump off the bed and bolt to the bathroom - immediately regurgitating the toxins left inside you until there was nothing left but bile.

“Are you alright?” through the door, you get a flash back from last night and shiver at the unease of her seeing you this way.

Quietly gasping and trying to catch your breath, you spit. An attempt to rid your mouth of the acidic taste that burns from your stomach all the way to your lips.

“Yeah…” winded replies that feed her worry, unintentionally.

“I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a minute” the sentence stole the air from your lungs, still trying to get back to some sense of the word normal and slowly catching your bearings again.

Standing up, you head to the sink, leaving with your palms on the edge of the counter, with your hair in your eyes. Turning on the faucet, you reach into the stream of cold water. Cupping your hand and splashing it on your face trying to wash your hungover sleep filled eyes and bring some self back to you.

The chill of the water wakes you up, the headache not easing but the nausea was dissipating quickly, you were very grateful for that.

By the time you got to the kitchen, the nausea was replaced by hunger. Looking to see Jeongyeon at the kitchen table, already set out the greasy burger and fries, with a tall glass of water and some medicine next to it.

Sitting down with her, you take the meds first and drink half the glass of water. Placing it back down on the table, you look over at her. Jeongyeon’s food is untouched, sitting in front of her still wrapped up on the foil to keep it warm.

“Are you alright?” reaching over to grab her hand, remembering that she is your ex before you touch her, stopping yourself from the intimate contact.

Jeongyeon watched your hand in motion, seeing you stop from touching her and she swallows harshly. You could hear it from across the table.

“Are you ready to talk now?” asked in faint whispers while she toys with her fingers.

Looking down at your own hands, the nervousness returns back to you from the night she left. Rattling every heartstring you had in a vibration that could’ve made angels cry.

“…Yeah…I think it would be best if we did…” immediately biting the inside of your cheek after the statement, drawing a small amount of blood out of the soft flesh.

“I’m sorry.” Jeongyeon is looking up at you, her eyes glazed over in melancholy grief and regret.

“I’m sorry I left. I was scared that you were going to leave me first. I thought you missing me all the time was hard on our relationship and I was worried it was too much for you. I left because I didn’t want you to leave first…I thought you were unhappy.” her voice is cracking and she’s sniffling, panic interweaved in her words as she continues on with her admission.

“That night I came back…and you asked me what you did to make me want to leave…” a deep breath in and back out, trying to self soothe but having a difficult time regulating.

Her hand reaches up to hold your face, her palm on your cheek and the warmth of her on your skin makes you instinctively lean into her, closing your eyes as your body relaxes.

“Nothing. You didn’t do anything except love me so well that I thought I didn’t deserve it…” Jeongyeon is practically having a panic attack at this point, choking on her own sadness and attempting to even out her breathing, blink her tears away, talk to you- overwhelming herself and it’s sending her into a spiral.

Without hesitation, you get up from your chair and sit on her lap. Wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into your chest while running one of your hands down her back, then back up again. Continuing this repeatedly as it’s the fastest way to quell her anxiety.

“Shh Shh Shh…don’t worry, I’ve got you. You’re safe here.” cooed at her while you squeeze her just a little tighter as she choked on her overstimulation.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I will always love you.” through the breath violently hitching and the tenseness of her body.

A long beat of silence.

Your heart stops.

She still loves you…?

“Jeong…” lifting her head so she can see the hangover that was glazing your eyes.

“You really hurt me when you left. I didn’t understand what was going on…I didn’t even know that was a fear you had.” Hand continuing to rub her back.

“I would’ve told you how untrue that was…” brushing a lock of hair from her face.

Her face contorts, holding in her sobs as she lets out the cold, hard truth.

“I don’t think I would’ve believed you…”

That one stung. Though you know it was never anything that you did now that she’s told you. Patting her back lightly, you hatch an idea.

The perfect way to prove it to her.

Getting up from Jeongyeon’s lap, you run into the bedroom and go to your side of the bed. Pulling open the nightstand drawer, you grab the little black box that held the ring you were going to propose to her with that night and make your way back to the kitchen.

Watching you closely as you make your way back to the table and sit down, she doesn’t really know what to expect.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling rapidly, your nerves get to you a moment. Never knowing what her reaction would be to this, you built up as much courage as you could and places the box carefully in front of her.

“I think this might be all the proof you need.” swallowing hard as her shaky hand reaches for the box, popping it open and seeing the ring for the first time.

A gasp echo’s off the walls of your home, the same walls that heard your wails of misery and the same walls that watch you drink away the last three months.

“It’s perfect…”

Every emotion that Jeongyeon has ever felt is displayed on her face for you to see. The heart ache, the love, the regret, and the grief.

“I have so many regrets about that night, Y/n…I would have n-never left if I would have known-” Letting all of her pain flow.

She gathers herself, you look her in the eyes and boldly say:

“You could still say yes, you know?” eyes never leaving her face, trying to judge how that statement blew over.

Frozen in shock as boils over her as she processes what you just said.

“We would have to work on things, of course…that betrayal cut deep…but” taking another deep breath and admitting the truth.

“I’m willing to try and fix this, if you are.” the anxiety in the room was shared between the two of you.

“Really?” disbelief on her lips, the tears sitting on the water line of her eyes threatening to flood down the tracks her previous tears already laid in place for them.

“Really.” nodding your head in reassurance.

Jeongyeon places the box down in front of you, ring facing you and lifts her left hand up with her fingers splayed out, hand shaking from the intensity of the conversation you were having.

Pulling the ring out of the box, you slip it on her finger and admire how it looks on her. Kissing every knuckle she has before releasing her hand and sighing in relief.

“I’m so sorry about leaving…” toying with her ring, looking up at you through her bangs.

“We will get through it…” standing up to sit on her lap again and hug her.

Missing her was an understatement. Being in her arms again made you feel whole in a way that you couldn’t explain, a way you thought was impossible.

It was just her…it was always her.

“…and we will get through it together.” cupping her face and stroking her cheeks with your thumbs.

Leaning in, you kiss her. Soaking up all the love you missed in those three months apart, her lips heal almost every crack in your soul - rejuvenation of your heart in full effect as you lay a few more soft pecks on her lips and then her forehead.

“Together.”

[clowncryptids]

Rainbow Dash!

The Peregrine x Cheetah griffin dash is complete!!

This is my fave mlp design now I LOVE ITTTTT

Rainbow being a combo of two of the fastest animals is just sooo good <333

Also in the universe/ au?? these designs take place in, most sapient creatures have cutie marks! Also I like the idea that all hooved creatures and a good majority of mythical creatures are sapient!

headcanons for this Rainbow! v

They are trans masc, use He/They pronouns and are a Lesbian! He is also dating/married to Fluttershy <3

I love the idea of them getting the rainbow coloring after doing the sonic rainboom sooo for this Rainbow it is true! I think as a fledgling his spots were blue and their mane was black but after the rainboom they were magically stained rainbow! His OG name was just Dash and he added Rainbow to it bec of the rainboom!

He's the element of Honesty, because it makes since and Im still confused as to why Apple Jack and Rainbow's elements weren't switched.

They bonded with and befriended Fluttershy in flight school bec they both were the odd ones out as the majority of their peers were Pegasus.

The Wonderbolts had only ever had Pegasus remembers and Rainbow was determined to be the first non Pegasus to get in. After they did get let in however, she realized they were elitist assholes and horse racist so he quit.

He's bffs with Apple Jack and they are a badass Jock lesbian duo <3

....

Bonus design without the wings for a better view of the markings!

....

[Image ID: a digital drawing of an au redesign of Rainbow Dash from My little Pony. They are a griffin with a peregrine falcon inspired front half and a cheetah inspired back half. His left side is showing and he is leaping through the air with a happy determined look on their face. Their front, bird half is blue with a white stomach, he has a darker blue face mask marking as well as darker blue on his legs and back. They have a black beak and bird arms, they also have a short spikey rainbow mane and cheetah like ears. His back half is black with a white stomach and back paws, they have rainbow colored diamond shaped spots and rainbow stripes along their tail. Their cutiemark is a white cloud with a blue, yellow and red lightning bolt. His wings are the same color blue as his bird half, with white feathers on the end./ End ID]

[jifanjiang0710]

Closed Doors

yan secretary! zhongli x ceo! reader

Lantern Rite was fast approaching. From the glass windows that extended from the ledge at the bottom to the expanse of the ceiling, you could see that every corner and alley was alight with crimson silk and flowers, couplets and ribbons, lights flashing incessantly even in the mind’s eye. Your own office building had some, sporting of the festivities despite the heavy workload the staff have been burdened with recently.

A hand on your shoulder, a whisper of your name, by your ear.

“You have worked hard. Would you care to chat over dinner?”

“...I’m busy, tonight.”

Zhongli pulled back, gently, as if he had taken the rejection well. When has he ever, in this one-sided… situationship… thing?

“Then let me drive you home.”

“No, I’m fine.” You feel like throwing up, even though you had not eaten in many hours. The last time that occured…

No words. He is displeased, and it strikes a hot bolt of guilt through your veins. He did only mean the best for you, your trusted secretary.

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“I can assure you, my dear, it is no hassle at all. Do you not trust me to keep you safe, after all these years?”

You sigh. He speaks much like a doting grandfather. Your eyes trail to the two long red strips on the office door.

“ ‘Longevity like the highest West mountains, blossoming relationships akin to the depth of the Eastern sea.’ Isn’t the second part a bit out of place, Zhongli?”

The man in question leaned in, lowering his glasses and scrutinising the words on the couplet. “So it is.”

“Nothing more to say?” That was uncharacteristic of your secretary.

Zhongli coughed, as if to distract that. “I find the emphasis on interpersonal relations between persons agreeable. Is that not something you wish to have in your life, [Name]?”

“I… suppose?”

You knew he wrote it, and dare not remove it from the front doors of the company. You had to settle with unmatching couplets for the next month.

“Speaking of which, [Name]...” he said, tailing behind you at such a leisurely pace that you always had to stop several times for him to catch up. “The, ah, schedule for the company celebration on the second day of Lantern Rite has been updated. I have assigned your seating arrangement near-”

“Oh, right. I forgot to tell you. I won’t be around next month. I’m going back with my family to celebrate.”

…

“Zhongli?”

Why is he…disappointed? It is perfectly fine and common, for the overworked CEO to take time off to visit their loved ones for the holidays. Zhongli still feels an ache in his rustic heart as you said that.

You wouldn’t be spending Lantern Rite with him.

Last year, and the year before that, and the year before as well, you had; too busy slaving for the survival and growth of the company to take the journey home. He doesn’t know what to do with the chip at his feelings knowing you will not be around this year, even if it only consists of the two of you working late nights at the office, and him replacing your lukewarm cup of tea from time to time. By the time he replies you have arrived at your private office.

“... I see.”

After all he’s done for you, as well. Do you view him as nothing but a subordinate? 

Zhongli chided himself, shelving these thoughts for later. His younger self would succumb to petty, childish musings like these, and he would imagine he has matured.

He sees you falter, perhaps noticing the shift in mood. “Are you going anywhere for Lantern Rite?” you asked.

He smiles, not too broadly, making sure to keep his eyes still.

“Where has an old man like me to go, except for work?”

To the untrained eye, you seem unphased, but your secretary knows better. With a little observance, he can detect your uncomfortable twitches, fidgeting, wandering eyes. And, contrary to public belief, Zhongli can be very observant. How do you think he picks out the gem amongst stones? To him, you are that very diamond he so desires.

“Please, you are hardly half the age you act. You could… take a trip somewhere south, escape the cold…”

How intriguing. Before you can blink he towered over you, arm brushing against your shoulder. Zhongli looked you directly in the eyes, without a hint of warmth or the usual wise whimsy he conducts himself with.

“A most interesting suggestion. However I do not intend to go holidaying off by myself.”

You had no response to that, still recovering from the apparent change in attitude of your secretary.

“Not to mention, I would… how do I phrase this… find myself missing you terribly.”

For a moment, you think you see the amber in his eyes morph into a disgusting, bloody red. It could easily be passed off as reflection from the hanging lanterns.

He continues, when you don’t speak. “So, when you return to your, ah, loved ones, partake in the wonders of tradition and communal gathering… please think of me as well.”

A sweet statement turned sinister. Was this how he had gotten you to stay for the past year, and all the Lantern Rite’s before that?

Come to think of it, you don’t know why you were so busy back then either.

“After all, [Name]...”

He would do anything to keep you here, under his watchful eye and within his clutches.

“What is a poor old man to do, without you?”

He tried to play it off as a joke, a light-hearted statement made meant for mild amusement. You seemed to take it well, offering a hesitant chuckle. If you find this off-putting, he would hate for you to discover what he did to earn his position as your secretary. When he was young it would have been much more… how to put it? Physically forceful. 

The bloodlust from them has since faded. How would you feel seeing him slathered in crimson? Cringe in fear and revulsion, or praise him for his devotion?

He finds violence by his own hands unnecessary, now. He can do just as much and more with the influence he currently wields.

The manager who tried to seduce you, the owner of a rival company’s snark comments, all the scathing words of Internet users who think it so clever to be cruel to you behind a screen… one way or another, he has taken care of them as a good secretary would.

All that has paid off. Now he is your most trusted staff, the one who understood every quirk and minute action. No one had been through every high and low, seen you inside and out like he has.

He caresses you so gently, as if you were the most delicate petal or the most fragile diamond. As if all this was right and normal, for a secretary to do.

Who would suspect Zhongli the gentleman, collected, distinguished and composed of such depravity?

“Good morning, dear. Happy Lantern Rite.”

You trusted him, wholeheartedly.

But when you eventually wake up in his arms, in his bed, to the sound of firecrackers and joyful festive cheers, even after he promised the last time that it was a one-time mistake and would not happen again, you’re not quite sure you do, anymore.

[screamforyani]

family ties

pairing ↠ miguel o’hara x (f) shapeshifter!reader

genre .. warnings ↠ angst, violence, recurring mentions of death and murder, shapeshifter!reader, non-spiderperson reader, enemies to lovers esque, parenting!au, neighbor!au

summary ↠ six years ago, your ex-fiancé and the father of your baby was killed in a fatal incident involving the head of alchemax. ever since then, you’ve devoted yourself to a life of crime to take care of your daughter. by day, you fall deeper in love with your neighbor, and by night, you come face-to-face with spider-man.

word count ↠ 14.5k

a/n ↠ most of this is set in mc’s universe so anything’s canon here. this is a repost!!!! feedback is appreciated!!!!!!

if anybody asked, you would tell them that doing a crime lord's bidding was nothing to write home about. it was assignment after assignment to keep a roof over your head and putting up with a nineteen-year-old (at least you think he's nineteen) with a reckless mouth. his tongue had gotten him into unimaginable trouble, that was for sure. not just him, but you. curse you for being benevolent enough to not let the poor kid die.

but on the other hand, it could sometimes be rewarding. sometimes.

the venue was sizeable and bustling with rich people. as expected, given the occasion. rod malone-fisk would be hosting an event with his daddy’s money, though most significantly, somewhere upstairs lodged their family’s priceless gemstone.

drawn to your partner’s chest, you could easily pass for a lovely rich couple eager to stuff yourselves full of expensive appetizers, which you had to subtly swat hobie’s hand to keep him from grabbing. he was sporting a tailored red suit to tone with your deep crimson gown, each of you donning masks to match (given that it was a masquerade). 

it was strangely foreign to see hobie outside of his typical punk fits. none of the boots and chains and leather jackets - which looked cool on him, not that you would ever admit it - though he still had his unshakable attitude.

your partner in crime scanned the menu with disdain. “have you seen the menu? what the hell is a beef bourguignon?”

“you butchered the shit out of that,” you told him none too politely, wincing at the horrid pronounciation. “and stop being a baby. i can make you something later if you want.”

hobie dramatically put his hand over his heart. “you know, you treat me like your own son.”

“somebody has to,” you mumbled under your breath.

hobie obviously heard that, and before he could make a comment that would more than likely blow your cover, marsai interrupted through your ear pieces, “um, guys?”

hobie, sobering, asked, “any updates, mar?”

“i just hacked the surveillance system. as expected, the door to the diamond room has tight security. now, i can get you a distraction in roughly two hours, but the rest of the weight is yours to pull.”

marsai was your guy in the chair and that was her way of saying that she could get you both in, but she couldn’t get you out. 

“got it,” you said. 

for half an hour, you and hobie pretended to give a damn about what rodney had to offer, other than his father’s precious gemstones. even through the mask you could tell hobie was bored half to death by the monologue and the second it was over he didn’t hesitate to drag you to the dance floor.

the plan was etched into your memory. including the initial, backup, and safety plan. you were just waiting for marsai to give you the go-ahead. biding your time, one would put it. then you’d bolt upstairs, steal the gem, and book it.

this boring event being a test of your patience was your only concern. it gave you too much time to fret, to worry about what meadow was doing and if she was alright. of course, she’s alright, you thought to yourself. you left her in the most trustworthy of hands. nobody else would do.

“marsai, you’re killing me. it’s been fifty-leven hours,” hobie groaned impatiently for only you and the woman in his earpiece to hear.

you snickered tiredly and added in agreement, “give me any more chances to drink vodka and i might not be able to walk in a straight line. let alone carry out the mask.”

“okay, okay. give me, like, five minutes.”

devon, your getaway driver, tapped into the line and said, “hurry up. i’ve been waiting outside for like an hour.”

“only an hour?” you asked curiously. to be honest, he had been so silent that you’d forgotten he was even there. 

“oh, yeah. i got hungry and went for a burger.”

hobie snarled, voice dripping with obvious envy, “lucky you.”

you laughed.

not even a minute later, the fire alarms began to cry, alerting everyone about a potential fire. you immediately made a beeline for the stairs in spite of the crowd of people flocking towards the exit. you wanted to throw your stilettos over the railing and possibly hit rodney square in the head.

hobie was right behind you. the diamond was in a room down the hall on the far right end of the corridor. it was the perfect place to corner a potential thief.

you looked suspicious running the opposite direction as everybody else, but fortunately for you and your partner, everyone was too scared for their life to question you. even if they noticed, they sure as hell wouldn’t stop and ask why. not with their lives in jeopardy. 

marsai announced in your ears, “most of the security have evacuated their posts, but there’s a couple coming upstairs. they’re not far behind you.”

“i’ll take care of it,” hobie said without leaving much room for argument. he spared you one little look before spinning on his heels.

you drew your gun from the slit in your long gown and continued to pace down the hall, never stopping no matter what. time was most valuable in predicaments like this and you had very little. you needed to be calculated. 

there was no security guarding the door when you arrived. piece of cake, you thought to yourself smugly. and jotted down a mental note to definitely reward yourself with a sickly sweet desert after tonight. 

barging inside, you instantly spotted the gem and wasted not another second to swipe a tiny device from your thigh holster, hurling it at the glass case. it ruptured on impact, shattering on itself. you swiped the jewel and turned.

another voice spooked you and abruptly said, “thank you. i’ll take that.”

the stranger didn’t even let you get a word in before he was snapping the priceless gem out of your clutches, and in a blink, he was running for the door. it only took one glance for you to recognize your unexpected company as the masked vigilante known as spider-man. 

you hated that guy. kind of. on the one hand, you weren’t against him making new york city a safer place for your daughter, but on the other hand, all he did was get in the way of your work and you needed to be able to provide for her.

you aimed your weapon, but spider-man was quick to smoothly slip to the side, quite literally dodging a bullet without even turning around once. “nice shot,” he taunted, pursuing his escape unscathed.

hot on his heels, your stilettos clicked loudly against the cool marble floor. spider-man couldn’t even made it out the door before you were on him, sending him off of his feet. he swore under his breath but never dropped the gem, and you feared he would destroy it with with his grudging clasp. before you could move again, he stole your gun no longer strapped to your thigh, grabbing it with his webs and tossing it across the room.

“how clever,” you snarled, snatching the gem and running the opposite direction.

the masked self-proclaimed superhero charged after you with featherlight, nimble steps that you matched with a graceful agility. you didn’t bother to try to take back your weapon, because you weren’t aiming to wound or maim and there was no need for a body count. 

the two of you danced around the broken case, careful not to slip in glass shards. it reminded you of children playing tag. with you holding the weapon now, you were undoubtedly it.

spider-man pranced around the glass, walking in a circle. he could have easily taken you down and he knew it. he was bigger than you, quicker than you, and stronger than you, but he didn’t particularly want to use his strength on you.

“i don’t want to hurt you,” admitted spider-man in a way that almost came off as a warning. he was stepping around you in the way someone would walk around a sleeping dragon.

you scoffed, “oh, don’t worry, baby. you won’t.”

the feeling was not mutual. you promptly grabbed some glass shards in your black gloves - never taking your eyes off of him - and chucked them his direction. the stranger missed them narrowly, dancing out of their way. you had to give credit where credit was due. this human spider was better than any opponent before him.

in the second it took him to skate out of harm’s way, spider-man inched closer to you, enough for the diamond to be at arm’s length of his body. you slid, the jewel taking to the air. he smoothly caught you and the diamond in his arms all in the same breath, and your shock granted him a few seconds leeway for escape.

for a second, you were too stunned to take action. then, you noticed he was getting away and it wore off as quickly as it came, with you right behind him. 

you took off one of your stilettos and chucked it towards him with superhuman speed like a weapon, and he swore again, whirling around quickly enough to catch the other one before it could strike him too. “woman, you’re insane,” he hissed, eyeing you darkly as you approached him.

“i’ve heard that one before,” you teased, eyes still on the prize. “do better.”

you reached for his mask and he quickly caught your hand before you could reveal his identity, though with your spare hand you snatched the jewel while he was off guard and made a beeline for the exit, your bare feet slapping against the floor. jesus fucking christ, where the hell was hobie when you needed him?

spider-man flung the broken glass case in front of the door with his webs in a final attempt to prevent you from fleeing, immediately giving chase. it was too bad that you had already suddenly shifted towards the window, making him stop short of the broken shards, and stood at the edge of the tall window with the gem pressed to your bosom.

“this has truly been fun, spidey,” you told him, just as you fell out of the window. 

and he would have caught you. he would have stopped going easy on you, would have wrapped this tango up if it weren’t for the fact that you were nowhere to be found. he peered out of the window and saw nobody falling to their death. he crawled up the building and swung from place to place, but it was like you had disappeared in the shadows.

literally.

crawling undetected across the gloomy crevices of the building before taking to the air, you made it to the other side of the building and to the getaway car.

hobie was sitting in the backseat and was baffled when he heard the gem drop just before he saw a jet-black raven that he recognized as your go-to bird identity. “oh, hey,” he said coolly. “how’d it go?”

you transformed back into your original form and hobie glanced away. it was never a process he wanted to look at. not some perfectly animated transition like in the movies. you ignored him and said, “devon, drive.”

“it’s about time,” devon said, speeding off.

“my bad. i had a surprise guest,” you droned, massaging the balls of your feet while hobie placed the gem in the front seat and even wrapped the seatbelt around what would’ve been its chest if it had one. which wasn’t the most brilliant idea, given that rodney was definitely going to report it missing and though the windows were tinted, the roof of the car was down.

devon pushed, “as in?”

“as in spider-man,” you replied coolly. jesus, your feet were killing you. marsai should not have let you walk around in stilettos for hours.  no matter the reward of your sacrifice.

hobie was none too pleased by the intervention. “how in the hell did he know we were going to be there?”

you could see devon’s baffled face from the rear-view mirror. “that’s something to have marsai follow up on.”

you shook your head, bemused and engrossed in thought. your first encounter with spider-man. how exciting. “he caught me when i was about to fall even after i threw glass at him.”

“you were about to fall?” hobie asked, amused. “what is it you always say? never get caught slipping? you quite literally-”

“never get caught slipping. i know. thanks,” you finished, finally clicking your seatbelt into place. 

“aw, shit. she’s in love with spider-man,” devon quipped, earning a sharp glare from the backseat.

hobie laughed. obnoxiously. 

“can you guys shut the hell up already?” you hissed. “i’m just surprised. he treated me better than the two of you even as i came for his life.”

“alright. don’t call us when he throws you in a prison cell,” hobie said blankly.

you rolled your eyes.

the drive was longer than usual because devon wanted to ensure that there were no cops tailing him, aimlessly coasting around town for a while until ultimately taking a very elusive route to your house where he eventually dropped off you and hobie, who didn’t hesitate to remind you about that dinner offer.

when you opened the door to your house, you barely even stepped inside before meadow forwent her coloring book and ran over to you, shouting, “mommy!”

“hey, baby,” you said, watching her short arms wrap around your leg. “how was your day?”

“it was fun. tt took me to the park and she said we can go again tomorrow!” meadow exclaimed giddily, literal stars in her eyes. nothing made you more soft than the sight of your baby girl at the end of a long day.

“that sounds like loads of fun,” you told meadow, gently patting her back.

meadow went to hobie next, calling out for him, and he picked your six-year-old daughter up in his arms. “‘ey up, cheeto. did you make any friends at the park?”

cheeto was the nickname hobie had given your daughter four years back after he saw her eating a bag of cheetos. for whatever reason, it just stuck. everyone called her that, even you every now and then.

“i did,” meadow said, noticably less enthusiastic than before. and it took a lot to get your daughter down in the dumps. she was just so full of life and you wanted her to hold onto that innocence for as long as she could. “but there was this bully. he wouldn’t let me get on the swings.”

that got hobie’s attention, as well as yours. he sat her back down, flexing his muscles and making punching motions. “what? do you want me to handle him for ‘ya? look, i learned some new moves.”

meadow was her giggly self again, watching hobie box the air. 

you, on the other hand, were not happy. you crouched to be eye-level with her and said gently, “if there’s somebody bothering you, cheeto, i can always take to their parents.”

“that won’t be necessary,” came another voice, and you quickly glanced up to see your best friend of many years, lani lee. she was also the one and only person you trusted to babysit your daughter, although you would consider letting hobie watch her for forty-five minutes maximum. “i already talked to the little boy and his parents. he won’t be bothering her any more. i made sure of it.”

“what would i do without you,” you said, standing up to pull your best friend in for a hug while hobie entertained meadow. 

“die of paranoia, probably.”

you rolled your eyes, though she wasn’t wrong. it eased your nerves a lot bit to know your daughter was under the watchful eye of someone like a sister to you. you pulled back, noticing she had her purse in hand, and asked, “you aren’t staying for dinner?”

“oh, no. i can’t. i have a… date,” lani said, the fleeting pause and her constant awkward glimpses between you and meadow making her implications obvious. 

hobie, who also got the memo, snickered. “a date, you say?” 

“stay out of grown folk’s business,” you and lani said simultaneously. 

“mind you, i’m nineteen! i can drink!”

“in london, yes. in brooklyn, no,” you said under your breath, almost hoping he didn’t hear you. you weren’t inclined to have this conversation for the umpteenth time.

“well, i’m gonna head out. you kids have fun,” lani said, slipping out of the house before hobie could make a quip. 

instead, hobie turned to you and asked, “yo, mind if i crash here for the night?”

“you know you can stay whenever you want, hobie,” you told him, heading to the kitchen to prepare dinner. 

“sweet. i’m going to go settle down and i’ll watch cheeto while you cook.”

that’s sweet of him, you thought. you acknowledged him with a nod and immediately washed your hands.

after steaming up the kitchen and donning a more casual outfit you called the youngins out for dinner. hobie, the gentleman he was, helped you set the table and the three of you ate dinner together as if you were one big family. you didn’t mind it. usually, meadow was fed and asleep by the time you got back from work, so you warmed up whatever lani had cooked and ate alone. if lani had time, she’d stay to chitchat, but what was even more rare was you getting home early enough to eat dinner with your daughter.

you made sure lani had whatever resources she needed to take care of meadow and herself. she insisted that you didn’t need to compensate her, but you didn’t care. you couldn’t thank her enough for stepping in when you couldn’t be there like you wanted.

meadow got sleepy after dinner, like she usually did after eating, and you tucked her in, whispering, “goodnight. mommy loves you very much.”

“goodnight. i love you, too. very much,” meadow said sleepily, snuggling her favorite stuffed animal. it was a dragon named cheeto junior, much to your amusement.

you giggled, pressing a kiss to her forehead and turning on her nightlight before shutting the door behind yourself.

then, you grabbed a plate you’d set aside and wrapped up and you even made a total of twenty steps to the front door before hobie appeared out of nowhere - you could of swore he was washing the dishes a minute ago - and asked nosily, “is that for the miguel guy you’re crushing on?”

“jesus fucking christ, hobie. i’m not crushing on him,” you said, maybe a little in denial. sitting at the table eating dinner with someone other than your shadow made your chest hurt, which factored into the denial. “he just helps out a lot. mows the yard and… stuff.”

“and stuff,” hobie repeated with air quotes, because apparently you needed an echo, as if you weren’t loud enough. “that’s rubbish.”

you groaned, “look, i’m just repaying the favor. not that that’s any of your business. go to sleep, kid.”

hobie threw up his hands, mumbling, “fine, fine. but only because i’m knackered.”

you slipped out the front door, somewhat antsy, not that you would ever admit it. you just got all jittery around miguel for whatever reason. maybe it was because he was attractive, which you had no problem admitting. very attractive.

you remembered the first time meeting him. 

it was a saturday and you were cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing down every surface and wiping every dish clear of stains and clearing out the fridge. you’d only taken your eyes off your daughter for a second before you looked back up and noticed her absence. 

your heart immediately sank with panic. “meadow?” you called out. 

no answer.

you had to have flipped over the entire living room and been on your way to her bedroom before you realized the front door was more than a little cracked just as you passed by the foyer, impenetrable fear spreading through your body like wildfire.

you immediately stepped outside of your house, frantically calling out, “meadow!”

“is this who you’re looking for?”

you spun around eighty degrees, spotting meadow walking through your yard with your neighbor. you sighed out in relief, rushing over to swoop your baby girl in your arms. “sweetheart, i’m so glad you’re okay,” you told her. then, you your tone turned chastising. “don’t you ever leave this house again without me or tt, you hear me?”

meadow looked confused for a split-second, but seeing your brows furrowed with worry and your features tensed with panic, she seemed to have understood that she had messed up somewhere along the line. “‘m sorry, mama.”

you sat her down, noticing the dollar bill in her hand. “now where on earth did you get that?”

“i asked mr. o'hara if i could have a lollipop but he said it’s very bad to take food from strangers, so he gave me a dollar.”

that was when your vision panned to your next-door neighbor, miguel o’hara, who was standing there with a small smile on his face. your eyes were watering and you tried not to let them fall, repeatedly telling him, “thank you.”

miguel shook his head, a palm flat on his hips. “it’s no problem. i just wanted to make sure the little girl got back home safe.”

ever since that moment, you’d been extremely grateful for miguel. to say nothing of the fact that he did a bunch of yard work out of the sheer kindness of his heart. he insisted multiple times that he didn’t need any reward, but you had to argue. there was a chance you might not have ever seen meadow again had he not brought her back to you. if you lost your daughter, you would have nothing left.

so, your idea of compensation happened to be food, which miguel didn’t mind at all. you loved to cook. you used to cook all of the time, every meal from breakfast to dinner.

that was a while ago, though. standing on his front door now with a hot plate in hand, you tried desperately not to go down memory lane. 

not too long after, miguel opened the door and spotted you standing in his doorway. “good evening.”

“good evening, miguel. this is for you,” you said with a polite smile, extending the plate. 

“thank you,” he said graciously, accepting the food with a matching smile. “may i ask what for?”

you didn’t really know the answer yourself. the yard had already been mowed and there didn’t seem to be any other issues that lani couldn’t take care of herself. “just in case you were hungry or something. but if you’re not, you can always save it later.”

“i’m starving,” miguel replied, smiling with his eyes. they were beautiful. much like the rest of him, you might add. his broad shoulders and dark hair and the way his muscles poked out of his t-shirts.

“well, then. that solves that,” you said with a laugh. “have a goodnight, mr. o’hara!”

“you, too!”

miguel watched you back off his doorway, just until he was certain you were safely back in your house. you could feel his eyes on you like a sixth sense, but didn’t dare turn around, shutting your front door behind you.

“you’re seriously telling me you weren’t checking him out?” came hobie’s voice from your couch. 

rather than startle, you took off one of your slippers and said, “you have until the count of five. one, two, three-”

“c’ya,” hobie said, darting down the hall. 

you shook your head and let out a sigh.

EARLIER THAT DAY…

miguel shook his head and heaved a breath. 

peter, who had taken a kind of passion to his job, was none too thrilled by the news. “you let a thief wanted in forty-two counties get away?”

“forty-three,” lyla chirped.

miguel glared, on the verge of letting out an animalistic roar. normally, this would be something miguel yelled at the others about, so it was a very unwelcome change of pace. “we have a back-up plan,” miguel reminded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i’ve got it under control.”

“you sure that you’ve got it under control?” gwen asked, definitely pushing miguel’s buttons in ways that she shouldn’t have. “and not-”

“stop,” miguel hissed. “everyone go. i need to be alone.”

nobody wanted to contend with that tone, so gwen dragged miles out of the room in case miguel decided to take his anger out on him, with peter quickly following. jessica stayed behind, closing the door behind them, and lyla was, well… a computer.

miguel really did have a plan, because of course he did, he was never without one. in fact, not having a plan to follow made him lose his mind. so it was safe to say it wasn’t the fact that his mission had failed that was making him upset. it was you.

“hey,” jessica said, brushing his shoulder. “what’s on your mind?”

“i’m fine,” miguel said a little more harshly than intended, though it was to be expected with him. 

jessica snickered, putting her hands on her hips. “well, when you say it with that mean ‘ole tone of yours, i know you’re lyin’.”

look at him. a grown man sulking. it was hilarious, not that jessica would say that aloud. right now.

not too many people knew the actual plan. jessica knew. lyla knew, because of course she did, but miguel deliberately told the others that the plan was to catch you because you were a threat to the multiverse. which was the half truth, but the part about you potentially destroying the multiverse was just feeder for the birds. he didn’t want them to ruin things.

in reality, he did intend to catch you, but not because you were going to destroy the multiverse. he wanted you to help them save it. he’d been watching you for a while now, gauging your power. battling you for the first time was merely a test. he could have taken you down in no time if he wanted, left you for the cops to grab, but that would only put a dent in his plans.

miguel had seen what you could do. now, he was ready to bring you in.

TWO WEEKS LATER…

you were running, a bit more comfortably than last time considering this thiefing ordeal didn’t require you to wear painfully long heels and a dress with a huge slit down the front. just your typical mask. you burst out of the door that led to the rooftop, heaving, given that you’d just ran up what felt like fifty flights of stairs.

you were just about to shapeshift into your signature jet-black raven until you felt something stick at your feet and realized you couldn’t move. glancing down, you saw red webs, and threw your head back with a groan. not good for takeoff, you thought, in spite of the fact that you absolutely could not get caught. maybe you could still fly, but if the webs got stuck to your feathers, it was game over.

spider-man emerged from the shadows of night, moonlight glimmering on his suit. “going somewhere?”

“well, not anymore, looks like,” you grumbled, irritated. 

little did the police know, you had already dropped off the stolen item. so you would still get your next paycheck. though the expenses for having to get you out of jail could’ve potentially taken a toll on it, depending on how benevolent your boss was feeling.

spider-man chuckled, approaching you. “what did you steal this time? an emerald? a ruby?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” you hissed.

“you got me there,” replied spider-man, although there was a kind of arrogance in his tone that really pissed you off. “i’m not letting you get away this time.”

you cackled, almost like a witch. “you can deter me, spider-man, all you want,” you told him, trying to break out of the webs, but to no avail. “but i’m unstoppable.”

spider-man took one look at you, struggling to free yourself from your restraints, and cackled. “here. let me help.”

you sucked in a breath when his talons started to protrude from the tips of his fingers, but they were gone after the mere three seconds it took for him to slash the thread of string to bits. you stepped back an inch, as if you were testing your freedom. then, you threw him a baffled look behind your mask. there was no reason why the same man trying to catch you just set you free. unless it was a trap.

now was your moment. you could have shapeshifted and been on your merry way, but something told you to stay put. just for now, as if you were going to miss something. 

“i think she went up here, boss!”

hearing those voices, your first instinct was to take flight, but spider-man had different plans and you quietly gasped when he shoved you behind a wall, placing a sheathed hand over your mouth. it was the only part of your mask that wasn’t covered. breathing issues.

there were footsteps. you glanced at spider-man, who was looking at you. the two of you said nothing, but there had to have been a billion thoughts warring through your mind and they each blurred into each other. 

“don’t move a muscle,” spider-man growled, stepping from behind the wall and approaching the police. for whatever reason, you listened, despite the fact that you should have fled while you still had the opportunity. some nerve this guy had telling you what to do.

spider-man donned his friendliest tone, greeting, “everything alright, sheriff?”

“we got a tip that a woman ran this way,” the sheriff said, glancing around the rooftop. now would probably be a great time to shapeshift into a chameleon. or literally any small critter.

“i didn’t see a woman. i can assure you it’s just me up here,” spider-man said, scratching his head. “but i can help you find her.”

the sheriff seemed to mull it over, from the brief pause you noticed him take, but ultimately responded, “no, no, that’s okay. you do enough around here, spider-man. we’ve got this one.”

“alright. you have a good night, sheriff.”

your eyes flickered, hearing the footsteps of the sheriff and his team fade. did spider-man just protect you - again?

“why did you do that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him from behind your mask. you didn’t like this guy, if it wasn’t obvious enough. you felt like he was trying to get you off guard, and that made you dig in your heels even more.

“because if anyone’s gonna turn you in, it’ll be me,” spider-man said in a low tone, cornering you against the wall and trapping you in front of his chest. “i want to take you down all by myself.”

you snickered. that had to have been the most amusing thing you’d heard all day. you placed your hands on his shoulders, purring, “really now? you think you can take me down?”

“i know i can,” he told you, his words whispering to you with the rustling of the wind. “and i will.”

“hm,” was all you said, bringing one of your hands down his chest. he sounded so certain. 

spider-man cocked his head. you couldn’t see, obviously, but there was a little grin dancing on his lips. “do you touch every guy like this or am i special?”

“i loved a man once,” you told him. not that it was any of his business. you cloaked the wistfulness in your voice with sultriness. “didn’t end too well for either of us.”

spider-man paused, like he was surprised by the sudden confession, but wasted no time to recover. “is that why you’re here?”

you chewed your lip. he was right on the money. “i’m here because i choose to be.”

“but if you had the chance to be something else, something… better,” spider-man started, tracing your lip with his concealed thumb. “you would take it, right?”

of course, you would. those kind of opportunities just weren’t something everybody was fortunate enough to have. you had it all and then you lost it in the blink of an eye, watching it all crumble before your feet. if you were being honest, you were cheating death.

“i guess we’ll never know,” was all you said before breaking out of his arms and jumping off of the building. 

spider-man watched you, but he knew you would be alright even before he saw the raven come up and disappear into brooklyn’s dark evening sky and he couldn’t tell you apart from a star.

THE FOLLOWING DAY…

with your line of work, you had quite a few days off. but that was because you didn’t have a fixed schedule, which was a blessing and a curse wrapped into one. when your boss called, you answered. even if it meant having to haul ass out of bed at four in the morning.

today was one of those days off. you insisted lani didn’t need to do anything, sending her money to make sure she was set since she was basically your daughter’s full-time babysitter. you made meadow breakfast, dropped her off at school, and went back home. 

thinking about meadow and if she was safe always made you nervous. since you could afford it these days, you enrolled her in a private school. it didn’t hurt, even if she hates the uniform at first. you just wanted to decrease the chances of something bad happening to her.

miguel was on his front porch when you pulled into the driveway, your houses not significantly far from each other. every now and then, you let your eyes wander, and then you let your mind wonder why a man as fine as himself lived all alone.

“hey,” miguel said, waving you over. “you’re home early.”

“so are you,” you replied, shocked that he was home. this was a man that worked a typical nine-to-five, so he should have been gone longer than you, technically speaking. though he did tend to disappear often. “i admit i was a little curious when i saw your car still parked when i went to drop meadow off.”

“off day,” was all miguel said, flashing you a full set of teeth. jesus fucking christ, this man had a mesmerizing smile. “what are your plans for today, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“oh, you know. just catching up on sleep and throwing something on the stove,” you told him offhandedly. like any other working individual on their day off, you just wanted to rest. “there’s nothing like a nap on a full stomach. what about you?”

miguel rubbed his nape. “well, i was going to do some extra paperwork and some work around the house, but your plan sounds better than mine.”

you chortled, because you couldn’t even politely disagree. “in that case, you can always come over, if you’d like. no one’s home but me and i don’t bite.”

though you didn’t realize until it was too late, miguel had gotten very close to you. you could feel his warmth on your skin, although your bodies didn’t touch. his arm was just shy of yours. “no, no. i couldn’t,” he said. 

you waved him off. “of course, you could. you’re not a parasite, miguel. we both give to each other.”

“are you sure it’s okay?”

“positive. we’re both grown adults. you don’t need anyone’s permission but mine to come over to my house, you know,” you joked.

miguel visibly mulled it over, his brows furrowed in deep thought, almost as though he thought you were going to eat him or something. but then he bobbed his head and said, “sounds like a good time.”

you broke into a smile that you hadn’t made in years, leading miguel to your house. ironically, it was the first time he had been inside. you hadn’t had any indoor issues that you or lani couldn’t take care of on your own so far, which meant he stuck to yardwork. foolishly, you were a little nervous.

“tidy,” miguel remarked while he followed you to your kitchen. you didn’t see the way he smiled at the tiny pairs of shoes on the rack in the foyer. he noticed that there were a lot of pictures of meadow hanging around, ranging from when she was a mere infant until now.

“very. thank god for lani. i used to think i was a good, but that woman is a different breed of clean,” you said after washing your hands, grabbing a bunch of ingredients from your cabinets and refrigerator. 

miguel observed from behind your island, leaning up against it. “you two seem very close.”

“i trust her with my life. and my daughter’s life. she’s like a sister to me,” you told him, smiling. for a split-second, miguel swore he saw something wistful. “she almost was.”

“almost?”

“almost,” you whispered, plopping a bag of peppers onto the counter. 

miguel didn’t press. if you wanted to talk about it, you would. the two of you weren’t exactly close, no matter how blurry the lines between just friends and neighbors had gotten over the years.

reading the room, miguel expertly shifted the subject, “what are you making?”

the stars were back in your eyes as you gushed, “it’s a family recipe. my mother used to make it all the time. i feel bad now for complaining about how much she did when i was a kid. it’s mouthwatering perfection.” you deliberately left out the part that you felt bad because you would never get the chance to eat her food again.

“i hear you,” miguel replied, watching you cut the peppers. he didn’t like how sharp the knife was. “let me help.”

you brushed him off. “it’s fine. sit down.”

“i wasn’t asking,” miguel said sternly, his feet already moving. 

you blinked. “oh. okay.”

miguel maneuvered around the island, grabbing your waist while he walked past you, which admittedly made butterflies flutter in your gut. you chided them, begging them to keep the excitement to a minimum, but it was no use when you saw miguel had rolled up his sleeves and taken the knife out of your hands.

you pretended to look at the vegetables, though it couldn’t have been more obvious that you were watching his bare, exposed forearms and the taut muscles tense with his every movement. then, reminding yourself that there were other things you could have been doing, you tried to concentrate on the meat.

absentmindedly working, your thoughts were still on his arms, though for more chaste reasons. there were some lingering scratches on his skin, like he’d gotten into a fight or two. you wondered if he was taking care of himself. 

something particularly paralyzing hit you when you realized that that was all you could do - wonder. you didn’t really know miguel, nor did he know you, and you had long convinced yourself that it was better that way. you kept your family a distance from others until they bared their souls to you.

miguel was different. there was an air of familiarity to his presence. like he had half a soul that was completed by yours.

after forty minutes of what felt like reckless conversation featuring the two of you cooking instead of the other way around, lunch was ready and it was noon. you offered miguel wine and chattered over a meal and through your wine drunk haze. 

good thing he only lived next door.

“you know, you cook the best food i’ve ever tasted,” miguel told you, not a single sign of insincerity on his face. 

you perked up, glancing at him from across the dining table. what a kind gentleman he had been, refusing to let you set the table. or carry the dishes over. “really?”

“i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t mean it,” he said. “such great flavor.”

“thanks,” you chirped, breaking into a broadening grin. “i’ve been hoping to pass it down to meadow so that the legacy doesn’t die. she loves watching me cook. her grandmother would be proud.”

miguel cocked a brow. “no other family?”

you shook your head, fidgeting with the near-empty wine glass now that you’d finished your meals. “nope. my mother was single, my father is god knows where, so it was just me and her for the longest. and you know how i said lani was almost my sister?”

“mm-hm,” miguel hummed, brows furrowed as a sign he was listening deeply. 

you sucked in a breath. you had never admitted this to anyone before. “she was my fiancé’s sister. he, uh, yeah. work incident. six years ago.”

miguel’s features softened, the ache on your face conspicuous. hurt recognized hurt. he grabbed your hand from underneath the table, gave it a gentle squeeze, and said, “i’m sorry that happened.” 

“me, too,” you mumbled.

you deliberately left out the part that you were involved in that incident. it was a dinner at alchemax with the man you were about to start a family with and his boss, who had sent the rest of the company home. you wished you would have seen it coming, wished you would have known your drinks were spiked before your almost husband sipped from that glass.

the dosage had killed him, but mutated your dna. you should have died. it was a miracle your unborn baby at the time survived. instead, you turned into a shape-shifting entity, a mere test subject.

though there weren’t any signs, you were always wary, wondering if meadow had been affected by the dosage, but the doctors declared her very healthy at birth and during checkups.

“i lost my family, too,” miguel confessed, much to your and his mutual surprise. “i wasn’t always a lonely old man. i had a wife and a daughter.”

that piqued your interest. “have you looked again?”

“have you?”

that was fair. “no,” you said. not particularly, came a voice in your head, but you didn’t let it speak. “mainly because i have a daughter. i’m careful who i bring into her life. and with work, i don’t have the time to do background checks on who i date.”

“you’re a good mother,” miguel said after a moment or two. “meadow is lucky to have you.”

you smiled gently. “i like to think so.”

minutes of conversation turned into hours with miguel, but you didn’t forgo your plans of napping. almost the second you put on the movie, both of you were fast asleep, your head on his shoulder. 

when you woke up again, your head had fallen to his chest and his arm was tightly secured around your waist like a seatbelt. it wasn’t time to pick up meadow, you had set a time just in case you got a little too distracted, but you noticed a text from lani insisting that she would drop your daughter off since she was in the area of her school and wanted you to rest.

for a little while, you let yourself wallow in the feeling of miguel’s warmth and the sound of his soft snores. it wasn’t very often that you actually let yourself enjoy things.

you were too paranoid. too vigilant. it was nice to put your guard down for a second.

the doorbell rang after a while and you felt miguel’s arm flex protectively around you. he was awake.

“it’s lani. she dropped off meadow,” you whispered, feeling his protective grip slacken. your heart fluttered at how instinctively cautious he was over you.

standing to your feet, you opened the door and greeted your daughter. you made small talk with lani at the door before she said she had places to be and drove off. 

“hi, mr. o’hara,” greeted meadow when she entered the living room, plopping on the couch to watch cartoons. 

“hey, cheeto,” miguel greeted gruffly, sitting up. “you don’t have any homework to do?”

“nope,” meadow said, popping the p. “we don’t have homework on friday’s.”

“oh, silly me,” miguel said, making you poorly stifle a laugh.

meadow giggled, too. 

miguel cocked his head at you, standing beside him, leaning against the arm of the chair. “who are you laughing at?”

you raised your arms defensively. “nothing.”

“i said,” miguel started, donning a playfully monster-like tone, probably for meadow’s amusement. you gasped when he switched your positions, though he was rather gentle when he pushed you into the couch. “who are you laughing at?”

when his fingers started to dance over your skin, you couldn’t even get the words out, convulsing in a fit of giggles as he tickled you and pressed you for answers. you squirmed and writhed, laughing uncontrollably.

“meadow,” you called out for help, but she simply covered her ears and kept her eyes glued to the television screen for all the times you tickled her. but you saw her lips twitch into a mischievous grin.

there was almost tears in your ears at this point. miguel’s fingers were merciless, almost killing you with how much they made you laugh. 

“oh my god, miguel, quit it…,” you chanted, your cheeks hurting. 

“what’s the magic word?”

“stop.”

“wrong answer.”

“please,” you blurted, a line of tears rolling down your face as you writhed beneath him. “please!”

miguel let up, at last pulling back from your frame as your chest heaved and you tried to catch your breath. meadow lifted up her hand and high-fived miguel, both of them looking like nothing but trouble.

miguel plopped back on the couch, asking, “are you okay?”

“i almost pee’d myself,” you admitted through ragged breaths. 

both miguel and meadow laughed. 

once you could breathe again, you called meadow into the kitchen for an after school snack since she insisted that she wasn’t very hungry. “mom,” she called out, standing beside you. “a boy told me he liked me at school today.”

any other parent would have had a heart attack, but you knew your daughter well enough, and asked expectantly, “and what did you say?”

“that he’s icky,” she told you with a straight face. 

you snickered in amusement. “atta girl.”

“do you like mr. o’hara?”

now that almost gave you a heart attack, but you feigned some kind of semblance of calm, asking, “what makes you think that?”

“it just looks like it,” meadow chirped, but she was quick to get distracted by the snacks in the pantry and asked for a blueberry muffin.

but that was the million dollar question. did you like miguel o’hara?

THE NEXT DAY IN DOWNTOWN BROOKLYN…

“it’s about time you got here,” was the first thing hobie said when you arrived at the warehouse.

the abandoned warehouse was rusty and run-down, and it wasn’t too much of a leap to make that it hadn’t been used in years. you swore you saw a critter scurry away upon your entrance.

“hello to you too, hobie,” you greeted levelly. “cutting to the chase, where’s michael fontana? you didn’t leave a live body alone, did you?”

hobie scoffed, “ay, do i look like an amateur to you? follow my lead.”

you followed hobie through the warehouse littered with clutter, boxes cast aside that were presumably filled with old junk and spiders. the job was supposed to easy. tie the guy up, press him for answers, and relay the information. it could have been a one-person job, but your boss preferred having multiple witnesses.

hobie’s fingers curled around a doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open. but the room was void of life. your brows furrowed, glancing up at hobie, uttering, “there’s nobody here…”

you screamed when you felt somebody grab you from behind, assuming it was an escaped michael fontana. this is why you don’t hire nineteen-year-olds, you thought grumpily to yourself.

struggling in his arms, you shouted to your partner, “hobie, the gun!”

hobie didn’t move a muscle, much to your shock, shooting you an apologetic wince. “sorry, mate. it’s nothing personal. i actually like you,” he said. “but boss’ order.”

you glanced back, the sting of brutal betrayal settling in with the mind-numbing realization that the person grabbing you wasn’t michael fontana.

before you could shapeshift, you felt a needle poke your arm and hissed, just a grand total of seconds before your body went slack and the world around you vanished.

when you regained consciousness, the first thing you noticed was how bright it was in whatever room you were in, sunlight filtering through the blinds. the second thing you noticed was that your hands were cuffed behind the back of whatever chair you were now sitting in, followed by the pain flaring through your right arm. 

glancing around, you opened your winced eyes. an interrogation room with an outdoor window. that was a first.

“she’s awake!” you heard someone calling out, craning your head to spot two teenagers. if you had to guess, they didn’t look over seventeen. the boy waved, but the girl tugged his hand back down.

they must have heard someone coming, but they moved out of the way, letting them cross the threshold between their room and yours, the door already open. like they knew for certain that there was no way you could escape.

spider-man came to sit in front of you, across from you. your last memory was of him standing behind you. you narrowed your eyes, sneering, “you.”

you didn’t wonder how he knew who you are, remembering hobie had betrayed you. he must have been ratting you out for the longest. marsai had been looking into how spider-man seemingly always knew when and where you’d strike, but found nothing. you guessed you had your answer.

“not me,” spider-man said, deactivating his mask. “me.”

shock paralyzed you, not that you could move very much in the first place. this had to be some kind of dream. or, better yet, a nightmare. “miguel?” you gasped.

it all made sense now. the disappearances at random hours of the day and ungodly hours of the night. the scratches and bruises you sometimes noticed on his skin, and lord knows you hadn’t even seen half of them. it was because he was out fighting evil, out fighting you. 

“i’m not your enemy,” miguel said, his voice stern like it had been in your kitchen.

“yes, because only my ally would set me up, drug me, and cuff me to a chair,” you droned, voice dripping with sarcasm.

you shifted as much as you could,  uncomfortable at the thought of being drugged. the last time it happened, you lost a fiancé, the future you always wanted, and - on the brink of death - turned into a shape-shifting creature. you were also a little hurt, not that you would show it on the surface. you’d trusted miguel, even liked him, much to your daughter’s suspicion.

wondering how long he knew was even more maddening. this man was posing as your kind next-door neighbor all the while knowing where you were and what you did when you left your home everyday. and all of it was for what - to capture you and cage you like an animal?

miguel lolled his neck. you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, weighing him down. “it was for your own good. you would have tried to shapeshift and get away from me, no?”

you chewed your lip, saying nothing. you didn’t want to admit that he was right. much to miguel’s amusement. 

“about that,” came one of the two teenagers, the boy, you noticed. “we really wanted to ask you about being a shapeshifter. i mean, that’s so cool. i’ve never met a shapeshifter before.”

“most people haven’t, kid,” you said stiffly. “who are you two?”

“i’m miles morales,” the boy introduced himself, stretching out his hand for you to shake. 

wiggling your fingers behind your back, you droned, “my hands are kinda tied here, kid. literally.”

miles made a face, immediately rushing to uncuff you after miguel unceremoniously tossed him the key. 

“i’m gwen stacy,” the girl said as your cuffs slackened and your hands were freed. “can you please tell us what it’s like to be a shapeshifter?”

“no, no, and no,” miguel said for you, clearly against the idea for whatever reason. 

“but why?” gwen pressed. then, an idea hit her and she looked to you, continuing, “miguel didn’t mean any harm. he has a good reason for doing all of this.”

“i’d sure like to hear it,” you mumbled under your breath.

“miguel hasn’t really told us, either,” miles added. “i mean, i thought-”

gwen covered miles’ mouth before he could say anything that would undo and hender their progress and convincing either you or miguel. 

from the looks if it, though, miguel was unimpressed to begin with, a blank look on his face. “whatever you’re trying to do, gwen, it’s not working.”

“it’s her choice,” gwen reminded, returning her attention to you and clasping her hands together against her chest. “please, please, please? we won’t bother you ever again.”

you glanced at miguel, who was glancing at you, both of you trying to read each other. there seemed to be a telepathic communication going on between you both before miguel visibly relented and you said, “alright, fine. go ahead. shoot.”

“can you shapeshift into anything?”

“animals and other humans, but not objects. and only living things that i’ve stored dna from.”

“do your senses get enhanced, like superhuman?”

“my senses depend on whatever - or whoever - i’m inhabiting,” you explained. “like, if i were to shapeshift into a bat, my hearing would be keener. but when it comes to humans, i only don their appearance.”

“do you have weaknesses?”

“next question,” you mumbled. of course, you did. your abilities were impaired when you were sick or injured, and downright disarmed it you consumed or came into close contact with something that you were allergic to. it was your kryptonite, not that anyone needed to know that.

“how long can you stay in shapeshifting form?”

“depends on my health.”

“alright, that’s enough,” miguel said. “both of you. out.”

strangely enough, miles and gwen didn’t argue, seemingly content with your answers. they bid you goodbye and left the room chattering amongst themselves.

you cocked your head, meeting miguel’s stare. “well, cap, what’s your motive?”

miguel got comfortable in his chair, like he was about to give you a monologue. “you’ve been on our radar since you mutated. i was going to just lock you up and throw you with the others at first, since i assumed you were hurting innocent people.”

“you think daddy’s boy and his family are innocent?” you asked with a hint of amusement. 

“rodney malone-fisk?” 

you groaned at that name. “you call him rodney. i call him a spoiled brat.”

“i know what his family did to you. what they took from you,” miguel started, making all the blood drain from your face. “your fiancé didn’t just die in a work incident. he was killed as a lab rat. fisk was trying to test out a mix that would grant him dimension-traveling abilities but it ended up being a shape-shifting solution instead. you were supposed to die, too, but the dosages weren’t measured properly.”

you said nothing. there was nothing that you could say. just thinking about it made tears sting your eyes.

miguel grabbed your hand over the table, squeezed it like he had the other day. there was tenderness he had for you that he hadn’t felt in a long time. you understood him. “you know why i asked if you had the chance to be something better, would you take it? because i know that you’re more than this. you’re not a bad person. you just do bad things to survive.”

“i can’t,” you whispered, swatting his hand away. “everything i touch, i destroy.”

that miguel understood on levels he didn’t want to nor care to admit.

you fought the tears with all your might. after your fiancé died, you lost everything you had. except for your family. you had meadow and lani and built a safe haven for them from the ground up, swearing to protect them with your whole heart.

“i want to give you that chance,” miguel said stoically. “on a silver platter. i want you to join us.”

your eyes flickered. “join you? to do what?”

“you obviously have useful skill that could be put to better use. but kingpin and his son are going to destroy your universe as you know it if nobody stops him. and if anyone deserves to take him down, it’s you.”

that got your attention. kingpin wanted to destroy the universe? your fiancé always talked about his boss wanting to cross different dimensions, but you never thought it was humanly possible.

though considering you could shapeshift, you figured anything was possible nowadays. but your major concern was your daughter, your eyes widening with the realization that you should have been with her already. you could feel a tingle, sensing that something just wasn’t right. 

you didn’t say a word as you immediately hopped to your feet and ran out of the door, miguel immediately giving chase, but you ultimately disappeared into a crowd of spider-people and although it couldn’t have been too hard to differentiate you from them, you were already on the loose.

running as fast as you could, you didn’t stop, although you didn’t really know where you were going and with all the many spider-people roaming around that resembled each other, it felt as though you were running in circles.

then, you came face-to-face with hobie, and scowled.

“move,” you hissed. 

hobie called out your name. “ay, mate, no hard feelings.”

“all the feelings i have for you right now are hard,” you snarled, pushing past him. you would be affording miguel the same amount of animosity when you were certain your daughter was safely in your arms. right now, he was in your way, and anyone stopping you from being with your kid was going to be met with a snappy attitude.

“wait,” hobie called out behind you. 

you turning around, pointing an accusing finger towards him, and snapped, “i was supposed to be back with my child by now and because of you i’m not. so unless you’re going to help me get to her, i suggest you move out of my way.”

“that guy sucks anyway,” hobie said, not having to even think about which option he preferred. “follow me.”

you hesitated, because he was the whole reason that you were even here, but eventually followed him down the hallway, careful to move quiet and stealthily. you were also wary that it could be trap, but truth be told, you had no other way out.

though you probably should have questioned how or why it was so many of them, that was the last thing on your mind. lani was probably worried sick about you. you didn’t have a clue what time it was, but it didn’t take a genius to know that hours had passed, and you said you would be home way before now. 

the hall broadened towards its end where you saw a gathering of spider-people, all looking like they were scouting somebody out. “blast, he’s got them looking for you,” hobie grumbled under his breath. he walked you back around a corner and handed you something around his wrist. “here, take this.”

“what the hell is that?”

“it’s a wristband. it’ll open a portal to your universe. but you’ve gotta go now,” hobie explained, tapping some kind of button. 

you were more than a little surprised when an orange warp portal opened.

“go,” hobie said, glancing around for anybody. “i’ve got your six.”

hearing footsteps approaching, you neared the portal and almost entered, but there was a gnawing question that you couldn’t ignore. you whipped around, asking, “where do your loyalties lie?”

“in myself,” hobie answered without a second of hesitation. “and in the people that mean the most to me.”

you scoffed. “what happened to boss’ order?”

“i’m my own boss. that was in your best interest,” hobie replied, leaning against the wall. “c’mon. get outta here.”

turning around, you sucked in a breath, and walked through that portal. 

BACK IN BROOKLYN…

you returned right back at your house, just near the road. glancing around, nothing looked too out of the ordinary. lani’s car was parked in the driveway, meaning she had to have been there. didn’t she?

running to your house with all of your speed, you prepared to search yourself for your keys, only for your heart to drop when you realized that the door was already wide open.

heart racing, you burst through the foyer, and the first thing you saw when you entered your living room was lani sprawled out on the floor, a puddle of blood beneath her. 

“lani,” you gasped out, crouching down beside her. 

lani’s eyes were fluttering, a tremble in her weak voice as she whispered, “i tried to stop them.”

“stop who?” you asked, trying to stop the blood flow. she had been shot, lying here for only god knew how long. you threw off your jacket and pressed it to her gut, apologizing when she winced out in pain. 

“kingpin’s men,” she croaked. “they took meadow. they want you.”

you gritted your teeth, bristling with anger. hadn’t that man taken enough from you? you let him get away with killing your fiancé, but your daughter was crossing the line and you’d show him the mistake he’d made. even if it cost you everything. “where?” you asked. 

lani lifted up her arm, and that was when you noticed that it was also coated in blood, but there were symbols carved into her skin. 

it was the symbol of an abandoned alchemax building.

“go,” lani said, tensing as though it took all of her strength to say that one syllable. your fingers were clenched into fists. you would kill everyone involved with your bare hands if you had to. 

“no,” you balked, shaking your head. “i can’t leave you like this.”

lani grabbed your hand, lacing her fingers through yours. “your daughter is more important.”

thinking about what they could have been doing to meadow right now made you shudder with a fear you had never felt before. 

“i’ll take her to a hospital,” came a voice from behind you. you turned immediately, recognizing it. there stood miguel, still clad in his spider-man suit. “go save your daughter. i’ve already sent the team.”

you stood, coming face-to-face with miguel, and hissed, “if anything happens to her…”

“i know,” miguel said, as if he understood you wholeheartedly. “go.”

miguel scooped lani up into his arms, and it hurt you when she hissed in pain. you turned to her. “i’ll come back for you.”

lani smiled weakly. “i know you will.”

and with that, you were out the door, shapeshifting into your signature raven and flying across town.

the abandoned alchemax wasn’t exactly old. it was the building where your fiancé was killed and they covered up the incident as the result of faulty equipment, which ultimately led them to build an entirely new facility. you landed on top of the building that somehow hadn’t been demolished yet, transforming back into yourself when your feet were against the ground.

there wasn’t really an entrance all the way up here. the rooftop door was blocked and bolted as preventative measures. guess i’ve got to make my own door, you told yourself, undeterred.

spotting a stray piece of metal debris, you wielded the pipe in your hands. there was always the option of the lower-level entrances, if you wanted to get caught immediately. kingpin’s men were probably staking the place out, waiting to ambush.

you stepped back, holding the pipe, and charged towards the door as you shattered the window open, glass shards flying everywhere. cautiously stepping over the glass, you fitted your way through the gap you’d created, craning your head downwards until your feet plopped against the floor.

you were in. 

there were two halls on either side of you and though you didn’t really know which one went where, you followed your gut and took the path to your right.

the whole place was eerily dark and empty. duh, it’s abandoned, you cogitated. not that it made things any better. all you could hear was yourself, your own feet against the cold floor, though it would be naive to believe you were truly alone.

someone was here. kingpin’s men were everywhere but nowhere at the same time, waiting for you to make yourself known. and miguel had told you that he sent the team that should have been here by now, making you wonder how they got in and if they’d been detected.

you couldn’t explain it, but it felt like you were being watched, like there was somebody on your heels ready to strike you in your back when you least expected it. though to be honest, you always felt that way. always alert. never safe.

what you would give to live in peace again, to rest your heart and mind even for just a second. but you couldn’t afford not to be careful, not when you had a daughter to live for.

walking by a door, you cried out in shock when somebody grabbed your arm in pulling you inside, instinctively shapeshifting into a venomous creature, but withdrawing when you saw that it was only hobie and his friends.

“i almost killed you,” you hissed to him after donning your normal appearance again.

hobie threw his hands off, feigning innocence. 

there were two people you didn’t recognize tagging along with them. gwen shut the door, while a lady approached you, introducing, “i’m jessica. i work with miguel. and listen, we really need your help.”

your brows furrowed. “what’s going on?”

“kingpin’s making this weird space-traveling machine that’s really a doom machine because he’s gonna kill everyone,” some kid rambled. “oh, i’m pavitr.”

miles looked surprised, like nobody told him what was going on, and asked, “you got evil kingpin in your universe, too?”

“unfortunately,” you mumbled. 

“he’s out of control. he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” gwen told you frantically. “we’re making a device that will deactivate the accelerator but it’s taking some time.”

“so what?” you asked, trying to get to the point. “you want me to stall him?��

“he’s got cheeto,” hobie reminded. “there ain’t no telling what he’ll do to her if somebody doesn’t stop him.”

you gritted your teeth, filled with unadulterated rage. god, you felt murderous. you tried to speak levelly, “so, what’s the plan?”

“we split up into pairs,” jessica said. “we find where he has the accelerator. that’s where he’s keeping your daughter.”

hobie declared, “i dibs miles.”

miles didn’t protest. jessica insisted it was best if the younger ones were supervised, so she volunteered to take pavitr and the device that they were cooking. which left you with gwen. “guess it’s just you and me, kid,” you said, stepping out of the room.

“i think it’s really cool that you can shapeshift,” gwen told you while you stealthily crept down a hall with her. “i mean, it sucks how it happened to you, but…”

“shh,” you whispered, tugging her behind a wall. she seemed surprised, but then she heard the footsteps, too.

someone was coming.

“i’m gonna do something really weird,” you told her lowly. “and i need you to play along.”

“what are you…”

you shapeshifted into kingpin. 

“oh my god. that is really weird,” gwen mumbled. 

you grabbed her arm none too gently, reminding her to play along, and approached the man that was working for kingpin. “found this one lurking around.”

“i knew i heard something from over here,” the guy said, shooting gwen a scowl. “you want me to take her off your hands, boss?”

“take her to the accelerator. now,” you ordered, handing gwen over, who was doing a good job at looking dejected. “i’ll follow behind.”

the man didn’t hesitate to follow orders, leading you to the room where the accelerator was. that was far too easy. 

it was a lot of walking. apparently the accelerator was at the very bottom of the building, beneath the first floor, heavily guarded by kingpin’s men. it was a good thing you were wearing something even better than a hyper realistic costume.

the room was white and starkly bright compared to every other inch of the place, though all of that could be chalked up to the fact that it was the only room in the whole building currently using energy. and lots of it, too.

when you finally saw your daughter sitting in a small cage above the accelerator, between bars like an animal, you almost killed everyone in the room. instead, you kept your cool, ordering the dude to unhand gwen.

“anything else, boss?”

just as you opened your mouth to speak, the unimaginable happened. the door swung open, revealing the real kingpin, who seemed more than baffled when he saw you standing there. until it hit him that he knew of a shapeshifter. 

“you fool,” kingpin bellowed, glaring at the man. “that’s her!”

“fuck,” you swore under your breath. 

the man turned to you, watching you visibly break into a sweat, and called out, “hey, you’re not my boss!”

that cry got the attention of everyone in the room, all of kingpin’s very armed men. you gave gwen a look and shouted, “now!”

gwen started to shoot webs, restraining men that turned to put their weapons on you, and you shapeshifted into a wolf, attacking the man that had been under the impression that you were his boss until he was nothing but a bloody course. 

and the cycle repeated. kingpin ordered more of his men to move in and attack you, keeping his distance seeing as you were currently in a form of a wolf that could bite his head off if she so pleased. some of his men took him somewhere else in the room, away from you, and crowded him defensively. 

all the while, your five-year-old daughter was watching. she was almost six, and she was brilliant, and she was watching you attack with something that surprisingly wasn’t fear. almost like she thought she was watching a movie of some sorts, anticipating the next scene.

you were trying to get to her, but kingpin had made it so that if you really wanted to, you would have to get through him first.

blood quickly started to pool around and it wasn’t yours. there were bodies everywhere, dropping like flies. though you desperately wanted to cover your daughter’s eyes and spare her from the horror of seeing multiple people die at your hands in real time, you were in too deep of a rage to stop and nothing would keep you from fighting.

then, it happened. you didn’t move quick enough. the bullet tore right through you, making you howl out, and you glitched back into your true form. the wound was there, blood dripping around your calf.

gwen gasped, coming to your side, but she was caught and forcibly restrained. 

“mom!” meadow cried out, gripping the metal cage bars. 

kingpin cackled in amusement. “bravo, bravo. you know, i really do have to applaud the show you put on right there. this could have been painless if you would have just complied.”

“let my daughter go,” you snarled with vitriol. 

“i will,” kingpin said, like she was the most insignificant part of this little scheme of his. “after you give me what i want.

“what don’t you understand? i don’t have anything,” you shouted, fingers reaching to your wound and becoming stained in your own blood. “you took everything from me!”

“the code, woman. what’s the code?” kingpin hissed. “your fiancé was working on it. he cracked it. the code to the accelerator.”

for a second, you genuinely had no idea what he was talking about, until it hit you. your fiancé talked at length about a device at work that he’d been programming under his boss’ order, but he wanted to sabotage it. he said that it was unsafe. that kingpin didn’t realize the mistake he was making. it was an underdeveloped device that could destroy the whole planet.

you quickly realized he’d been talking about the accelerator. he’d worked many long days and nights on it and still thought that it wasn’t ready for use. that was what kingpin had been developing for all these years, completing your fiancé’s unfinished business.

“damn that code,” you snapped irritably.

kingpin was furious, and started to ramble, “your fiancé died at his own hand. he signed a contract. it isn’t my fault that the mix killed him, but if you don’t telling me everything i need to know about this damn machine, i’ll kill you and i’ll kill-”

“boss,” interjected one of kingpin’s men. 

“don’t you hear me speaking?” roared kingpin. 

“but boss, the baby,” the man started. “she’s gone.”

kingpin’s eyes flitted up to the cage, immediately noticing the absence of your five-year-old daughter. “what? how did she escape? what did you do?”

“i didn’t do anything, boss, i swear! i…”

the man’s words interrupted by a blood-curdling cry as a small but ferocious animal attacked him to the ground.

it was a baby wolf. and more importantly, it was your baby.

“capture that thing!” roared kingpin. 

not on your watch. you mustered the strength to rise to your feet, snatching a gun out of the man closest to you and briefly knocking him out with it just before doing a complete three-sixty and shooting in every direction.

all the while, meadow was agile and too quick on her feet, and it didn’t hurt that she was super tiny. you jogged over to gwen, wincing as you limped over, dropping to the ground to avoid facing the barrels of guns and shooting at the men that were restraining her.

gwen wiggled her arm, probably sore from how tightly they were holding her. “thanks.”

“thank me later,” you said, panting for breath.

“wait!” gwen called out behind you. “you’re hurt. can you still shift?”

you exhaled a sigh. “remember when you asked me about my weaknesses?”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

when you turned around, you saw meadow still kicking ass. just a second later, one of kingpin’s men grabbed her and your maternal instincts immediately kicked in, ignoring all of your pain and suffering to parade over there and take action.

it was like you blacked out. you didn’t even know what happened. one second, you were marching over there, and the next, meadow was safely in your arms and the guy that had dared to lay his bare hands on her was floored with more than a couple of broken bones and was certainly no longer breathing.

“are you okay?” you asked, cradling her to your bosom. 

meadow nodded, nestling closer to you. you were almost elated to tears, unable to describe the relief you felt knowing that she was okay. though it was a shock, you were pleasantly surprised that she had inherited your ability. 

worried, but pleasantly surprised.

“do i need to make any other examples of what happens when you come between a mother and her child?” you shouted out, watching a couple of men cower.

in the next second, there was another shattering noise, like the one when you broke into the building through the window. and then you quickly realized that it was a window being smashed into, fractured glass pelting everywhere.

there was a blur of blue and red, but you still recognized it, especially when the intruder’s feet skidded across multiple faces, successfully knocking them out, until he dropped his red string and came to a land before you.

“miguel,” you gasped, more than a little surprised.

“lani is fine. they said she’ll make it,” he said, knowing that you would ask. that was what was most important to you right now. “i didn’t leave her alone. her mother came.”

you nodded, content with that. you weren’t on speaking terms with lani’s mother - she’d never liked you - but you knew she cared for her children deeply and that was all that mattered in that moment.

“oh, how sweet. a reunion,” kingpin barked sarcastically, looking at you both with pure hatred.

miguel’s jaw clenched noticing your injured form, and he immediately caged you and your daughter behind him, bellowing back, “we can either make this really easy or really hard.”

kingpin cackled. “hilarious! i was thinking the same thing.”

miguel growled, reaching for the person nearest to him, and you covered meadow’s eyes when he went to rip them to literal shreds. she had shapeshifted back to normal now, still as tiny as ever, though.

dropping the guy’s remains, miguel glanced around, red eyes making contact with the startled ones of kingpin’s men. he didn’t have to say anything else. they all immediately surrendered, even the ones intended to be defending kingpin. 

“you know, good help is really hard to find these days,” kingpin groaned.

“save it, doucheface,” gwen said, swooping in to wrap him in her webs.

the doors burst open, revealing jessica and pavitr holding an orange, radiating deactivator, followed by hobie and miles.

jessica gave a nod. “it’s ready.”

“catch!” exclaimed pavitr, throwing the device in the air. 

you caught it in your hands. if anybody deserved to destroy this machine, it was you. and you wanted to do it with kingpin helplessly watching, just like how you watched your fiancé die in front of your own eyes, unable to help.

“say goodbye to this piece of shit, kingpin,” you taunted, handing meadow over to miguel as you approached the accelerator. 

“no!” kingpin roared, restlessly flailing in his restraints, but to no avail. 

nothing felt as satisfying as when you latched the deactivator on the accelerator. the whole machine started to groan, jerking in place, and you backed away. the surface started to crystallize and you watched in pure uncertainty of if this was even going to work. 

for a whole minute, the entire room was deadly silent, only watching. like nobody could tell if it was starting up or breaking down. then, it started to ebb out, atom by atom.

piece by fucking piece.

“it’s over!” gwen exclaimed. 

you bobbed your head. it really was over. this was closure.

“i’ll handle him,” jess volunteered with a sigh, throwing kingpin an unimpressed look before glancing between you and miguel. “y’all got things to hash out.”

you avoided miguel’s eyes.

THE SEVENTH FLOOR OF BROOKLYN HOSPITAL…

it felt like hours that you were waiting inside the hospital lobby, so the second that the nurse came up to you and told you that lani was finally available for visiting, you politely thanked her and attempted to rush the whole way to her room with meadow in yours arms.

“lani,” you exhaled when you opened the door to her room. 

“hi,” lani rasped. she was hooked to lots of different things, paler than usual. though, to be fair, she did almost die. meadow rushed over, handing her a bouquet. “oh, wow, are these for me?”

meadow bobbed her head, beaming proudly. “i picked them all by myself.”

though her every moment was obviously taxing, lani flashed a smile. “you have a great eye, meadow. how’d you know tt loves pink?”

meadow giggled. 

you stepped closer, feeling your heart warm and a tear escape your eye, but you quickly wiped it. “i’m so sorry.”

lani gave you a displeased look. “oh, quit it. this is absolutely not your fault.”

“but it is,” you insisted. “i should have known this day would come. it could have been avoided. you should have left town like your mom or...”

lani called out your name and grabbed your hand with all of her strength. “hey, hey, hey. listen to me. you are my sister and i love you so much. i don’t care what the law says or what happened and what didn’t. there is nothing that would stop me from being there for you and i’d take so many bullets for you both.”

your eyes dampened with tears. 

“it already happened. it’s over,” lani whispered. “let it go.”

you bobbed your head, squeezing her hand back. she was the strongest women you knew, though you had a feeling she would have a contrasting opinion.

meadow inspected the stitches on lani’s arm. “tt, what are you going to do about the stitches?”

lani made a face, as if to say that that was a good question. “well, that scar is for sure never going to fade away and i will indefinitely have some scientific research company’s symbol craved into my skin, but on the plus side, i ironically think i’m officially over my fear of needles. so i’ll probably get a tattoo.”

meadow’s eyes were glimmering and she looked to you. “mommy, can i get a tattoo?”

“when you’re old enough, sweetheart,” you cooed, gently patting her on the back.

meadow pouted.

you threw lani a skeptical look, scoffing, “you of all people are seriously thinking about getting a tattoo?”

“not just thinking about it. i’ve decided,” lani told you matter-of-factly. “i figured that if i could survive a knife in my skin, then a needle is nothing. it’s like i unlocked a superpower.”

you shook your head in disbelief. leave it to lani to always make something out of nothing and the best out of everything. “speaking of unlocking superpowers, you won’t believe what happened today...”

lani furrowed her brows, trying to guess, but when she saw you wiggle yours, all the pieces came into place. “no way.”

you grinned. “yes way.”

“i want to see,” lani said, glancing towards meadow. 

“she can’t do it on command yet. trust me, we tried,” you replied with a chortle. “but i saw it with my own eyes. my baby’s got a gift.”

lani breathed out a sigh of bliss. “she sure does.”

speaking of gifts, there was a knock on your door, followed by an exclamation of, “special delivery!”

you recognized that voice, and seemingly so did lani from the smile on her face. even meadow looked happy. you went to go open the door, revealing miguel, dressed in normal clothes for a change. 

he approached lani, carrying a care package that he sat on her bedside. “i hope i’m not intruding. i wanted to give you a get well soon gift. i got you some chocolates in there, by the way, but don’t eat them too soon. they make your blood sugar levels increase, i heard.”

he definitely heard that from lyla, but he wasn’t going to mention that part.

“thank you, miguel,” lani said, glimpsing through the bag. “how you’d know i love ferrero?”

“someone mentioned it in passing,” miguel said, scratching his nape. 

your heart fluttered. he remembered something that you mentioned in passing?

lani nodded in approval, ever so grateful. there were also some soft blankets in there on top of other things. “well, i appreciate it.”

“it’s no problem,” miguel responded, then he glanced towards you, an unreadable look in his eyes. “we need to talk.”

“right,” you drawled. “lead the way.”

miguel turned his back, heading for the door. before you walked out, lani mouthed to you, “he’s a keeper.”

your heart skipped a beat. 

you closed the door behind yourself, looking up to meet miguel’s eyes. “well?”

miguel kissed you. in front of all of the hospital staff roaming the halls, in front of the loose patients, but you didn’t care. all you gave a damn about was his lips on yours and the way his broad shoulders felt in your palms. it was slow and sensual, a first kiss between lovers.

nothing else mattered in that moment. you forgot all of your pain and agony, all of your fears and woes. you forgot the past because you were so deeply rooted in that moment that nothing else occurred to you anymore.

when you two parted to breathe, you jokingly rasped, “i sure like the way you speak.”

miguel chuckled, placing a hand on his hip, before he sobered. “listen to me. i know i lied to you, but i wasn’t doing it to hurt you.”

“i know,” you whispered. “i’m not mad anymore. but i’m not sorry for storming out. my baby...”

“i know,” miguel finished. like he knew the feeling. “she means the world to you. and lani.”

you nodded. 

“i’m… i’m sorry for taking you away from them. she might’ve been okay if i hadn’t,” miguel apologized, much to his own shock. you unlocked sides of him that nobody else had seen, pieces of him he didn’t even know were still there.

“it already happened. it’s over,” you whispered, as a wise woman had once told you. it was water under the bridge. “let it go.”

miguel almost seemed nervous, which was a surprise. you had literally never seen this man nervous.

grabbing his hand and inching closer to his chest, you asked softly, “did you mean it? when you said you lost your family?”

miguel swallowed. “yes. i know how it feels.”

“then you know that it’s hard,” you started, scrambling for words. “you know, reopening yourself to people. being vulnerable. becoming a slave to your feelings because you don’t want to risk getting hurt again.”

miguel was silent, but you knew from the look in his eyes that he understood you completely. 

“but i want to give it a try with you,” you said, voice hardly the frequent beeping scattered along the hospital floor. “and the team.”

miguel’s eyes widened. “you want…”

“yes,” you cut him off. “i want to be on the team. although, i’m not sure how i’ll fit in. i’m not a spider-thing after all.”

miguel groaned, “who gives a damn? i’ll change the whole name for you.”

you giggled, wrapped your hands around his waist.

miguel found himself doing the same to you, holding you as he stared at you with all the affections a man had to offer. he just couldn’t wrap his head around it, or what it meant for the two of you, but he knew you’d both figure it out. 

“miguel?”

“mm?”

“you’re always welcome to be a part of my family,” you whispered gently, voice muffled against his shirt, though he heard you loud and clear. 

miguel’s eyes fluttered closed, holding onto you like he never wanted to let go, like he’d finally found a refuge in you. somewhere where he felt safe enough to let go. “you’re a part of mine now, too.”

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.2 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 1. Chapter 3.

Pong Krell

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI, even if theres no smut

“Don’t worry about me, Doc.” A trooper, Watcher, stood. His arm had been broken and it would need a few rotations to fully heal even with the bacta. 

“It’s my job to worry about you.” You smiled at him, “go on. You're all patched up.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Watcher saluted respectfully before stepping to the edge of the trench and following it to his position.

Kix sounded from where he finished up with another trooper, “You're too nice to these guys.” 

“Well, I’ve found that my patients respond better to some kindness.” You snarked back, “Which is probably why everyone prefers me as their medic.” 

“Maybe if you-”

Kix’s words were cut off by a howl of agony further down the trench. You heard the cries and calls of different soldiers.

“What is that!?” “Shoot it!” 

Immediately chaos erupted. Someone, Jesse, tackled you to the ground. Just in time, because when you looked up, you noticed a dark, smoking burn on the trunk of a bioluminescent tree where your head had been in front of. 

“Ambush!” Someone shouted out through more blaster shots. 

Out of the corner of your eye there was a clone shaped burst of electric blue. His body collapsed and from it, a glowing six legged creature leapt to the ground and scuttled through the staging area. A couple of soldiers chased, shooting at the nimble thing.

Someone's down. Electricity. Heart could have stopped. Burns definitely. 

You ran forward, skidding to a stop behind a large rock. Two shots nicked the stone, but you remained focused on the downed trooper. After a second you ran forward again, only to jerk back, narrowly avoiding a blaster bolt to the chest. 

Two Umbarans burst from the foggy darkness and ran forward, blasters glowing through the shadows. You dove back behind the boulder, hand steady on your blaster pistol. 

“Get back!” The ground shook slightly as an ARF-trooper slammed the metal foot of his AT-RT in front of your cover. He snarled, firing his laser cannons. The damn Umbarans didn’t stand a chance.

“Thank you!” you shouted up at him before sprinting to the downed trooper. His body was smoking from the heat of the electric bug. you swore, ripping off his plastoid chest piece and beginning compressions. You counted, hitting 30 before checking his pulse.

Nothing. He wasn’t moving. Brain must’ve been fried.

You tried compressions again to the same result.

Name. What was his name? Through the dark you saw a diamond tattoo next to his eye. 

Vim. His name was Vim.

Another one of those fucking blue creatures scuttled over the side of the trench. The bioluminescent creature was focused on you. It screeched and leapt, sharp, crackling claws ready.

You were ready too, pistol aim steady. You pulled the trigger and scorched its tail. It missed your body and hit the ground where Anakin swiped down with his lightsaber. 

“Nice shot.” He greeted you, kneeling down behind the cover of the trench. Rex was, thankfully, next to him.

“What the fuck are these things?!” you asked, keeping your head down. You technically weren’t supposed to be in the thick of battle. Plus, you couldn’t see if Kix managed to protect the medical speeder and its supplies. You had to get back to your original position.

The jedi stood, deflecting glowing blaster shots, “Dunno, but they’re definitely a pest.”

“Call in an airstrike on enemy positions.” The 501st nodded to the general when Anakin knelt again.

“Let's hope they’re not too busy helping Obi-wan!”

Rex, the ever strategic mind, continued, “There's an opening to our south,” He motioned in the proper direction, “I recommend we move all platoons off the ridge in case the airstrike over shoots.”

Get back to the speeder and get the supplies out of here.

You didn’t wait to hear more. General Skywalker usually followed Rex’s recommendation, so that's your cue to get back.

As you weaved through other soldiers, cover and the glowing plant-life, Anakin called out, just as predicted, “Everyone, move out! Now!” 

Thankfully, the speeder was untouched. Nearby, an ARF trooper leaning over the edge of his AT-RT raised a shaky hand to you. He was alive.

You refused to leave him.

“Kix, where are you?” You spoke into your com as you started the speeder and moved closer to the downed transport. A blaster narrowly missed your cheek, but you didn't break your focus. At the moment, the pain was barely a sting.

“Heading south, where the fuck are you?” 

“On my way.” Your hands were on the injured soldier and heaved onto the attached stretcher in a matter of seconds. Revving the medical vehicle, you sped over the edge of the trench and followed the troopers south. 

The terrain was rough. You could barely tell what was on the ground as you drove. Leaning over, you put a stabilizing hand on the injured trooper, speeding over a pretty steep ridge. The transport lurched, but you managed to keep it steady. 

Thankfully, the poor ARF trooper groaned when you got the speeder stable again. 

If he had the energy to make noises, he had the energy to survive.

You noticed Anakin’s blue lightsaber in the distance. Next to him, Rex.

You slowed the speeder down, stopping behind the cover of dark, twisted claw-like plant life. Other soldiers had beat you there, and it seemed like most of the platoons would make it. 

However, you didn’t have time to really process who was around you. Killing the engine of your vehicle, you slipped off to kneel at the injured trooper's side. Even in the lowlight, you assessed what you could. 

Two blaster hits. One through the upper shoulder. Another through the thigh. 

Your eyes roamed the troopers around you. Mentally, you checked off those that you knew. Jesse. Kix. Hardcase. Fives. Rex and Anakin, of course. Seemed you were right and a good majority of the platoons made it.

“Kix, I need you.” you called to him. Tag-teaming these wounds would be the best option.

Wordlessly, he lowered his blaster and got to your side. 

As you worked, you heard the chatter, “All here, sir.” Rex breathed in relief. 

“Stay covered, we have to hold the position!” Anakin barked, keeping his body close to the black trunk of the mangled umbaran tree. 

It was quiet for a moment before Tup spoke, “Are you sure those bombers are coming?” The poor almost-shiny trooper sounded scared, but refused to show it. Jesse nudged him slightly.

There was more thick silence as you focused on treating the ARF trooper. 

Blessedly, in the distance you could hear the approaching drone of the bombers. Briefly, you looked up, recognizing the distinct shape of Y-wings. And usually, wherever they went, precise explosions followed. 

Just as you finished your thought, the world lit up with the burning fires of the bombs. The explosives went off, shaking the ground and illuminating everything around you. Immediately the soldiers cheered as the Umbaran forces were decimated by the air support. 

“Hell yea!” 

“Good ol’ Oddball! Always on target!”

“Take that Umbaran scum!”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly. It always brightened your mood whenever the clones celebrated. Finding even the smallest amount of happiness did wonders for morale. 

There was another groan and the ARF trooper tried to sit up. He raised an armored hand to his helmet, as if trying to rub his eyes, “Thanks Kix, Thanks doc.” 

“Lay down, you barely just came back to the land of the living.” You gently put a hand on his chest and push him back down, “Get some rest. You need a good rotation or two before you're fit for battle.”

Kix patted your shoulder and stood, shushing you softly. 

You followed his line of sight, seeing General Skywalker and your lover speaking to another jedi. You missed the first part of their conversation, but quickly put the pieces together. 

“Well, I can’t just leave my men!” Anakin practically shouted in frustration. He cared too deeply to leave the 501st to someone else. 

The new arrival, Jedi Master Krell…

Your hackles were raised. You didn’t know the bastard, but you knew his casualty number. You’ve read reports. Too many troops died under his command. Too many good men. His tactics got results, but at the cost of his own soldiers. 

You narrowed your eyes. 

“I’ll be taking over in the interim.” Krell gave a slight bow.

“Don’t worry about a thing, sir,” Rex was facing Anakin, “We’ll have this city under Republic control by the time you’re back.”

The Jedi sighed and nodded, “Master Krell, this is Rex. My first in command." Even from where you were behind him, you knew he looked proud as he practically presented the captain to Krell, “You won’t find a finer and more loyal trooper anywhere.”

“Good to hear that.” The senior jedi patted the younger’s shoulder, “I wish you well, Skywalker.” The farewell was brief and the 501st general walked to the gunship transport. Two other soldiers were going to accompany Anakin, as it lifted to the air. 

You shared a look with Kix and returned to the speeder. Something tells you that everyone will be moving out soon. 

“Your reputation precedes you, General. It is an honor to be serving you.” Rex stepped up next to their new leadership. The clone captain was being respectful, as he always was. Since this isn't the first time the 501st was given a different command, everyone did their best to show respect. It established a good relationship right off the bat, and allowed for better communication for the future. 

“I find it interesting, Captain, that you are able to recognize the value of honor,” Pong Krell’s tone became icy. He turned, keeping his 4 arms clasped behind his back, “For a clone.” 

You paused, and immediately the mood shifted. 

Oh fuck no. it's one of these assholes! You looked over at Fives, his face held the same befuddlement as yours probably did.

“Stand at attention when I address you.” The Besalisk snapped.

The men stiffened and you slipped off the speeder to do the same. 

Krell began to stalk forward, eyes roaming over the battalion, “Your flattery is duly noted but it will not be rewarded.” His gaze was clearly critical as he took in his new force, “There’s a reason my command is so effective, and it's because I do things by the book.” 

At the cost of good men. You nearly snarled. 

“You,” The jedi master stood in front of you, “Are no clone. Name and rank, trooper.” 

You introduced yourself, “I’m the field doctor of the 501st. I tend to the seriously wounded and maintain the medical supplies.”

His eyes narrowed on you, “And why, might I ask, would someone with your…skill set be slumming it with the clone troopers. There are other platoons with non-clones that could use you.”

Your hand twitches, readying to swing. However, you caught Rex shaking his head from behind the General. Instead, you swallowed your anger. 

“Respectfully, General, I am not ‘slumming it.’ my fellow troopers are good, loyal and hardworking men.” you answered him honestly, “I see no difference between them and I.”

Pong Krell let out a condescending laugh, “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. As long as you can take orders.” He walked past you, but paused to glare down at the injured ARF trooper, “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately. That is all.” He sneered.

Your new General didn’t look back as the troops prepared to move. You got back on the medical speeder and cast a worried look at your lover. 

Rex sighed and put his helmet on to join Krell at the front.

This…is going to be a long campaign.

[heretodestroyou]

jamie tartt x rojas!reader where she’s dani’s twin or younger sister and is scared about tell him she’s dating jamie but ofc he’s just over the moon about it 🥹🥹🫶

felicidades!

pairing; jamie tartt x rojas!fem!reader (romantic), dani rojas x sister!reader (platonic/familial)

w/c; 1.08k

fandom; ted lasso (apple tv)

trigger/content warnings; my half-baked spanish, a little swearing, jamie being a clueless himbo, dani being a ray of sunshine,

stella speaks! this prompt is so adorable, i hope i’ve done it justice!! set somewhere after 2x03

Jamie feels bad.

He knows how close you are with your brother. He knows how much you hate keeping secrets from him. But he’s also grateful.

He’s only been back at Richmond for a couple months, and many of the boys are still wary around him. He doesn’t blame them, but they’re all so fiercely protective of you that his biggest worry what’ll happen to him, to your relationship when the cat is let out of the bag.

Your biggest worry is how Dani will take it. Dani isn’t the stereotypical ‘i’ll-kill-anyone-who-looks-at-her’ big brother, but he does take shielding you from the press very seriously. And dating Jamie Tartt? That’ll put you right in the spotlight.

The both of you are reaching the end of your rope, and it’s getting harder and harder to hide it.

So Jamie does the only thing he can think of. He talks to Ted.

He takes his time changing after training, carefully packing everything in his bag, a flimsy but effective way to stay after everyone has gone. He also keeps an eye on Roy, whom he’s paranoid knows Jamie is hiding something.

But the older player simply strolls past him, ignoring him as usual, and after Jamie strains his ears to make sure he’s gone, he bolts into Ted and Coach Beard’s office.

Ted looks up from his computer with a start, Beard’s attention suddenly also on Jamie. He feels the heat rise in his cheeks, but Ted simply smiles. “What can I do for you today, Jamie?”

Jamie takes a breath, and right before he speaks, he spots Nathan coming back in the locker room. He closes the door gently, turning back to the two men.

“I’m gonna be totally honest, I’ve been dating Y/n for two months now,” he starts, and Ted leans forward.

“But the thing is, nobody else except for Keeley knows. She really wants to tell Dani, and she’s not telling him because I asked her not to, but I can tell she really wants to, but what if the team beats me up? Like what if Dani is still mad at me for being such a twat and he gets the whole team to beat me up? Roy especially, he would like totally punch me in the balls and then Dani would make me break up with Y/n, but I don’t want to break up with her, but I also don’t want to get beat up, y’know?” Jamie rushes, his words tripping over each other.

Ted takes it in, leaning back in his chair and nodding. After a few moments of silence, he turns to Coach Beard.

“Coach?” He asks.

“Yeah, Coach?” Beard answers, eyes not leaving the chess game on his phone.

“Do me a favor, Coach.” Ted asks, starting to smile.

“Anything, Coach.”

Ted’s grin widens. “Call the Diamond Dogs together please Coach.”

Beard gives a nod. “You got it Coach.”

Jamie looks between them, not a clue as to what’s happening, when Nathan glides into the room, seating himself on the shelf next to Jamie. Jamie looks at Ted in confusion, but Ted just keeps smiling.

A minute later, Higgins also enters the room and gives Jamie a nod. Simultaneously, the four men start barking, and Jamie’s ready to leave when Ted speaks again.

“Fellas, turns out Beard was right. Jamie is dating mini-Rojas,” Ted says, and for the second time in five minutes, Jamie’s face heats up.

“Problem is,” Ted continues, “he’s not sure how well that’ll go over with the team, and frankly, neither am I. Ideas?”

Jamie raises his hand, and Ted points at him. “Yes, Mr. Tartt?”

“First off, the fuck is happening. Second, the fuck is happening?” Jamie asks, tucking his hands under his shirt.

Higgins grins. “We are the Diamond Dogs, and we are here to help! With your dilemma. Your Rojas Hassle, of you will.”

Jamie shook his head. “Whatever. Do I tell him or not?”

Nathan raises his hand. “Well, what I see the worst-case scenario being is the team ices you out for maybe another couple months. Do you think Y/n will side with you during that?”

Jamie twists his fingers under his shirt. “I mean, I hope so. I would be sad if she didn’t y’know cause— well she…” he trails off, his head filled with his favorite memories of the two of you.

“She inspires me to be a better person, and I think even if we had to break up cause Dani said so, I would still want to be better for her and then if I am better maybe Dani and the team’ll see that and they’ll let us date again?” Jamie looks up, glancing around the room.

Ted slaps his hand on the table. “Well lookee there, I think you’ve solved your own problem! And with limited help from us! I declare the Diamond Digs meeting over!”

Jamie begins to smile, a bit of the weight on his shoulders lifted. His smile faded when every other person in the room begins to bark, and with an eye roll, he leaves.

When he gets out, the cool breeze biting at his face, he sees you, waiting by your car. You’re chatting with your brother, who’s telling some sort of training story. His hands are flailing everywhere, and you’re giggling.

He takes a deep breath, then walks over. When he reaches you, he snakes an arm around your waist. You look up at him, the question in your eyes.

When he nods, that inquiry on your face is replaced with his favorite look: that shine of joy in your eyes, and you turn back to your brother.

Jamie takes a breath to explain, but before he can, Dani hugs him. “¡Felicidades! ¡Bienvenido a la familia, cuñado!”

Jamie looks to you for the translation, and smiles slightly when he notices your face buried in your hands. “Something you want to tell me, love?” He asks.

“He called you his brother-in-law,” you say, your voice heavy with embarrassment and muffled by your hands. Jamie’s grin widens.

“Should we plan the wedding then?” He asks. You groan loudly. Dani suddenly turns serious, and Jamie gulps. Has he overstepped?

“Por favor, do not make me wear those horrible dress shoes,” he says, his hands clasped together in front of him.

This causes you to laugh, and Jamie’a grin reappears.

The reaction Dani had was certainly not the reaction he forsaw, but it was definitely better than the one he expected.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

⚔Wouldn't You Like🏛 AU, The Gods of Genosha, Krakoa, and the Human Kingdoms:

Charles Xavier/Cerebro: one of the kings of the gods, is the god of the mind and learning, can control minds, influence thoughts, heal inner pain, cause hallucinations, and puppeteer others; has a moving throne of metal and stardust; sometimes wears a helmet with an X on it; is married to Erik/Magneto, the other king of the gods; his symbols include: twined branches, mourning doves, ravens, and peridots, jades, and emeralds...

Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto: the other king of the gods, is the god of metals and justice, can control any metal, make anything from metal, is immune to certain powers, can manipulate iron in the blood, and uses metal to summon or throw lightning; has a helm of metal, a cape of silver, and usually his face is unseen; is married to Charles/Cerebro, one of the kings of the gods; his symbols include: shields, helmets, crossed spears, eagles, and titanium, iron, and silver...

Ororo Munroe/Storm: is the goddess of all weather as well as motherhood, can summon any kind of storm (snow, sand, thunder, etc.), can control lightning and the winds, can make the sun shine or make it rain; has a cape/cloak of clouds, hair of mists, and fastenings of gold; her symbols include: clouds, raindrops, lightning bolts, cranes, and blue/yellow topaz, aquamarine, and diamond

Raven Darkholme/Mystique: goddess of trickery, deceit, and secrets, can turn into any person or animal, is able to spy in any form, and is the wife of the minor goddess Destiny, who sees the future; appears naked, but is always blue, wears a belt and loincloth of white or black silk, sometimes a top of white or black; her symbols include: blue snakes, blue moons and stars, tragedy/comedy masks, and sapphires and garnets...

Logan Howlett/Wolverine: god of the wilderness and protection, as well as small woodland predators (ex. wolverines, badgers, foxes, wolves, coyotes, etc.), can go into a berserker mode, has six sharp, gleaming claws of poisonous metal, can take on an army of hundreds of soldiers, can bring out the protective side of others, can make a person become like an animal; wears a jacket or coat of brown leather, and pants or a loincloth of faded blue or black; is the brother of the older (and dual) god of nature and the wild, Victor/Sabretooth; his symbols include crossed claws or swords, badgers and wolverines, and howlite, hawk's eye, and jasper

Victor Creed/Sabretooth: dual god of nature and the hunt, as well as large predators (ex. smilodons, tigers, lions, bears, etc.), can fall into berserker mode, lives by his instincts, can drive men into insane rage/bloodlust, can destroy an entire kingdom barehanded, is also a god of protection; is the older brother of Logan/Wolverine, the autumn side of nature to his winter; wears large furred coats and jackets, or loincloth of golden or brown; his symbols include: tigers, lions, fanged skulls, curved, clawed footprints, and tiger's eye, amber, and gold + pyrite...

Hank McCoy/Beast: god of science, teaching, medicine, and literature, possess great strength of body and mind, knows the secrets of medicine, has scrolls and stone tablets of ancient texts, has taught medicine and shared written language with kingdoms past, and is both a lover and a fighter; is fluffy and dark blue/indigo, has little need for cloths, but will wear dark blue/black pants or cloths; his symbols include: gorillas, lions, scrolls, quills, medicinal herbs, and labradorite, obsidian, and turquoise...

Kevin Sydney/Morph: deity of cunning, mirth and merriment, comedy and tragedy, and change, can take any form and any power, can cause madness, is a master trickster, tends to help down-on-their-luck mortals; is a good friend of Logan/Wolverine; wears a cloth/toga, can be naked or covered in a jacket or clothes, usually in shades of brown, yellow, or blue; their symbols include: chameleons, vipers, butterflies/moths, caterpillars, masks, and opals, color-changing sapphires/garnets, and pearls

(They all had once trained and given a gift/blessing (a mutation) to Reader, but after The Fight, they rarely speak of them... no one can ever speak ill of Reader in their presence or where they can hear, lest they earn the wrath of any of them... they try to be better mentors (read: parents) to the new demigods...)

[paroslineage]

Mistake

Shinichiro Sano x Fem!Reader

TW : Blood, Reader Death, Canon Divergence.

This is my own original idea and the characters of TR do not belong to me but Ken Wakui. Do not steal :/

Genre : Fluff to Angst.

Masterlist.

Next > The Aftermath.

It was only a mistake....

09:42 P.M. was the time when it took place...

All it took was one regrettable action and a pair of Bolt Cutters...

It never meant to happen...

...

9:18 P.M.

"Shini~" You lovingly called out to your fiancé, elongating the last syllable.

"Yes darling?" Shinichiro replied chuckling oh so handsomely for someone who got rejected 20 times.

"When are you going to finish?" You whined wanting to just cuddle with your Shinichiro

"Just a minute more dear." Shinichiro replied lovingly and patiently.

You sigh purposefully to make him feel bad which actually does the job of getting Shinichiro to get the fixing wrapped up.

He sauntered over to you his usual boyish charming smile that made your knees weak. That was your first reason to fall for the older Sano in the first place afterall. After all the unsuccessful times of getting a girlfriend he finally found you...

His Diamond.

His one and only one.

Until the action took place unfortunately...

You both were now in the garage lobby room frolicking around.

"Hey Shini..?" You broke the silence first

"Hm..yes darling?" Shinichiro's deep voice replied to you.

"I can't wait to get married to you...can you believe that its in in one week?!" you exclaimed Excitedly.

Shinichiro chuckled at your excited tone and his deep obsidian eyes followed your every happy moment as you danced about adorably.

He strided towards you and gathered you into his arms holding you lovingly and firmly having no intentions to ever let go as he peered down at you with nothing but fondness and extreme devotion towards you ...his fiancée

"Me too darling...me too...I'm just waiting just so I can call you my wifey."

"You know? I'm still waiting for Mikey's,Emma's and Izana's reaction when I'm officially their Nee-San."

You sigh happily to which Shinichiro looks down at you with heart in his eyes and his heart swelling twice for the love you had for his dear siblings.

"And you know that you have the freedom to call me 'wifey' even now right?" You retorted in a playful sassy tone.

"Can't blame a man for having his goals right?" His eyes turned dark with desire as he held your bronze gaze locked in a heated manner.

You chuckle in amusement and slap his chest playfully making him give you a wide lopsided grin of his and leaned in to claim your soft and supple lips.

CLATTER!

Both of you freeze and maintain eye contact and suddenly fall quiet you clutching onto him scared and he reciprocates by holding you fiercely to his chest wanting to protect you.

"What was that?" You spoke quietly in a perturbed tone.

"I think some bastard broke in the garage ....stay here darling ...can't risk you getting hurt alright? I'll be back in no time I love you." Shinichiro kissed your temple tenderly before moving towards the garage with extreme caution.

"Be safe honey.."

"I will baby, dont worry."

Before an hour.

"Hey Kazutora. Where are we going?"

"Well, Mikey's birthday's coming up, right? we're gonna give him a present!"

"A present like what?"

"A CB250T, just come on."

Outside S.S MOTORS.

"This is the place."

"Here?"

"This bike shop."

"A CB250T..."

"Let's steal it ♡."

"What?! We can't just steal it!"

"We can't?"

"There's no way Mikey would be happy...if we got one that way."

"You dumbass. He doesn't need to know the details. The only way middle schoolers like us can get one is if someone older gives one to us, or we steal one."

"..."

Inside the Restaurant.

"What're you freaking out for? I sure the tank's not empty. Easy peasy."

"...You dumbass. That's not the problem here I'm telling you, stealing is bad."

"You wanna see Mikey happy, don't you?~ This is the bike he's always dreamed of."

"Yeah, but..."

"Come on don't back out now~"

"...Fine..."

Current Time 9:27.

"Kazutora..."

"You always complain..But here you are, right by my side again. Let's go."

"Seriously? It opened.."

"Whoa, no security alarms or anything? Sweet ♡. What're you doing, Baji?"

"Are we really gonna do this, Kazutora."

"Keep it down."

"There's no turning back, dude. Are we really gonna do this,Kazutora?"

"just shut up. is it this way?"

...

"Look, Baji. It's the CB250T!".

"It's so awesome."

"Wait this thing isn't new."

"Yeah, its here for maintainance..It's a total custom job. Look at those thick wheels. This bike... I'm sure Mikey would look super badass on it."

"All right, let me see it. Damn it...It's not breaking off easy."

"Hurry up."

"It's so hard!...I got it!"

"All right! Let's roll it out. Yes! It's got gas in the tank. it'll start.

"It's too soon for that. I'm gonna go outside and open the shutters."

"R-Right. Got it."

This might actually work, Kazutora.

"Yeah. I can just see Mikey's beaming face now."

"Yeah. You're gonna have the best birthday ever, Mikey!"

Currently.

"Hey!...the hell? we gettin' robbed? whose shop you think you're breakin' into, huh?"

"Shit! He's got a weapon! What do we do?!"

"you little bastards ...you're not gonna get away!"

"What do we do?! He totally saw my face! Even if we make it out of here, we'll be arrested! What should we do?!"

"Hey...you look familiar."

"Huh?!"

"Is that you, Keisuke?"

"Shi...Shinichiro-kun? Why...What are you doing here?"

"What? Well, this is my shop."

"It's your..."

Meanwhile with you.

You were worried sick thinking why hadn't Shinichiro returned yet?

So you decided that you will go to him instead.

You went to the garage and saw Shinichiro talking to little Keisuke.

Keisuke's breath hitched and started trembling as he saw you...

...

His older sister ...

Y/N Baji...

"Hmm...What ....Kei....is that you....?.."You spoke unsure, squinting your eyes in the dark to see better.

"Honey?"

"Nee-san?..."

What You and Shinichiro did not see was Kazutora sneaking up on Shinichiro with a pair of bolt cutters...

Keisuke noticed and his eyes widened as he tried to stop his best buddy Kazutora.

"Kazutora, don't!" Baji had his eyes widened to the point of just dots.

Crack!

Just as Shinichiro was about to get hit you stepped in between Shinichiro and took the hard brunt force to your head before falling down harshly.

Thud!

"Let's get the hell outta here, Baji!"

Baji left the bike which fell to the floor and ran towards the couple.

"Nee-San..Nee-San! What the hell did you do Kazutora?!"

"What was I supposed to do?! He saw us but she came in between!"

"Baby...my darling...hey ...wake up!" Shinichiro fell to his knees and scampered to your body cradling it.

"Nee-San?..." Kazutora smiled confused

"She...she...she's my older sister!" Baji replied with an anguished tone, his teary eyes not leaving your face.

Kazutora dropped the bolt cutters and started trembling as he took in your appearance, bleeding furiously from the forehead.

Meanwhile Shinichiro was in another distress.

"Hey...Y/N ...hey wifey ...get up please get up." He uttered loudly as he cradled your cold, limp body rocking you back and forth to ease his anxiety and shaking.

and Keisuke was...

"Nee-San I'm sorry...I'm sorry Nee-San please wake up." Keisuke sobbed violently as he fell to his knees and tried to crawl towards Shinichiro and you.

"Why..why is he crying?" Kazutora had a shaky grin as he pointed towards the broken man.

"Y/N Nee-San is.....is Shinichiro-kun's Fiancée!"

the following words make Kazutora's trembling worse.

"...Fiancée..."

"What are you standing there for?! Call the ambulance!!" Keisuke barked at Kazutora in distress.

Still Kazutora could not move as he was having a panic attack.

Shinichiro fell awfully quiet has he looked down at you. his obsidian eyes now dull and diminished ..your face peaceful ..had it not been the blood running down your temple he would have thought that you were sleeping peacefully without any care in the world.

Suddenly Shinichiro wailed in anguish clutching you closer to his chest and possibly heart...

hearing such a wail, both Baji and Kazutora froze in their places their eyes darting to the couple.

One had revenge on his mind.

One was In a state absolute anguish and distress mourning for his beloved.

and

One was sobbing incoherently apologizing without his cause.

...

oh right ....it was 9:42 P.M.

The sound of the ambulance and police sirens came came from a distance but neither of them both tried to move.

as one was shaking in his boots claiming that

it's all Mikey's fault...

and

the other one having his bronze hued eyes stuck to couple more precisely the black haired woman that laid perfectly still in Mikey's older brother's arms as he cried to no one, his voice raspy as he quietly begged for you to get up.

Keisuke thinking that how will he face his own mother now?

Ryoko Baji. The mother of two, her eldest daughter

Y/N Baji and youngest son Keisuke Baji.

Well now deceased daughter....

the police soon came into the vicinity with the paramedics trying to pry your body from the black haired man's grip as the he tried his best to keep you with himself helplessly.

Meanwhile the police arrested both the kids and had them escorted outwards.

Kazutora kept uttering only one thing ...

"It's all Mikey's fault.."

and Baji was somber, dead within beautiful bronze eyes dulled with now his beloved Nee-San gone.

as they were both getting escorted towards the police car Mikey came to the crime scene looking clueless and as he met Baji's eyes.

"Baji! What's wrong... What's happening?" Mikey who had just arrived to the crime scene completely clueless asked Baji innocently with a frantic tone.

Baji could only tearfully apologize with a heavy anguished voice

"Mikey ...I'm sorry."

Mikey darted his eyes behind Baji and saw paramedics carrying your bloodied corpse on a stretcher and his beloved aniki Shinichiro begging them not to take you away from him and he clutched onto your pale limp hand for dear life.

Mikey understood what had happened... What took place while he was at home...

But for Baji

...

Well what was he apologizing for?

...

For that one Mistake that never intended to happen.

Not to you at least...