#cw for violence but put a knife in your ear

[zaldritzosrose]

Disease (Aemond x Witch!Reader)

Summary: Harrenhal was a prize and with Daemon leaving it abandoned, Aemond wasn't prepared to let it be lost to them again. Rage simmered within, the inaction of those around him had put his nerves onto a knife's edge. Nothing would stop him from achieving his goal. Except you, of course. A witch like your sister, Alys, but far more formidable if you tried.

Song - Disease by Lady Gaga

CW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, mentions of witchcraft, mentions of drugged wine and hallucinations, mentions of violence, mentions of past deaths (Lucerys and Alys), mentions of manipulation, mentions of pregnancy, innuendo, profanity, masturbation (fem), voyeurism (Aemond watches), oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, tiddy sucking, mildly submissive Aemond.

Words: 7152

It's a long one..but it was a brain worm that just wouldn't quit!

There are no more tears to cry. I heard you beggin' for life…

Harrenhal was a prize. Aemond was furious to find out that Daemon had taken it from their grasp despite the plans he had tried to lay into place.

Yes, he likely shouldn’t have schemed behind his brother’s back. But he was doing it in the interests of the Crown and their family. Even if it meant undermining the King in the process.

Rook’s Rest had been a key move. But where there was triumph, there was failure.

A win in Rook’s Rest, followed by three more dragons to Rhaenyra’s cause. Meleys and Rhaenys downed, but Aegon and Sunfyre were injured. It felt as though the war was becoming a lost cause. Aemond was floundering, though he would be damned if he let anyone see it.

The mask of cold, sharp indifference was set in place. But inside he felt rotted. Rage was a disease, and it ate him alive.

Long gone was the boy who cried over no dragon, who ran to his mother when he hurt.

In his place was a man filled with little more than hate and violence.

Runnin' out of medicine. You're worse than you've ever been…

His head pounded. Aemond barely heard the words of the council, his mind swirling. He wanted nothing more than to be done with the tiresome meetings.

“There will be no argument,” he snapped suddenly, cutting through the arguing voices of the council members.

“Harrenhal shall not be lost to us again. I will fly out as soon as possible, Cole and our men shall follow.”

There was silence in the room, yet the pain in his head felt like the entire room rang like a bell. He wanted to act, not sit and prattle about plans and alliances.

“Your Grace…” Lord Wylde had barely opened his mouth to speak before he stopped silent.

If looks could have killed, Lord Wylde would have perished immediately. Aemond’s singular gaze burned into him, and the Prince was sure he saw the Lord visibly shrink beneath it.

Aemond said nothing more, but it was clear the matter was done. The air was tense as Aemond left, not a single look back as he silently dismissed the council.

The castle was eerily silent was Daemon and his dragon departed, but eerie was what you enjoyed. Harrenhal was your haven. Your sanctuary to live unbothered and without fear.

Even when Prince Daemon had arrived, he left you well alone.

The Witch of Harrenhal.

That’s what they called you, though no one knew the extent of the things you were capable of.

You were not the first. Your sister, elder by two years but as much bastard blood as you were. She had tried to play with Daemon’s mind, and it had cost her life. And while you loved her dearly, you couldn’t feel much sympathy.

Alys had been warned. Targaryens were unpredictable, untameable. And yet she tried to.

The magic that ran in yours and Alys’ veins was far different from what ran in the fiery veins of the Targaryens. All Old Gods, but nothing alike.

Now your home was empty. The army Daemon had roused gone. Ser Simon Strong hiding away in his rooms. The constant screeches of the blood red dragon no longer grated on your ears.

You had almost returned to a life of darkened peace.

And then word of another silver haired visitor came. Younger, fiercer it was rumoured than his uncle.

The Prince Regent himself was set for Harrenhal.

(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna die…

Vhagar was an unwelcome sight in the Riverlands for most. For others who openly supported Aegon as King, she was the opposite.

For you, she was a warning to prepare.

Alys had taken it upon herself to try and unpick the mind of Prince Daemon, hoping insanity would distract him from whatever he aimed to do. You were unsure of what exactly your sister had intended with such a plan, but it failed when Daemon’s knife found her heart.

You, on the other hand, knew a Targaryen in Harrenhal was a bid for power. Power you could leech upon yourself.

A bastard. A witch. All things levied as insults against you that you chose to revel in. Alys had taught you everything and you had taken to it like a duck to water. The morbid history of Harrenhal only fuelled you.

So, you kept your eyes to the sky for the sight of the great she-dragon. Waiting patiently for the Prince Regent to land at your doorstep.

But a vengeful and rage filled prince, with the largest living dragon, was a dangerous omen on the Riverlands.

It was as though seeing what Daemon had almost taken from them, Rhaenyra’s banners on different castles as he neared Harrenhal, had sent him into a maelstrom of violence.

Word of the destruction quickly reached Ser Simon, though Harrenhal’s lord was not prepared to attempt a stand against yet another Targaryen. Daemon’s presence had taken it’s toll on him, the biting wit you were used to hearing long extinguished when Aemond finally arrived.

Harrenhal grew larger on the horizon. Vhagar leaving nothing but ash and blood in her wake, feeding off the fury that simmered in her rider.

Aemond had heard the whispers about Harrenhal. The cursed stones, the ghosts that wandered the hallway, the sisters that haunted the old ruin.

But he had also never really believed in magic.

So, he let the stories linger only in the back of his mind. Harrenhal was a prize to win, haunted or not.

The dinner hall was prepared for Prince Aemond’s arrival, the large silhouette of Vhagar was visible from a fair enough distance to give the servants time to prepare.

Ser Simon had forced himself from his rooms, unwillingly knowing that his lack of presence would only anger the young Prince more.

You sat watching from your chambers, sat on the sill of the window. The flash of silver hair in the courtyard had a smile tugging at your lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be quite as much a chore as you thought it would be.

The Prince Regent was a treat for the eyes.

You watched as he disappeared into the castle. It would simply be a waiting game. You were going to take your time, reveal yourself little by little. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t toy with him just a little.

Harrenhal was known to be haunted. What were a few extra ghosts in the grand scheme of things?

(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonight…

The meal with Ser Simon had been nothing short of uncomfortable for Aemond and everyone involved. He wasn’t one for small talk and it seemed the previous visit from Prince Daemon had soured any thoughts the Strong lord had about Targaryens.

The only balm, the only light in such gloomy halls, had been you. Aemond hadn’t been able to take his eye off you the moment you entered. Posing simply as a servant, a tray with a jug of wine placed in the centre.

Hair falling in waves down your back, the dress you wore nothing like he’d ever seen a servant wear. Something about you just draw him in.

So, when you appeared at his elbow, soft voice offering him wine, he could barely stop himself before he had agreed. The wine slipping down his throat easier than it ever did, and the cups that followed all blurred into one.

The walk back to his chambers, however, was an impossible memory.

You sat in your chamber, on the same floor as the guest rooms the prince currently resided in. But you knew he wouldn’t be within for long…

Not with the hallucinogenic herbs slipped into his wine. His gaze on you had been just enough of a distraction.

All you had to do now, was wait.

(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna die…

(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonight…

Sleep evaded him. No, not evaded. It tortured Aemond to try. Slumber hadn’t been an easy task for him in a long time. First the pain of losing his eye and then the death of Lucerys had afforded him hours and hours of interrupted and painful sleep.

But this was different. He felt nauseous, head spinning and his body felt like it was constantly falling.

And yet, his feet took him from his bed. He wasn’t sure where he was going, he simply needed to walk.

All the halls looked the same. Dark save for a few sporadic candles. The same grey stone walls seemed to never end. But his body seemed to know where it wished to go.

Aemond didn’t realise he was outside until he felt the night’s air on his face. The soft sounds of the water ahead drawing him closer and closer.

And then he saw you. Moonlight bathing your skin with a glow, the water lapping at your feet. Your gown flowing in rhythm with the waves.

The prince could have sworn he could hear you calling his name. Like a siren.

He was at the edge of the water before he knew it. Eye trained solely on you. How your gown had slipped from your shoulders, dangerously close to exposing more and more of your naked flesh.

Were you not cold? He thought, the water splashing up the toes of his boots. Yet he couldn’t move any further. All he could do was watch you.

I could play the doctor, I can cure your disease. If you were a sinner, I could make you believe…

Aemond’s thoughts were muddled, consciousness swimming in and out of lucidity.

Then he saw it, your hand sliding down from your neck and disappearing beneath the water. The ripples that formed around it told him what you were doing.

Sweet moans floated towards him and Aemond could feel his own heart beating to the same rhythm as your hand.

He knew it couldn’t be real. Aemond had heard the stories of Harrenhal, how it had driven so many to madness. How ghosts roamed the halls and witches hid in the shadows.

But logic was not with him anymore.

His chest heaved at the sight of you, the blood in his veins rushing down to fuel his arousal. Who were you? What were you?

Just as your moans reached a crescendo, his name falling like sin from your lips, Aemond’s hand moving to palm himself…

Lay you down like one, two, three. Eyes roll back in ecstasy…

He was back in his room. Sweat coating his skin and rolling down his spine. He was in his bed, cotton shirt stuck to his skin. His head still a little fuzzy, but he felt different.

Aemond could remember pieces of what he’d seen. Was it a dream? No, he couldn’t dream about someone he barely knew, surely?

Yet he could still see you so clearly. Soft skin, long hair. Eyes closes in pleasure as the water overtook your arched body.

His body still thrummed with the remnants of the desire he’d felt.

He lay back down, trying to let sleep take him again. But when he did, he only saw your face.

And it was a face he found himself longing to see again.

I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya (Cure). Cure your disease…

You could feel Aemond’s presence behind you as you worked. There was something about him that was immediately recognisable.

He had woken less rested than he hoped, his headache returned. The socket of his eye felt like it burned. He had asked a passing servant if there was a healer in the castle, and they had sent him to you.

“My prince, is there something you need?”

The moment you met his gaze, Aemond felt a ringing in his head. Flashes of the night before in his mind. But then you spoke again, smiling a little as he shook his head before looking at you again.

“This place is a not built for a restful sleep, I’m afraid. Especially for those not used to it.”

Your voice was so soft, like a balm to his whirring mind.

Before he knew it, you were stood in front of him. A good head and shoulder shorter than he was, head tilted in curiosity.

“That is an understatement, my lady.” Aemond answered, his voice coming out hoarser than he cared for.

He didn’t expect the laugh you responded with.

“I am no lady, my prince. Just a bastard healer.”

Aemond hummed in response, wincing as the pain in his eye burned again. It was intense enough that he didn’t notice your hand on his jaw, turning his head to look at his damaged eye.

He should have pushed you away. But your touch sent sparks through his skin, and he found himself unable to move.

“Can…do you have something to help?”

You smiled, stroking his cheek once before letting him go. Aemond hated asking for help. The Maester in the Keep would simply bring him medicine for his pain without being asked, knowing the prince well enough to know when he’d need it.

The absence of your touch made him feel empty. His skin now cold where your hand had been.

“What does your Maester usually give you?”

You had returned to stand behind the table and for the first time Aemond took the time to look around the room he now stood in. It was everything he would imagine a healer’s quarters would look like. Though it didn’t look like you resided here.

Herbs littered the table in front of you. Books laid wide open, dog-eared as if they had been read hundreds of times. Bowls, bottles, boxes filled to the brim with concoctions and ingredients. Plants hung from every possible surface. A fire smouldered in the background.

“Milk of the poppy, but I do not like how it fogs my mind.” Aemond huffed back, regretting how annoyed he sounded.

You smiled, glancing through the hair that hung before your face to look at him.

“Take a seat, my prince, I can have breakfast brought in here while you wait?”

Aemond nodded, taking a seat by the window. You disappeared for a moment, coming back with a tray of tea and a promise that a servant would bring him some food.

He didn’t know why he felt comfortable, or as comfortable as he allowed himself to ever feel, around you. You had both an air of mystery and familiarity that he truly didn’t understand.

The servant brought the food in silently, setting the tray down in front of Aemond with barely a glance towards the stern prince.

But Aemond only watched you. Much like his dream last night, he couldn’t tear his eye away.

The way you flitted around, gathering everything you needed for whatever it was you were creating for him. The smell was unusual, both sweet and bitter at the same time. But for whatever maddening reason, he trusted you meant him no harm.

“It is ready, but feel free to finish eating. It works better on a full stomach.”

You walked over, setting a steaming cup in front of him. The liquid had a cloudiness to it, much like poppy milk, but it smelled almost floral. He nodded his thanks, drinking it as fast as the heat of it would allow.

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but it was like the pain began to dissipate immediately. Aemond sighed as the last drops slipped down his throat. The warmth disappearing along with the throbbing in his head.

You leaned against the table, arms tucked into the pockets of your gown and simply smiling.

“It works quickly, does it not?” you asked, head tilted again like he was an experiment to observe.

Aemond set the cup down, wiping at his lips and touching the skin next to his eyepatch. Not a single ounce of pain was left.

“It does indeed, far quicker than any poppy milk I have drank.”

The prince glanced out of the window, watching as the castle began to stir to life below.

“Some might say…it is magic, my prince.”

You're so tortured when you sleep. Plagued with all your memories…

Aemond had already been in Harrenhal for a week. He had become used to the old castle, the eerie sounds that seemed to leak into his room as he tried to sleep.

Some mornings, he would visit you. Sometimes for a remedy for his pain. Sometimes simply to be in your presence. As far as he was aware, it was entirely of his own volition.

The servants seemed to look at you with both fear and reverence. Ser Simon would flit between ignoring your existence and staring at you as though you were another of Harrenhal’s spectres.

The Strong lord was as impassive towards Aemond as well. As though he tolerated the prince’s presence after his experience with Prince Daemon. Learning from his mistakes and keeping his guard up whenever he was in the young Prince’s presence.

But progress was made. Whether it was through loyalty to the King or through resignation to his fate, Simon Strong bent the knee to King Aegon. Even offering Harrenhal to Aemond as a token of House Strong’s loyalty.

And Aemond had no interest in leaving anytime soon.

Sleep, however, would still evade him. Not quite dreams, but not quite nightmares. Aemond would feel like he was sleepwalking, waking up and barely remembering what had happened. The only clue would be the dirt on his bare feet or the tangles in his hair in the morning.

And you were always there.

Sometimes just in the distance. Sometimes simply calling out his name.

But still always there.

He could deal with those dreams. There was something calming about them.

But Harrenhal would never let him rest easy. Whether he believed it or not, the castle was cursed.

One night, was the worst of all.

It had been weeks since Lucerys died. Weeks since that night had plagued his dreams. But the incident had been brought up during a tense conversation with a lesser Lord to Ser Simon. Spat as an insult towards the prince in temper.

But it invaded his dreams. Replaying them over and over until one night.

Aemond didn’t know how he’d ended up on the battlements. The wind whipping at his hair, the drizzling rain soaking through his bed shirt.

Yet he couldn’t see any of it. He could only see the fleeing silhouette of Lucerys on the back of his dragon. He could only remember the vengeance that filled his very soul.

It was like he was there. Reliving it all over again.

You reach out, and no one's there. Like a god without a prayer…

Aemond could feel the wind in his hair as though he was on Vhagar’s back. Chasing down his nephew, screaming insults and threats into the storm.

But he wanted to try and change it. To stop Vhagar clamping her jaws around Arrax’s neck. To stop Lucerys falling into the water.

His hand reached out as he saw Lucerys fall, but when his fist closed it was like he was grasping at smoke. Nothing was there, only the empty courtyard below.

Aemond leaned against the crumbling wall, gasping for air.

Then he heard you. Calling his name in that sweet voice of yours. Luring him back inside. So, he followed. His mind only on the relief you could bring him.

You waited in your chambers. You knew forcing those memories back into his mind was harsh. But it was necessary. You needed him to seek you out. To see you as his sole source of calm.

And if it meant he felt other things for you, you weren’t going to deny him.

You weren’t a fool. You had seen how Aemond looked at you when he thought you couldn’t see. Lingering just a little too long on the swells of your body. He was a young man, you could hardly blame him.

You were only a couple of years his senior, but you knew all too well the way sheltered princes acted around women.

The smell of him found you immediately. The coolness scent of the fresh air mixed with the constant scent of dragon that seemed to linger on his skin. So when your chamber door pushed open, you were barely surprised.

“My prince? Is everything alright?”

You slid from your seat by the window. White nightdress barely concealing the curves beneath. You immediately brought him inside, tugging him towards the fire.

Your hands lingered on his arms, longer than you ever had before. Rubbing up and down the cotton covered muscle to warm him.

“Sleep…I cannot sleep.”

His voice sounded so resigned, you almost felt sorry for putting him in that place to begin with.

“Nightmares? Or these cursed halls stealing your slumber?”

You let your hands trail further down, cheek pressed to the valley between his shoulder blades. His whole body was tense and cold. His eye trained solely on the flames before him. But he didn’t speak.

“Nightmare, I know that look.”

Your hands moved to his front, wrapping around his chest and pressing your body to his. Aemond tried to ignore how warm you were. How sweet you smelled, like flowers and smoke. A fragrance that had always invaded his dreams.

He felt himself relax. His head turning to try and look at you. Spinning in your hold just a little.

“It hasn’t plagued me for a long time. I cannot tell if it is these halls or the stress of war that has…”

Aemond trailed off, why was he revealing himself so easily to you?

You turned him to entirely face you. And it was only then that you realised he was missing his eyepatch. The sapphire glinting in the firelight.

(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna die…

You could see the pain in his eye. The crease between his brows and the tight set of his lips. Your hand instinctively going to his jaw, thumb stroking soft circles on his skin.

“Harrenhal will do awful things to those not accustomed, my prince.”

Aemond nuzzled into your hand, eye closing in satisfaction.

“Aemond. Call me Aemond.”

His lips ghosted over your hand. Aemond had only sought comfort in one woman before you, but you were so very different from Sylvie.

He hadn’t paid you to be at his side. You weren’t chasing his presence for status or power. He could see it in your eyes.

You desired him as he did you.

Aemond didn’t know it, but you’d tried to deny it. To stop the feelings for him blossoming. You only intended to manipulate, to bring him to any form of submission you could. But you had fallen just the same.

(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonight…

“Aemond.”

His name had never sounded so sweet. Aemond wanted to hear it again and again. To hear you whisper it, scream it even.

“Do you need relief? I can make you so-“

Your words were cut off by his lips on yours. His hand tangled in your hair and holding you tight to your body. The other arm wrapping around your waist. No space left between your bodies.

He grunted into the kiss, your hands tangled into his shirt to steady yourself. His kiss was hungry and demanding, and you welcomed it gladly.

You could feel yourself walking back towards the bed. You had expected him to try to take control. To hold on to some semblance of power.

And you let him. You could feel it, pulling you in and begging you to succumb.

But a powerful prince at your heel was the goal.

Your knees hit foot of your bed, letting yourself fall as Aemond stood over you. You rested yourself on your elbows, trailing the tips of your toes up the length of his leg.

“Or do you need something else?”

Your hands tugged up your nightgown, revealing inch after inch of your bare legs.

Aemond swallowed thickly, the fabric of his breeches growing tighter with every ounce of flesh revealed. You were wearing nothing beneath.

“Take what you need, I am all yours.”

(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna die…

His instincts were screaming at him to leave. He didn’t know you, not really. He knew your name, that you were a bastard, but he knew very little else. For all he knew, it was you playing with his mind. Making him see things, making sleep evade him night after night until he depended on you.

But in reality, he didn’t care. The fire in his loins was burning, his mind reeling. And the only solution was to have you.

If desire was his disease, you were his cure. If rage and pain were his disease, he was sure you could cure that too.

Aemond dropped smoothly to his knees, hands finding your thighs and squeezing. Pushing them apart until he could glimpse the sweet nectar that lay between.

(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonight…

“Anything I need?” he whispered, the tip of his nose grazing the skin of your inner thigh.

You were in control, you had to remind yourself of that. But it was hard to ignore the heat that pooled in your belly at the low tone of his voice. Your hand found his hair, tugging the tie from it and letting the silver locks fall loose around his face.

Nails grazed his scalp, gently pulling him closer and closer to your core.

“Absolutely anything,” your words fell to a moan as his tongue darted out, taking one long stripe between your folds.

It was like that one taste of you woke something within him. Gripping your thighs harder and devouring you like you were the only sustenance he needed. The curve of his nose rubbing against your pearl in tandem with his tongue, which was mapping out every fleshy inch of your inner walls.

Aemond grunted into you, his grip on your thighs brutal but the pain only heightened your desire. His own hips rutting against nothing. All he could focus on was your body, the dreams entirely forgotten.

I could play the doctor, I can cure your disease. If you were a sinner, I could make you believe…

Your back was arched off the bed. Aemond switching between lapping at your core and suckling on your swollen bud. Focused on nothing more than coaxing your release forward.

“Delicious…” he whispered, pulling away for a breath while replacing his tongue with his fingers.

The pace of the slender digits was almost as fast as his tongue. There was little doubt you weren’t his first. He could feel your muscles clenching and unclenching, signalling that your release was close.

And he wanted you to spill only on his tongue. The taste, the feel, the sound, it was all he could think of. Like it was the only thing that would bring him any kind of satisfaction. You had taken hold of his mind completely.

“Aemond…” you sighed out his name as he latched onto your pearl again.

Your hips canted up to meet his face, your hold on his hair tight enough to make him hiss in pain. But he relished in it.

A hand planted on your stomach as you peaked around his tongue held your thrashing body down. The other held your body tight against his face until you relaxed beneath him. A few final laps at your quivering walls was all he got before you pulled him up to hover over you.

“Feeling better, my prince?”

The title made him chuckle. The same question you asked after he drank down whatever remedy you created for him. His hair hanging loose around you like a curtain. His slick glossed lips hovering mere inches from yours.

His hips nestled between your thighs with his feet still planted firmly on the floor. Hardness grinding ever so slightly against your bare cunt.

“I could use a little more healing, I wager…” Aemond smiled, leaning down to brush his lips against yours.

You chased his lips, nipping at his jaw when he pulled away.

“Then let me take care of you.”

Lay you down like one, two, three. Eyes roll back in ecstasy…

Aemond didn’t hesitate when you tugged him up as you shuffled further onto the bed. Both of you quickly shedding whatever clothing remained on your body.

You could see his eye flicker immediately down to your breasts as you lay beside each other, his hand reaching out to tug you closer. It was the first time you had seen any real vulnerability in him. The broken parts that made him seek you out.

Your hand found his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss as you gently pushed him onto his back. Aemond sought control in every other aspect of his life, that was easy to see. But tonight, you were going to let him relinquish that control.

He gave in willingly. Eye closed, silver hair fanned out on the dark sheets below. The lean, yet formidable form of his body seemed so small now beneath you. Your hands rested on his chest, nails circling the lines of muscle down to his stomach.

Your thighs caged his hips, swollen cock nestled between your still damp folds.

“Surrender to me, and I’ll take away the pain.”

Your voice was like a balm to whatever uncertainty raged in him. A promise he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Gone was the demanding prince that had devoured your cunt only moments ago. In his place was the broken boy, wrecked with guilt and rage.

And that was exactly how you needed him. Open and raw, so you could rebuild him.

Aemond nodded, hands squeezing at your waist as he tried to move you over his almost painfully hard length.

“Please…”

That was all he got out before you sank down onto him. Taking him to the hilt with a breathy moan. Your fleshy walls stretching to accommodate him as though you were built for only him.

Aemond’s eye rolled closed, your name falling from his lips as you began to ride him. You started slow at first, rolling your hips back and forth at a painfully slow pace. His hands tightening on your waist in his impatience.

One of his hands trailed up, cupping your breast in his palm and massaging the flesh with a reverence. Your hips sped up at he sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist as he latched his lips onto your pebbled bud. His tongue swirling as a groan of satisfaction left his body.

You laced a hand through his hair, holding him to your chest like a mother would a babe.

“Take what you need, my sweet boy.”

I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya (Cure). Cure your disease…

You were not a mother, not swollen with milk, but the action brought him a comfort he never understood. Just to be cared for and nurtured was enough.

Between the feel of your hot cunt swallowing his cock again and again, to the soft flesh of your breast between his lips, Aemond was as close to the heavens as he believed he may ever get.

His hips began to rut up into you, feet planted on the bed as he put all of his effort into pleasing you. The wet slap of skin against skin mingled with his grunts and your moans.

The first tendrils of his release began to lick at the base of his spine, releasing your breast and simply burying his face in the valley between.

You let him control the pace, slamming his hips into yours with wild abandon. Your release struck you like lightning, your muscles shaking as Aemond chased his own end. And it wasn’t long before he thrust into you one last time. Painting your insides with his seed.

Aemond grunted out his release against your skin. Breath huffing against you as he stilled.

You could hear him mumbling against you, words not meant for your ears. The one word that you could just about make out.

“Mine.”

You ignored it, it wasn’t for you to hear. Not yet anyway. He was in a haze of pleasure and satisfaction. Drunk from his release.

The word lingered in your mind. You had wanted him under your thrall…

But you hadn’t quite expected him to come so willingly.

(Ah) (Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya…

Every night from then on Aemond was at your door, or you were summoned to his. Seeking solace in your body in whatever way he could.

The dreams stopped. The rage smouldered, like a fire that simply needed fuel.

And you both knew the fuel would come. But for now, he was happy at your side.

You had succeeded where your sister had failed. You had brought a Targaryen prince to heel. But you didn’t know he had taken your heart as well.

Where Aemond went, you went too. Taken from the service of House Strong to the personal service of the Prince Regent.

Bring me your desire, I can cure your disease. If you were a sinner, I could make you believe…

Aemond had settled in Harrenhal now. Sending word back to King’s Landing to inform the Council that the cursed castle belonged to the King now and that Simon Strong had bent the knee.

He came immediately to your chambers after a night’s ride on Vhagar. The smell of dragon and smoke entering your chambers before he did. And when he entered, you hurried to the door to greet him.

“Do you want a bath drawing, my love?”

The endearment was new, but Aemond had never stopped you from using it. The warmth it sent through his heart was more comfort than he had felt in a long time.

Your hands were already removing his coat and folding it over a chair by the fire.

“You do not have to tend to me, you know? You are not my servant.”

It was not the first time he’d spoken such things. But you always brushed it off. You didn’t tend to him because you felt you had to, it was because you wanted to. Because he needed it.

“Servant or no, I like taking care of you.” You answered, pressing a kiss to his cheek with a smile.

Aemond hummed in response. Maybe it was because he simply wasn’t used to it. Having someone tend to his every need because they truly cared for him. Or at least, he believed you cared for him.

You’d given him no reason to think otherwise.

Lay you down like one, two, three. Eyes roll back in ecstasy…

The bath was drawn, though Aemond had demanded a servant do the work whilst you lounged in his lap. His coat and leather tunic discarded, boots kicked off to the side. His hair loose just as you liked it.

The water was cooling as he finally stripped and stepped in. You kneeled at the side, letting yourself be warmed by the fire. Aemond’s hand reached out for your chin, turning you to plant a kiss on your lips.

“Get in with me.”

It wasn’t a question or a command. Aemond commonly stated what he wanted and left you a choice of whether to follow or not.

You stood, letting his dripping hand slide down your dress. You let the fabric pool around your ankles, stepping in and letting your back rest against his chest. His arms wrapping around your waist, hands flattening against your stomach.

Aemond’s lips found the juncture of your throat and shoulder, planting lingering kisses to your skin.

“You have bewitched me, that’s the rumour that is circling this ruin.” Aemond whispered suddenly, his voice muffled with the skin of your shoulder.

You laughed softly. You’d heard the same. That you had poisoned the prince’s mind, that you had used your unholy powers to seduce and entrance him.

“Is that what you believe? That I have toyed with your mind? Used my body to control you?”

It didn’t hurt you. Not anymore. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d been accused of such.

Aemond’s hands trailed lower, fingers finding the heat between your thighs and circling your bud softly.

“You have done many things, my little witch,” Aemond hummed, parting your folds with his other hand and sinking two fingers within.

“Whether it is enchantment or love I care little. All I know, is that I am better when I am with you.”

That was all you needed to hear. Leaning your head back and pressing hot kisses to his jaw as his hand moved faster. Water splashing around you as he pressed his hips against your backside.

“You have cured me, little witch. Fixed my broken parts and made me whole.”

You could only moan his name, eyes rolled shut as he bit down on your shoulder. Shifting your body until he could slide his length to rest between your folds. The cant of your hips enough to bring him to release just as you spilled over his hand.

I know all your secrets, I can cure ya, oh. Cure your disease…

You knew his heart, Aemond knew that deep down. You knew what ailed him before he could even speak the words himself. Whether it was love or something else, he’d realised quickly that it didn’t matter.

He never openly said it, Aemond wasn’t sure he ever would. But he knew you knew it. In the way he held you. In the way he would take you over and over every night.

It was as though you were a piece to a puzzle he hadn’t realised he’d been struggling with.

His little witch.

(Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) Cure ya. (Ah) I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya…

Aemond was in a shroud of bliss. The past failures of the war meant nothing now. He had secured Harrenhal, he was a step closer to finding more success as more of Rhaenyra’s followers fell or abandoned her.

So, when a letter arrived, carried by a servant to what had become your shared chambers, he had believed nothing could ruin what he had.

But the Targaryen symbol, painted red and black on the wax lit a fire within him that hadn’t existed in a long time. He dismissed everyone, even you, from his presence as he read. The letter was from his uncle. Congratulating him on securing Harrenhal.

But that wasn’t all.

It was an invitation. A taunt even. Goading him to end the war once and for all. Prince against Prince. Uncle against nephew. Dragon against dragon.

You could tell something was wrong the second you saw him again. The tense set of his brow and jaw. The letter discarded on the floor.

“Daemon?”

Aemond nodded, continuing to stare out of the window.

“He wishes to settle this once and for all. Him against me.” He snapped, his hands clasped behind his back.

You were already forming a plan. You knew Daemon, you knew what his mindset was now, having seen him only months past before he murdered your sister – a fact you had sometimes considered revenge for.

“Invite him to Harrenhal. The God’s Eye has enough space for dragons to battle.”

Aemond turned to you in shock. You planned to send him to his potential death?

But he knew you. You were more intelligent than some would allow themselves to believe. You read people like Aemond read books.

Your hands wrapped around his waist.

“Bring him here and I will handle the rest. You will have your battle, and I will repay him for my sister’s demise.”

Aemond hummed, bringing one of your hands to his lips and kissing it.

The date was set. Daemon was set to arrive that night. Vhagar was as restless as her rider. Waiting outside the blackened walls for her rider’s call.

The screech of Caraxes was heard before he was seen. The entire castle was on edge. A dragon battle was both a spectacle and a devastation.

Aemond was sure Daemon would arrive alone, and he was right. There was no army, just his uncle and his blood red dragon.

The elder prince landed outside the gate, settling beside Caraxes to wait for Aemond.

But you remembered how easily Daemon had succumbed to the horrors of Harrenhal, and you could only hope it would happen again.

Though you weren’t going to leave things to chance.

Herbs were you weapon. Knowing what could warp or sharpen a mind. It was an unfair advantage, of course, but you had good reason to ensure Aemond’s victory.

The child that grew in your womb.

The herbs hung from the tree Caraxes rested under were subtle, but the mix of scents would be just enough to meddle with Daemon’s concentration. You had no plans to allow any risk that Aemond would perish.

Aemond was outside beside Vhagar. Weapons strapped to his belt and a stern set to his expression. He could feel your presence the second you stepped onto the shore.

“I had to see you…” you called out, taking cautious steps closer.

He turned, his face softening as he saw you.

“A welcome sight, my little witch.” His voice was as tense as his face.

He closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.

You both stood in silence. The weight of what was coming heavy in the air.

Despite everything, despite your beginnings, he loved you. Even if he never said it, he loved you.

And you loved him.

When you pulled away, your expression was entirely serious.

“Come back, my love. Whatever it takes, come back…to us.”

Aemond held you at arm’s length, silently begging for an explanation. All you gave was moving his hand to rest on your womb. The heavy fabric of your gown having hid the swell of your stomach for the last few weeks.

“I’ll never leave you…either of you.”

The vow he made sunk into your veins. Those words meaning more than any declaration of love.

He turned, mounting Vhagar as Caraxes screeched in the distance.

The battle begun.

I can cure your disease. (Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) Ooh…

You watched from the safety of the castle. Hand on your stomach as you silently prayed.

You had fixed his pain, gave him something to fight for.

You could only hope it would be enough.

Aemond Taglist:

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @sylasthegrim

@aemondsbabe @kaelatargaryen @thought--bubble

@towriteloveontheirarms @anjelicawrites @multyfangirl

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell

@tumblin-theworldaway @aemondsbabygirl

@hoosbandewan @mysticalendings @arcielee

[theelusivepoetalien]

I logged on to let you guys know that I uninstalled mobile and am finishing mastodon migration TODAY after getting a bonus mini panik from autoplay audio ads.... I haven't been on desktop in a few weeks... Want to guess how long it took me to find my own blog on this nightmare desktop UI? Too long. Too. fucking. Long. It's called "unintuitive ui" if it's not downright hostile (ie: stay longer for ads!). Feel free to reply "why don't you just remember to turn your sound down every single time you stop listening to music like any of us have that kind of time and attention" to be autoblocked. Stay tuned. I'll probably drop the new location in the next few hours as I tweak things. I am moving ALL the sub-blogs, so we can understand that takes a little time, yes? Yah, you can drop useful Mastodon related asks in my box.

[natalievoncatte]

CW: Violence and such

A wave of air rolled over Lena and she heard the telltale crackle of one of Lex’s portals. Waiting in the shadows, she watched him stumble into the room, bruised and panting.

She wasted no time, stepping forward and shoving the device into the crook of his neck like a stun gun. His body went rigid as she relieved of him of his stolen powers, negating the effects of the Harun-El serum he’d manipulating her into creating. Something else he stole from her.

He stumbled back and turned. She already had the gun out in her hand, aimed at his chest. He backed away, moving to the far end of the room, in front of banks of computers and monitors.

“Hello, sis. I have to say, I’m pleasantly surprised.”

“Save it,” said Lena, raising the gun in front of her to aim at his head.

A heartbeat passed. Lex grinned.

“If you were going to shoot me, you’d have done it by now.”

“I can’t let you live,” Lena said, feeling the weight of each word as it escaped her, weighing her down. “The world will never be safe as long as you live.”

“Oh, dear sister,” said Lex. “Take it from someone with experience. If you’re going to murder someone in cold blood, work yourself up before you get to the scene. It prevents awkward situations like this.”

“Shut up.”

“You might want to make sure you have the right target, while you’re at it.”

Lena let out a long, slow sigh.

“Put your hands on the table and don’t move a muscle.”

Lex laughed. “What, are you arresting me now?”

There was another soft puff of air, and then a shriek of rending metal as the doors buckled in. Supergirl stormed into the room, parting the steel the way a normal woman might part curtains. She stomped into the room, even more bruised and bloody than Lex, hair matted with mud and blood, eyes blazing with righteous fury.

“You,” she snarled. “Murderer!”

“We’ve established that”, Lex said, almost casually.

Lena still held the gun ready, aimed at his chest.

“You can put that down, Miss Luthor. He’s not getting away this time. We can track his portals now.”

“Oh, can you?” Said Lex. “That’ll certainly be a wrinkle in my plans.”

“You’re not making any more plans,” Lena spat, fighting back tears as she thumbed back the hammer on her revolver.

That’s it, Lex’s voice murmured in her mind. Ease the hammer back and you just have to touch the trigger and it’ll go off. I had it tuned special for you. Remember, aim small, miss small.

“Miss Luthor,” Supergirl said, turning to her. “Don’t do that.”

“If you take him to jail, he’ll just get out again,” said Lena. “He’ll just escape and kill more people.” She choked out a sob. “He’ll kill you eventually. We have to win every time. He just has to win once.”

“Sounds like a good reason for you to join the winning team, Lena.”

Lena put her finger on the trigger, and Supergirl stepped between them.

“Don’t,” she said, very softly. “He wants you to be like him. We’re the good guys, Lena. We don’t kill. You’re one of the good guys.”

“No I’m not,” Lena said, her voice hitching.

“Yes you are. I believe you, Lena.”

Lena met her eyes, their gazes linking with that same pull she felt whenever she made eye contact with the Maid of Might, and she faltered. Lex was right. She didn’t have it in her. Not now. Not in front of her. Lena lowered the gun and Supergirl gave her a soft, ethereal, profoundly familiar smile.

Lex shoved a Kryptonite dagger into her back, and Supergirl cried out in agony, green poison ripping through her flesh. With a savage grin, he twisted the knife, breaking off the fragile blade with a hideous snap.

Lena forgot everything but Supergirl as she collapsed to the floor, rushing to kneel beside her. Supergirl convulsed, her back arching brutally as she stared into the void, blood gurgling in her throat.

“Cooked that one up special,” said Lex, panting. “She has minutes at most.”

Lena did not speak. She raised her gun and shot him twice in the chest, two rapid thunderclaps that left her ears ringing, and he toppled back into the wall.

“Fuck,” he choked out. “Guess you do… have it…”

“Shut up!” Lena screamed, “you fucking bastard! Shut up!”

“But that’s not all, Lex choked out. “I’ve got one…” he coughed, “one more… for you…”

Feebly, he reached into his jacket and drew out a remote control, hand shaking as he strained to activate it.

The monitors lit up, assaulting her with a savage truth. She saw Kara Danvers breathe grown men off their feet, blasting the searing heat of a dead star from her eyes, snatch bullets from the air.

“Kara Danvers… is Supergirl.” Lex grinned out, with a rattling laugh. “She’s been lying to you… manipulating…”

Something glinted on his wrist. The watch. The portal watch.

Lena lunged, throwing herself at him. Lex pulled his hand away and shoved. He pushed her back and threw himself on top of her, sending the gun sliding away. Pinning her wrist to the cold floor, he knees into her stomach, crushing the breath out of her in an explosion of pain.

With his other hand, he rapped his chest. “Bulletproof vest. Couple broken ribs. Should have brought a bigger gun, Lena.”

Lex knotted his fingers in her hair, pulling savagely to turn her head, forcing her to look.

Kara lay on the floor, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. A low moan escaped her throat and she rolled on her side, looking at Lena with eyes streaked with putrid green.

“I’m sorry,” Kara rasped out. “I’m sorry, Lena.”

Lena stared, a hopeless, helpless feeling spreading through her as though she sank into freezing water.

“I for-“ she began, only for Lex to close his hands around her throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you having a moment?”

Lena flailed as he tightened his grip on her, her head pounding and her lungs burning as he crushed down her airway. Lena thrashed, desperate to fight him off.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die and I never told her.

With a scream of animal fury, somehow, Kara threw herself at him, bodily knocking him away from Lena, freeing her.

It must have been the last of Kara’s strength, because she collapsed in a boneless heap, moaning. Lex snarled, jamming his thumb into Kara’s wound.

“Oh my, I hope you weren’t using that kidney.”

Lena rolled. She grabbed the gun, rolled again.

Aim small, miss small.

Bang.

Lex snapped back, away from Kara, his genius fanned out from his skull to paint the wall. Lena ignored the sight, forced herself not to think about what she just did, forced herself to feel no pain as she scrambled to his body and peeled the watch off his wrist, locking it around her own. She had to hope.

The interface was simple enough.

“Almost there,” she told Kara. “Almost.”

The portal swirled to life and Lena began screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Help! It’s Kryptonite, help her!”

Alex stormed through, eyes going wide at the scene before her. She immediately began shouting orders. Someone pulled Lena away from Kara, forcing their laced fingers apart. Lena told herself that Kara was going to be okay, that her hand hadn’t been cold and limp and lifeless, she pleaded for it to be true.

The only thing she said was “let me see Kara.” As they bandaged and examined her, it became a refrain. A chant. Alex finally came in to the medical bay and looked at her, a little piteously.

“Kara’s fine, Lena. She’s at her apartment. We just need…”

“She’s Supergirl,” Lena rasped through her bruises throat, “please let me see her.”

Alex swallowed hard. “I can’t. She’s in surgery to get the Kryptonite out of her abdomen. We can’t go in. It’s very delicate and the procedure has to be done under red sunlamps.”

“Please just let me see she’s alive.”

Alex nodded gently, and helped Lena to her feet. Her head was pounding, her knees pained her, and she ached where Lex had knees and choked her. She had to lean on Alex’s shoulder to walk to the operating room.

They watched through a window and Lena couldn’t help but stare. Kara lay on the table on her side, and oxygen mask over her face. There was blood in her hair and she was covered in bruises -even around her own throat- and she looked so small, so delicate and fragile. Lena pressed against the glass and strained with her entire being not to cry.

Alex placed a soft hand on her back. “Let it out.”

Lena did just that, sobbing into Alex’s shoulder.

“You saved my sister, Lena.”

Lena wept harder. Alex waited for it to stop, for Lena to pull back and swipe at her eyes like a child and step back.

There was a bench outside the operating ward. Lena sat down and refused to move. Eventually, Alex brought her food, but she didn’t eat. Nia tried to cheer her, and Brainy came to give her more details about Kara’s condition, probably trying to soothe her.

Lena waited in silence, needing to know of her sun would ever rise again. She waited and waited until, finally, beautifully, they rolled Kara out. She leapt from her seat and stormed after the medics, Alex joining her moments later.

They put Kara in a bed and connected more equipment to her, and hooked up another IV. The red light coming from the ceiling gave the room an eerie, sanguine glow.

“Why the red lamps?” said Lena.

“She has too much Kryptonite in her system,” said Alex. “We need to flush it out before we can turn on the sunlight and let her heal up fully.”

Lena swallowed, hard.

“Is my lab equipment still here?”

“Yes, why?”

Lena turned without a word. “Brainy,” she called, without looking for him, “get down here and help me.”

In the lab, Lena began to work, drawing on everything she knew, while Brainy structured and prepared the nanites for her.

Seven hours later, she returned to the recovery ward and found Alex quietly bent over her sister’s wounded body. She might have been praying. Eliza Danvers had joined her, and Lena momentarily paused, a little scared of the older woman, for reasons she couldn’t say.

Alex looked up, spotting the syringe of dark fluid in Lena’s hands.

“What’s that?”

“A cure for Kryptonite.”

Alex blinked. “You cured Kryptonite poisoning?”

“No. I cured Kryptonite. She’ll never have to fear it again.”

Alex blinked, and looked at her mother. They both looked at Lena, who nodded and injected the fluid into Kara’s IV.

It only took a few minutes. The green bruises all over her body began to fade and her breathing steadied. She moved slighty, groaned, and reached out.

“Lena,” she whispered.

“She’s okay,” said Alex. “She’s here. Everybody is here for you, sis. Lex got you pretty good but the surgeons and Lena patched you up again.”

“Hurts.”

“I know.”

“Lena.”

Alex swallowed. “I’m going to go get the yellow sunlamps set up.”

“I’ll help,” said Eliza.

As the both left, Lena waited an awkward beat and then rushed to Kara’s beside, lacing her fingers with those of Kara’s reaching hand.

“Kara, it’s me. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lena sat down in the chair Alex had been using and smoothed back some of Kara’s hair, to better look into those beautiful blue eyes. Kara smiled softly.

“I lied to you,” Kara whispered.

“I know. I… I can’t say I don’t care but… it doesn’t seem to matter that much.”

Kara sighed. “I want to make it better.”

“I know,” said Lena, her voice cracking. “Kara, don’t worry about it now. Listen to me, okay?”

She gave a slight nod.

Lena sucked in a breath, feeling the ache in her belly and the burn in her throat. The desire to release these words warred with the fear and the anguish and the dread. She was about to reveal a truth of her own, one that she’d held so deep that she barely knew it was there until she saw the light dying behind Kara’s eyes.

The release of them was relief, like unyoking a great weight from her shoulders.

“I love you.”

“Lena…”

“No, please listen. I don’t mean as a friend, Kara. I mean I have feelings for you. Intense feelings. I… I don’t know if that’s something you’d ever want, but if it is, is there. If it’s not, you don’t how me anything. I’m still your friend. It’s just…”

Kara squeezed her hand ever so gently. Lena had forgotten that she even held it. She went quiet, waiting, feeling dread and hope swelling in her chest.

“Would it be forward of me to ask for a kiss?” Kara whispered.”

“No,” said Lena.

Kara’s lips were soft and warm, and though it was awkward to bend and place a soft peck on Kara’s lips, she did. She remained bent over the side of the bed, her forehead resting against Kara’s, sharing something quiet and fragile.

“I’ll make it up to you,” said Kara. “I will, I promise.”

“You already have,” said Lena. “I just hope I don’t screw this up.”

“You wont. I believe in Lena Luthor.”

Lena cracked a smiled, sighing, and ran a hand down Kara’s arm, reveling in her new freedom of touch, now matter how limited.

Alex cleared her throat.

“She needs a full day under the sun lamps,” said Alex, without elaborating.

Lena drew back but did not loose he grip on Kara’s hand.

“She’s going to get every minute of it.”

“Good,” said Alex. “Kara, are you hungry?”

Kara nodded.

“I’ll scrounge up something for you to eat. I have to find Nia first.”

“Why?” said Lena.

Alex offered a smile.

“She owes me fifty bucks.”

[lostintransist]

Tomorrow From Before | Part 1

Reader's callsign is Lynx, used in place of name.

CW: Violence, that's all this chapter.

The only nice thing about being pulled up into the 141 had to be the single room. Not having a roommate would let you put up with a lot. The lot that you put up with now would send a lesser soldier to the nuthouse.

You had stumbled over so many odd dynamics in the team. Meeting Price had gone well. He wasn’t terribly old and while he felt like an overworked father, you were grateful to have someone you could solidly place your trust in. Your last leader had been a nepo baby, and while he kept his job your partner had been KIA due to his leadership choices.

Roach scared the shit out of you. He stared. He didn’t try to talk to you, just stared. It got a bit easier when he offered you a controller and then promptly kicked your ass at Mario Party, but he still scared you. Gaz was nice enough, if a bit cool and reserved. Ghost and Soap had to be lovers. You would be your challenge coin collection on it.

Something about the way the two of them either circled each other like planets locked in orbit or touched in the slightest hint of ways is how you clocked it. You couldn’t decide if no one else knew or if they didn’t care. Fraternization rules be damned you guess. You weren’t in charge of them and wouldn’t take the heat for them getting caught.

Price had everyone running drills today. These drills were different than what you were used to. Each member of the team had to pair up with one other member, run the course, then run it again with a different member. You figured you were the reason for these drills. These guys had several missions under their belts of working together. As the outlier Captain Price wanted to reduce the friction of newness between you and everyone else. It was a good plan.

It would have been a good plan. Should have been. It all fell to shit on your first run.

The 141 had been running the drill alongside the 261, an airborne as opposed to ground crew like them. Should have been fine. They should have stepped up when the fight started when you got dragged into it for daring to visibly exist in a fem-shaped body.

A sergeant with a little man complex and little man syndrome caught you by the braid as you cleared the last room with Gaz. Your boot to the inside of his knee and a backhand across his face shocked him enough that you slipped through the door to freedom. Sergeant barreled after you, catching you under the arm with a shoulder and tossing you a few feet away.

You landed funny, one knee down and one up. The seconds it took you to right had him right on top of you. This is where your teammates should have stepped in. Where they failed you the first time. Right hook to the face split your lip and sent you directly into the open palm that caught you in the ear.

A pain unlike any you had ever experienced knifed through your ear. Disoriented you returned the blows.

Punch, he batted it away. Good that let you step in. Body shot followed by an uppercut to his chin. His teeth snapped together in a satisfying click that you hoped would leave a mark.

Nailing him between the legs with his eyes on the sky he drops to his knees before you.

“That is enough!” Someone yelled. You think it is from the left of you.

Your eardrum has to be ruptured. No tension on the thin skin meant a lack of pinpoint hearing. Stepping back you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand.

Stringy, bloody, spittle coats your wrist to knuckle.

A man you’ve never seen starts yelling in your face.

“What company are you?”

“141.”

“Price’s?”

You nod once sharply.

“I’ll leave him to deal with your punishment for this altercation.”

He rounds on the sergeant still holding his jewels, must be his captain from the dressing down.

Stepping away from the verbal lashing you end up standing in front of the team, scanning for Price.

“You uh,” Soap is speaking to you. “You got something here.”

He points to the side of his neck just below the earlobe.

Fuck. You must be bleeding.

“Sorry? What was that? I COULDN’T HEAR YOU PAST MY BLOWN-OUT EARDRUM!”

No one says anything. They all stare, stone sentries.

“That’s what I thought fuckers.”

You spit the blood that had collected in your mouth and on your tongue on the dirt between your boots and theirs.

“Tell Price I’ve gone to medical and will report at his office in one hour for my punishment.”

“Yep, that’s ruptured.”

The nurse practitioner pulled the otoscope back and her face with it. Stepping around the elevated table you sit on she checks your other ear.

“I felt the membrane tear, I know it’s ruptured. What do I do for it?” You sit still as the plastic piece tickles the inside of your ear.

“Pretty easy actually,” she tossed the cap into the garbage and hung the light back on the wall. “Don’t get any water in it, so showers only, no diving for the next four to six weeks. If you have any leakage or pain come back and we will check for an infection.”

Sliding on the backless wheeled stool the nurse pulls out her notepad, writing down your excuse note for Captain Price. Ripping off the single small page she hands it to you.

“Oh, and if you have to sneeze? Open your mouth.”

Taking the square with a nod you hop off the table.

“Cut them some slack, if you can.”

Glancing down at the nurse she answers the question in your face.

“They nearly lost everyone the entire 141 in the past few months to an American General and an American contractor. Brass threw an accomplished American into the lion’s den to see if they were still tamable.”

The indifference, coolness, and even hostility all made sense now.

You stalk out of the room and out of the clinic without a word to anyone. Everyone who passes you glances from your lip to the dark look in your eyes and shifts from your path. The twenty-minute walk to Price’s office is not enough to cool your rage.

Standing at the solid door you knock, and wait. Twenty seconds pass before the door opens. Ghost, Soap, Roach, and Gaz all trailed out of the office. None of them looked at you, their eyes trained on the floor. You focus on the narrow gaps their bodies allow to see Price staring daggers after them. Once Gaz leaves the door frame you step in and shut the door.

The buzzy overhead lights had been turned off, a few small laps lit the space instead.

“Thanks for coming by. Sit,” Price gestures to the standard-issue chairs in front of his desk.

You settle in, placing the nurse’s note in the center of his desk. Leaning back you watch him, this British captain. You thought about what had been shared with you. Were you a lamb for the slaughter?

Waiting him out seemed the right choice. It went against the hostage negotiation training you had in the past but if you were the hostage nothing you said would release you from this situation.

Price sighed deeply, tapped the note twice, and looked up at you.

“Tell me what happened.”

So you do, everything you remember up to and including your line in the sand, or rather blood in the dirt, with the guys.

“Sir, I was informed in medical today that I am the canary in the coal shaft. Would you agree that is my role on this team?”

He filled his lungs slowly, ribs expanding and retracting.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

This question seemed to stump him. He leaned back in his chair, fully extending the stretch of the chair. Crossing his arms across his chest he looks at you.

Silence lingers.

“Brass only sees value in the 141 as a joint team. If we can’t prove that we can work with outsiders again then we will be disbanded. The men now know the reality of the situation and I imagine that by the time their laps are done, they will have a plan to make it look like they have accepted you.”

“Are you telling me not to trust them?” Apprehension walked your spine, a spider on a thread of silk.

“I am telling you to be watchful, be careful. You were chosen for your stellar record and for your various training dealing with difficult personalities. They will grow to trust you; Brass wants to make sure you can live long enough to see that flower blossom.”

“And if I refuse to sing for a paycheck?” You lean forward, elbow settling on your knees.

“Then we handle whatever Brass decides. If you don’t want this challenge no one will think less of you for it.” Captain searches your face, no expression passing through his.

Blowing a breath out of your nose you stand.

“If it becomes too much I will inform you. Now about my punishment?”

Sitting upright Price waves a hand as if dismissing cigar smoke.

“I will write up something that will pass muster but I am not adding insult to injury. You did the right thing. The guys are running laps as punishment for not stepping in to save a teammate, even if she didn’t need it.”

He must have caught your mouth opening in defense.

“You are dismissed, Lynx.”

Huffing a breath you leave Price’s office much the same way the guys did, mad.

Shout out to @bernardsbendystraws for the super cute divider!

Masterlist

[sillyblues]

‘pecador.’

synopsis— you bring the sinner out of miguel o’hara

cw— religious themes, blood, mild nsfw, 18+

“En el nombre del Padre,”

Miguel O’Hara was a sinner. Violence has always resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins. It was evidently clear to him and everyone, even back then when he was younger. He could barely remember his first memories of joy with his mother nor a play with his brother, but he could remember vividly when he threw a punch at somebody who told him that he and his mother and brother were dirty.

And ever since then, he has not learned of a moment filled with peace. His father berated him and punched him as well because how dare he hurt the son of his boss. Because of it, his father had been fired, and they had no money anymore. But Miguel didn’t care. How could he when that little shit insulted his mother in front of him? He let his father vent his anger and frustrations on him. 

“Y del Hijo,”

But a mother’s love was great, and his own mother couldn’t bear to see her son getting hurt, so she tried to stop him. She took her in his arms and protected him from his father. But she shouldn’t have done that. He wished his mother stayed put in place and come to him when his father was done with him. But she didn’t because her love for him was great.

His father grew furious at the sight of his wife hiding his son away from him and in wrath, he hurt Miguel’s mother as well. The slaps and the punches and the hair pulls were thrown at his mother and he knew it was painful. He tried to pull away from her as his eyes were wide and tears streamed down. He begged his father to stop and asked him to forgive him, he sobbed as he said to him to hurt him instead, just not his mom. But despite it all, his father turned a deaf ear to his pleads and his mother’s embrace was tight just so he would not get hurt.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

His father’s anger was a large fire that evaporated away his family’s water of tears but Miguel’s resentment was a burning fiery hell only reserved for his father. His rage was molten and flowed through like lava and it pulsed within his heart and consumed his rationality. His fury blinded him and he didn’t know what he had done until he regained his vision momentarily back to see his mother crying.

“Miguel, escúchame,” his mother whispered to him with a tremble as she took the bloodied knife that he didn’t know he was holding from his arms. He looked at his hands soaked in red and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“My baby boy, thank you for protecting Mama,” she hugged him and rocked him back and forth as she sobbed. Like instinct, he hugged her back weakly. “I love you so much, I want you to know that.”

“Be strong for me and for your little brother, okay? He has no one but you. Take care of him and yourself, alright?” her soft voice was full of sadness and he desperately wanted to look up to her and comfort her. He wanted to tell her that he also loved her very much and he will but like a lullaby, her voice sent a wave of sleepiness and his vision darkened.

But he couldn’t help it and then, he fainted. When he woke up in a hospital room with his little brother, Gabriel, snuggled beside him, nurses and the police greeted him. There, he knew his mother killed herself.

“Amen.”

He took his mother’s words to his heart and swore that he would protect his brother. He did not let anyone take him or his brother or relied on adults because he trusted nobody. He appealed to the court at 16 years old that he could take care of himself and his brother. Fortunately, he was approved and he took multiple jobs to sustain their needs. He didn’t go to school, no, he didn’t have any time but he made sure that Gabriel did. He worked tirelessly sleeping barely 5 hours a day just to bring food to the table and have a roof over their heads. But despite his busy schedule, he made sure to be there on Gabriel's important days.

Years went by and they had formed a mundane lifestyle. And he tried so hard to keep it that way. But violence resided in his soul and the sinner in him was rekindled once more when his brother was found dead one early morning. He received a call when he was about to go to work and rushed to the crime scene when he heard the news. When he saw Gabriel’s lifeless body and the blood that pooled around him, the remaining hope in his heart was crushed and rage once more visited him and burned fiercely. The police ruled it as suicide as he was found in an alleyway in between buildings. But Miguel knew that it wasn't because of his brother who was so happy and talked his ear off about graduating and becoming a billionaire so he could support him and would never give up on life like that.

“Padre nuestro,”

Miguel decided to join the underworld where mafias and gangs ran about. He took jobs there not only for quick cash but to form connections and information. He investigated more about his brother's death and found out that he was bullied for a long time by a group of kids his age. Apparently, they picked on him because he was sorry for being dirty and a son of a filthy murderer. There was evidence on the autopsy that was not reported that he was burned, with cuts and bruises littered all over his body. A camera evidence that was also not submitted and was deleted (but luckily saved by the corrupt authorities who tried to keep it as a blackmail opportunity) showed that they pushed Gabriel to his death and they all laughed about it. Not only that but he wasn't their only victim.

Miguel felt so angry at himself and guilty that he didn't know that behind his brother's insistence on being covered up from head to toe, lies numerous wounds. Knowing him, he probably didn't tell him so he wouldn't worry about him. He wished he did. He wished Gabriel was a little more selfish and made him worry about him instead because he would protect him better.

With this, he took his time to learn more about the arrogant pricks that murdered his brother. He moved to a different city, to Nueva York, so that he had an alibi. He stalked the conceited brats who did the same to numerous people and their rich parents who didn’t give a shit whether their children murdered someone. He learned their routine. Their schedule. And when the time was right, he put a bullet through their heads one by one when they least expected it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, come on man, I’m sorry,” they begged with tears and snot dripping, crawling backwards under his shadow. “Don’t kill me, please, I’ll give you anything.”

“Money? Do you want money? I’ll give you hundreds and thousands,” they always said the same thing, thinking that money was enough for him to forgive the suffering they had caused to his remaining family that they took away, the bruises and cuts on his brother’s body, the damage they had done on him mentally. “No? Half a billion? No, no! One billion!”

His jaw clenched. Pathetic pigs. He cocked and aimed it at them.

“No, no, no! NO—!” they stuttered and screamed but were cut off by the sound of a bullet fired by a gun with a muffler.

He wondered if they at least felt some remorse or at the very least thought about how Gabriel or the other kids they tortured and killed felt as they begged them to not hurt them. But he knew people like them, he had seen them countless times including his very own father. People like them didn’t care about anything or anyone other than themselves. These kids were just the same as them.

He made sure to clean up his tracks, deleted potential shreds of evidence, and made some story that would make their case solved and closed easily. He left the city swiftly and came back to his new home. With this, he tried to leave his old past behind and began his life anew.

“Que estás en el cielo.”

Miguel hated himself. He hated the fact that he killed his father which resulted in the death of his mother so that nobody will know that he killed him. He hated the fact that he was so ignorant of his brother's suffering that he had to be pushed to his death for him to realize that his brother was in pain. He hated the monster he turned out to be, always out for blood and killing people like it was nothing.

The sea of guilt and remorse suffocated him and he drowned himself in alcohol and women. The money he saved up which was supposed to be for Gabriel’s graduation gift was used on his vices. 

Day and night, his sins weighed heavy on his mind and not once, was he given at least a moment of peace.

“Santificado sea tu nombre.”

A knock snapped Miguel out of a trance as he smoked out of the window of his apartment. The wispy grey stench wafted in the air as he raised an eyebrow, wondering without much interest who could be knocking on his door. It couldn’t be the landlord as he just paid his month’s due. His past flings? Probably.

Knock. Knock.

He took another drag and inhaled as much as he could before he exhaled and extinguished it on the ashtray full of ashes and butts of leftover cigarettes.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

He opened the door and found nobody, but a baby in a basket with a letter sticking out of the blankets wrapped around it. The sight of the baby filled him with anxiety and dread. He looked sideways, hoping to at least find who put the baby on his door but only the sight of closed doors greeted him. He had an inch of what was happening and he did not like it one bit. 

With a shaky sigh, he took the baby and cradled it in his arms. God, he didn’t even know its gender. But the sight of him made the baby giggle and coo at him and he bit his lip. Fuck. He opened the letter with his other hand and the words written on it confirmed his suspicions.

“It’s your baby, Miguel. You were the last one I hooked up with before I found out I was pregnant and even then, it was too late. She was too grown and I cannot abort her anymore. I don’t have any papers of her because I have no money and I can’t raise her.”

Miguel could feel a migraine forming and he rubbed his forehead. The baby must have found his distress amusing because it giggled once more and tried to grab his fingers. 

No. She. Not it. 

Fuck.

Miguel wasn’t ready to be a dad, he doesn’t even think he was suited to be one because he was a piece of shit but he took another look at her that was so snug and comfortable in his arms as she looked at him with wonder, he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to try to take care after her.

“Venga tu reino.”

A few years passed by and Miguel accepted his role as a father. He named the baby Gabriella after his late brother. He got into therapy and went back to work so he could raise her with no financial problems and so that he wouldn’t be a bad father to her. Gabriella was a handful child. He slept countless sleepless nights, often waking up early in the morning because she was crying. Sometimes it was because she was hungry, sometimes she just needed help to digest the milk, and sometimes there wasn’t any particular reason for her cries. But still, he cradled her in his embrace and sang lullabies to her softly.

It felt like it was just yesterday Miguel opened the door and found her on his doorstep. Gabriella has grown into a bright young child. She took after his looks as she inherited almost all of her genes from him. 

Oh, she was so lovely. She was the best of him, better than him and Miguel liked that because she deserved better. She made him believe that he wasn’t the worst piece of trash and that he wasn’t useless. She made him feel loved and he made sure she felt loved as well.

She was very much into soccer and he was so proud of her. He attended all of her games without a miss, winner or not. He was there with her by her side, teaching her how to be kind enough to not hurt anybody and allow herself to be hurt. He taught her to be emotional yet to also remain logical. He taught her to tell him anything yet also let her remain her own privacy.

Miguel loved her very much and she loved him very much as well. 

“Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo.”

But he was a sinner and there will be time that his sins would catch up to him. He understood this one day when he got home one afternoon as he got home after work and was greeted by his child, his precious baby, his Gabriella’s lifeless body in her blood.

The tears came fast and thick. He immediately cradled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth. He begged her to wake up, to open her eyes for Papa. To surprise him that this was just a prank. Or a dream. Anything.

Please, wake up. You can’t die yet. I haven’t lived the rest of my life with you yet. I haven’t seen you on your quinceañera yet or your graduation or the first time you get a job. I haven’t seen you get married or surprise me with grandchildren. 

I haven’t seen you live your life yet.

Please. Don’t do this to me.

“Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día.”

Violence has always resided in his soul and with his daughter’s death, he committed his one last vengeance. He visited his old life once more. He got back with his connections and his trusted friends gave him whatever he needed in exchange for nothing and as their condolences.

The killers of his daughter were related to his previous crimes. They were related to the families of the people he killed and they decided to kill his daughter as their revenge.

And in return, hunted them all down. He hunted all families down and despite all the scars, all the sharp cuts, all the black and blue bruises, and all the bullets that pierced him, he never gave up and killed them all. Multiple mafia familias were down and he made sure that they couldn’t even think of getting revenge and that all they could do was bow before him.

“Hahaha, you son a bitch,” one cackled as he spat on him, “you deserve it all.”

“You heartless bitch, you’re the reason why all your family’s dead. Fucking cunt, you think you can revive them? Dream on.” he babbled his useless mouth on and wheezed.

“I know.” How could Miguel not know? For not one second that had gone by, he could never ever forget how he killed his family.

“Your death will not bring my family alive but it will make sure that any other families won’t be killed.” And with that, he pulled the trigger and let the loud sound of the gun resonate through the room. His head spat out red and some solids of his brain decorated the wall behind him. His blood dripped down and it joined the pool of the blood of the other corpses that lay dead in the room. The rays of the rising sun shone through the window and it gleamed on the pool of red. Silence filled the room and only the sound of his breaths remained.

Miguel’s eyes gave up suddenly and he fell to the ground on his knees with a harsh thud. With a tear, his shoulders loosened.

Finally. It’s over. Everything’s over.

Miguel should be glad that all of his enemies were gone and nobody would even dare to hurt him anymore but what does it all matter when everyone he held dear was gone?

“Perdona nuestras ofensas,”

Due to the rules of the underworld, the top dogs with Miguel O’Hara leading, their identities would be hidden and they would not be allowed to surrender themselves to the government as it could overthrow the black society altogether. Partly because of this, he turned to God and moved to a quaint town. He became a priest with the sole purpose of repentance and earning forgiveness for his sins. He didn't know if he was asking God to forgive him or his family who died because of him to forgive his carelessness in protecting them.

It was ironic really because he never really believed in God despite the nightly mass he, his brother, and his mother used to have. The words he uttered were redundant, merely sounds he couldn't understand nor tried to. When his mother died, he and Gabriel did the nightly mass in honour of their late mother. And when he died, he could only attend Sunday mass in the church with Gabriella because of the ache of missing his mother and brother yet still continue the tradition of being faithful to God. He wanted her to grow up good and kind so he taught her the values and morals of being a Catholic despite not fully believing in God.

A hypocrite, that's what he was and usually thought about as he led the mass during his schedule.

And he still was when a quiet mysterious woman moved into town. 

You.

“Como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden.”

You appeared so suddenly out of nowhere in this town. He lived in the Church but in such a small town, words tend to spread easily. In just two days of your arrival, he already heard of a young woman who had just moved in. 

Miguel was a bit wary as this town barely had any people. Most residents were grandparents or older parents who were already retired and their children who left to move to the cities for bigger opportunities and education. He didn't know what you were thinking about coming here. Were you sent here by the underworld? No, it can't be. He was protected by his friends who ruled the underworld now. Did you have a past like him? Were you running away from something? He sighed as he shook his head. Then again, it was none of his business and it was most definitely not his right to pry.

The next Sunday was the first time he saw you. You sat there at the back, ushered by your neighbours, he presumed. In rows of people, you stood out so brightly. Your back was straight, there was elegance so blatant despite the plain clothes you wore. He met your gaze one too many times and noticed the way you hung onto every word he uttered.

And when the mass had ended he stayed around longer this time and talked with the locals a bit more. And without a doubt, your new friend introduced him to you.

“Oh good morning, Father O’Hara! Wonderful mass, by the way, I loved the homily, well, as usual, it really reflected my situation now with my son in college. Do you still remember?” Mrs. Lorraine greeted him with a handshake.

“Oh for God’s sake, Lorraine, yes Father still remembers that and I’m sure he appreciated that you love it. Don’t forget you’re here to introduce [Name] to him.” Mrs. Eleanor said, cutting Miguel off before he could even reply.

“Oh! Dear me, why yes,” with widened eyes, she laughed, “Yes, forgive me.”

“Father, this is [Name]. They just moved in here and I invited them to join the church.” she moved her body to show your figure and Miguel finally had a close look upon you. Your eyes stared at him and for a second, he felt like there were just the two of you. You looked at him with wonder and curiosity and Dios mío, you looked so innocent and he was reminded of the darkness that exists from within him. He felt like one touch and he could corrupt you easily. He clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow, desperately hiding any tremor in his composure.

“[Name], this is Father Miguel O’Hara. He moved into this town a little while ago and clearly, one of our only priests.”

“Oh, good morning, Father Miguel.” Christ, your voice was soft as a wind that tickled his heart. You held out your hand to him. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Good morning.” He nodded stiffly. He took your hand and shook it.

Even your palm was smooth and he forced the thought down to hold your hand longer.

“No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal.”

You were kind. Endlessly so. You sponsored this town’s community event alongside donations to the church anonymously but everybody knew it was you. Everyone just decided to keep their silence to respect your decision in keeping your identity. 

You preferred to listen to others and learn more about them rather than talk about yourself. You always asked how everyone was doing and gave them gifts under the excuse of it being old despite it polished brand new. Whenever children or the grandchildren of the locals visited, you always stopped by their house and gave them little gifts as well.

Miguel had seen you interact with children multiple times whenever he was doing groceries and pass by at yours, he saw you giggling along with the children. He saw you reading books to them under the shade of a tree and rays of sunlight would gently decorate your faces and the winds would play with your hair. He saw you happy and the children happy with you as well.

And his heart throbbed at the sight of you each time but he swallowed the feelings forcibly down as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Amén.”

He hated you.

He hated the way you invoke feelings in him. He hated the way you tempt him unknowingly and he cannot blame you to take any responsibility for the way you make him feel. He hated the way you make him want to sin again, to unleash the beast inside him he had caged for so long but for another different reasons entirely which was you.

He was a priest, someone who he tried so hard not to sin but you make him falter in his beliefs so effortlessly.

So he hid himself who had become a sinner once more just at the thoughts of you.

“En el nombre del Padre,”

But he was so weak for you.

After a mass one sunday morning, you asked him if you could have a talk with him just the two of you and somewhere private. Miguel knew he should have said no. He should have turned you away and pretend he has not been watching you from afar and from the corner of his eye. But he was weak for you and before he knew it, he let you in on his office room.

“Father Miguel, why are you ignoring me?” you asked so suddenly and he knew it was coming. He has turned away from you, pretending he doesn’t see you coming and would walk the other way. But he was still caught off guard. You leaned closer to him he could smell your delicious scent. He leaned away because his patience with you was just so little he might lose his hard-earned control.

“Pardon me, but you’re getting too close.” He said with gritted teeth and tight fists. You looked hurt at that. With widened eyes that were soon filled with dejection, you slowly rubbed your arm. Guilt flooded his being and as much as he wanted to apologize, he couldn’t. Any second with you drove him insane and he could only take so much of this. He didn’t want to lose his reason, his morals, his values as a Priest. He couldn’t bear to. But any more second with you, he just might lose it all for you. You bit your lip.

“Why do you hate me so much?” you whispered with small tears welling up your eyes and Miguel hated himself more. There was nothing more he wanted to do at the moment than to hold you and wipe your tears away himself. But he can’t. It’s wrong. Priests don’t get close like that to their fellow believers. 

“I don’t hate you—” he sighed as he looked away but you cut him off.

“Then why do you look away from me? Am I so undeserving for you to not look me in the eye? Am I so disgusting for you to get close to me? Am I so inadequate and worthless for you to treat me like you treat others?” you said harshly at him while tears slipped your eyes. You took a step at him with every word you said and he took a step back in every step you took until his back was pushed to the wall behind him. “So do not tell me that you don’t hate me when all you did made me feel like you despised my entire being.”

For fuck’s sake.

He grabbed your arm and turned your body, switching positions with his. He made sure to cover the back of your head so it wouldn’t hit the wall too hard and he growled under his breath.

“I do not hate you.” he said with gritted teeth. “I want you.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“What?” you confusingly and breathlessly asked.

“Every time I see you, there is nothing more than I want than to be with you. I look at your pretty face and I want to kiss you so bad. I look at your nice figure and I want to hold and caress you. I want you.” he panted silently, the words he never dared to even utter to himself outloud was finally out of his chest. And now that they were free, he looked at your eyes to see how would you react. Would you push him away and slap his face? Would you be disgusted with him you’d never want to see him anymore?

He would understand but he didn’t know if he could bear with your hatred.

“Then take me.” your hand encircled his neck and the other gently stroked his cheek.

No.

“I’m right here.”

I can’t.

“Show me you don’t truly hate me.”

It’s wrong.

“Show me how much you want me.”

In an instant, he captured his lips with yours as his hand slid to the back of your neck. At the touch of your lips, the hidden lust for you blossomed. He pressed his face to yours and yours closer to his deeper, his kiss burning so passionately and fiercely. You opened your mouth with a moan and he invited his tongue in, and he nearly groaned at your fragrance hynotizing him and your sweet taste that ignited a new kind of hunger for him. His tongue swriled with yours and together, they danced a dance that left him breathless.

He pulled away slightly and a web of both of your saliva disappeared. He stared at you as you panted. You looked at him pleadingly and your stare sent a rush of blood down in his pants. He wanted more and he knew you wanted the same.

And with that, he plunged to the roaring sea and its waging waves of lust.

“Y del Hijo,”

For you, he threw his title as a Priest and became just Miguel.

All for you, he returned to his origins and became a sinner once more.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

Each day and night, you invited him into your temple and he worshipped you. What once was just thoughts that tortured him became reality that gave him a glimpse of heaven. Your aroma engulfed him and filled his never-ending greed of you and your flavor satiated his endless glutton for you.

“Amen.”

As he finished his prayer, he stood up from kneeling and bowed to the Cross of the Lord. He fixed his clothes and the sounds of his footsteps against the tiles of the Church rang as he left with thoughts of you.

He wanted to hear your melody that was akin to the trumpets of the angels again. He wanted your soft and supple skin to be against his dark and rough ones. He wanted to be pressed under you with your legs on the either side of his head and your juices spill in his mouth. He wanted your warm cavern envoloped around him and to feel you come undone by him.

With a silent chuckle, he thought about how he tried so hard to not corrupt you by with his wicked thoughts only to be corrupted by you instead.

For Miguel O’Hara was a sinner and no matter how much he tried to change that, he will always be one. Violence has resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins but time changed him and has now become lust that occupied his being along with the infinite greed and glutton that only wanted you.

[pygmi-cygni]

wrath - santiago garcia

i am cooking on these holyy. lowkey proud of myself. I think i'll do an aftercare series next because not every fic has that and sometimes it's nice to have some fluff.

cw: hate (?) sex, darkish santi but dw everything is okay, enemies to enemies who fuck, banter, badassery gone wrong, riding, biting, degradation, mentions of injury and violence (pg description), kinda pwp

songs to listen to: caroline by artemas, you've been a bad girl by artemas...anything by artemas....

OKAY HOT TAKE I THINK SANTI WAS OSCAR'S HOTTEST ROLE. highkey a snack.

okay okay on with the show xox

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Fish and Will, the other two on your team, had been wise enough to take a separate Jeep, seeing the venomous look in Santi's eye.

A quiet rattling from the undercarriage over the rocky terrain was the only sound between you.

You held an ice pack to your chest, trying to soothe the burning ache. A rubber mallet to the sternum was a hard hit to take, and you'd only recently regained the ability to breathe. Trying to swallow air as quietly as you could, you shifted towards the window, determined not to look at your partner.

Santi hadn't said a word, jaw clenched sharp enough to cut diamond. The anger rolling off of him clouded the air; a mix of sweat, heat and loamy soil. An irony twinge made your skin crawl. Blood was still caked under your fingernails and flecked on his cheek.

The stakeout hadn't gone well. In fact, Murphy's law seemed to be the only rule in action out in the backwoods, because nothing had gone to plan. The bodyguards for your target had switched shifts, the numbers were wrong, the target came home early...in short, it was a bloodbath.

Fish and Will took the supply van, trundling along in front of the armored Jeep Pope was currently driving.

Guilt and anger roiled in your gut. Yes, you'd been reckless. yes, Santi had reason to be angry. Did you get out alive and with the cash? Also yes, so at this point you weren't sure why it was still an issue.

"There's more ice in the back," Santi's low rumble broke the silence. His gaze was still locked forward, tone giving no room for further conversation.

You nodded thanks, grabbing a new pack and throwing the melted one into the garbage bag. The cold bite made you hiss. Santi flicked his eyes to yours in the mirror, then back on the road.

"Grab the map."

Sighing through your nose, you complied, shoving the messily folded sheet at him. His hand stalled as he grabbed the paper, clenching hard enough to tear.

"Interesting," he growled, "you can listen."

You glared daggers. This was not the conversation you wanted to have right now. Don't engage, just leave him alone.

"About time you decided to act right."

okay, fuck you.

Shoving forwards to the passenger seat, you stuck your face as close as possible to Pope's fuming profile.

"I got out," you spat, "and I got out alive, and I got out with an extra 50k. I was gonna offer it to you, but-"

Santi revved the engine and swerved off the road, swearing in heated Spanish. You screamed, thrown against the door from the force of the vehicle. Shrubs and branches crunched under the heavy wheels, and you tumbled onto the dash, chest searing with pain.

Hands hooked under your arms and dragged you into the humid fog. You thrashed and wailed, choking on breath. A familiar tan palm slapped over your mouth, and you felt Pope's grip tighten around your bicep.

While you struggled to comprehend what the fuck just happened, Santiago brought your ear up to his mouth and seethed.

"Listen very closely," he said quietly. "I have put up with you for five weeks. Five. Cinco. I am going to give you five minutes to run as fast as you possibly fucking can until I drive off without you. Otherwise, I'll put a round through your skull. Comprende?"

You shivered and coughed, mind doing pirouettes. Where did this come from? No, you didn't like Pope, but he'd never...

"Wh-why?" you croaked around his hand. With an umph you were shoved to the mossy floor, scrabbling away from him. Santi stalked forwards, dark gaze heavy and strong.

"You don't listen. You don't shoot. you fight good, but you risked all of us for what, a moment of glory? Puta," he hissed, grabbing your jaw again.

His arms rippled under a sheen of sweat and dewy raindrops. You struggled to suck in a breath, the injury on your chest throbbing with every inhale.

"P-please don't," you stuttered, trying to stand. He shoved you down, broad palm strong against your chest. A defeated whimper slipped between your lips. Santi clicked his tongue. Mocking.

"Cry later, you've got some ground to cover."

With a shove, you were stumbling forwards into a loping run. The jungle terrain was unfamiliar but you plowed forwards. Sharp leaves whipped your cheeks, wet bark and sticky sap clinging to your already drenched clothes.

Pitter pat pitter pat pitter pat. You had five minutes. 180 steps a minute, that meant you had 900 steps before-

A loud crashing came behind you. He cheated. It had not been five minutes, and Santi was a lot faster. You sprinted hard, trying not to slip on the slick leaves.

With a huge leap, you crossed a small creek and crawled up the bank. A few seconds later you heard Santi splash through.

You weren't going to outrun him. Hide. You could hide. you were good at that; being quiet and still. There was enough mud and foliage caked on you to blend in with the shrubbery.

Trying to quell your shivering limbs, you crept beneath a rotting log, rutting out a small ditch to cower in.

The forest was quiet. Every sound you made sounded amplified. Your ears strained to pick up Santi's careful footsteps.

Trying to track a Marine, huh? Good fucking luck.

You settled lower and sniffled. Better just to accept it.

"You can come out now."

It stunned you to silence. You weren't expecting him to catch up so soon. Biting your lip, you shakily crawled out of your hiding spot, hands timidly raised to your ears.

Santi stood a few feet away, posture relaxed and wide. His powerful legs were strong and steady, arms folded over his chest. Fish. God, you should have called Fish.

Fear choking your throat, your shook as he walked closer, stopping nose to nose. Raw anger radiated off of him, almost in visible rays. You met his gaze bravely, but the tears bubbling gave away your terror.

Santi's hand moved to his waistband and you flinched reflexively. His hand came up to smack you and you barreled forwards, tackling him to the soggy jungle floor. Desperately, you clawed at his chest, trying to stave him off and get back to the car. He grabbed your ankle, yanking you back into his chest.

A splitting scream tore from your throat before he stuck a thumb in your mouth, efficiently gagging you.

"Stop it, st- shut it-" he growled, pinning your arms at your sides. You grunted furiously, kicking at his ankle. Santi swore again and hitched up so your feet flailed in the air.

"I'm not gonna shoot you," he spat, wrestling you against a tree, "would you fucking stay still chrissakes, stop hitting me." Your brain took a moment to catch up, after which you fell limp.

Relief coursed through your veins.

Santi breathed heavily. "Can you...jesus can you stop moving? I need to-"

"Drop your gun," you said as soon as he removed his hand.

"Wh...I don't have a gun." His eyes were genuinely perplexed.

You kneed up to his waist, connecting with the hardness there. "yes, you do."

He buckled, groaning. Bewildered, you watched him swallow a curse before it clicked.

"...Are you-"

"Shut up," he growled, before devouring your mouth.

Oxygen deprivation was getting to you. You went slack when his tongue pushed into your mouth, harsh and greedy. Santi's grip was bruising on your arms as he kept them pinned to your sides.

"Why," he panted between sucks, "do you have to be so fucking difficult-" a groan cut him off and he returned to your neck, biting and licking for dear life.

You huffed and whimpered, overwhelmed by his attention. He kissed you angrily, teeth gnashing and clicking. A tang of iron when you bit his lip made him moan, grinding up against you.

The sharp grain of the tree you were pressed against dug into your shoulder. Lust burning, you ground back against him, urging him to kiss lower. He complied, still growling obscenities as he migrated to your collarbones.

"You hah have got to s-stop," he groaned again, flexing his hips, "f-ffucking around."

Your hands, free from his punishing grip, fumbled with his zipper. Pope shoved up against the tree harder, shucking his jeans in one go. You yelped before his hand jammed down your pants, finding the wet patch on your panties. A muffled whine was cut off by his lips while he dug his thumb into your soft, waiting heat.

A guttural purr rumbled out of his still-bloody lips, pressed against your temple. You buried your face shamefully in his neck as he thrust his fingers roughly into you, tearing blinding heat through your spine. You wailed and bucked, trying to urge him to slow down.

His thick digits were dragging against your puffy walls, spreading slick over his hand. Santi felt his eyes cross with the feeling of your wonderfully tight folds fluttering. He gritted his teeth and curled harder, wanting to see the tears threating to fall.

You gave him his wish, shuddering back against the branches as a sudden wave crashed into you, wetness gushing as your cunt sucked desperately at his fingers. He stopped moving and you screamed, wanting to ride it out with some semblance of comfort.

"Don't be greedy," he growled, ripping his soaking fingers from your hole. You whined and wriggled in his tight grip. Santi scowled and nipped your jaw, shoving down his boxers.

The cool evening air tickled, sending gooseflesh down his legs. He stammered a sigh, yanking your hips down over him. You choked at the intrusion, his girth tearing at your walls.

"S-slow down," you pleaded, pushing against his firm chest, "hurts-"

Santi cooed menacingly, thrusting up as hard as he could go. Tears cascaded down your flushed cheeks as he began a punishing pace, the scrape of your tender flesh against the rough floor was music to his ears.

"Hush," he whispered in your ear, groping at your chest, "just hush." You mewled and hiccupped, hips rolling against your will. Burning pleasure twirled up your core as he humped against your spongy center, stroking just there oh-

As he felt your walls pulse and tighten, Pope pulled away, stifling a moan at the loss. Your wet warmth was addicting - but watching you struggle was so much more satisfying. His eyes were heavy-lidded and drunk on the power, seeing your gaze shift from defiant to submissive.

"There we go," he breathed, reaching down to massage at your clit. You whined and leaned forwards, sucking his jaw into your mouth. "Feels better now that you listen, huh? See, see, you don't have to fight m-me ah ohffuck," he whined high and sharp when you yanked his hips forward into yours, crushing his cock between you.

Santi stumbled as you rutted hard, grinding against his weeping length. Stammering and swearing, he grappled for the upper hand, but you pressed him down firmly. Your shirt was rucked high, rosy nipples bouncing with every stroke. You refused to take him inside, face set as you chased a high.

He breathed hard, trying to stave off the rollicking pleasure singing through his veins.

"Stop," he growled, "S-stop, be gahhh," he howled when you reached down and squeezed his balls, making his thighs twitch and seize violently.

"Doesn't feel good, does it," you spat, eyes hazy and chest heaving. You looked desperately beautiful atop him, and Santi felt a strong surge coming through his length.

Your wet heat slid quickly against him, slick dripping onto his stomach. The smell of musk wafted up, adding to the tantalizing taste of you on his lips. Twigs and brambles dug into his back. Pope had stopped fighting, submitting entirely to your strong pace.

Short, stuttering whines lilted from your slack pout as you got closer. He grabbed your hips, grinding you hard on his needy tip. You sighed with pleasure and began rubbing your clit furiously, the rosy, stiff bud shining like a pearl in your velvety folds.

He was in heaven. You shuddered and moaned, folds fluttering and gushing hard over him. Santi bucked at the feeling of your climax, finishing quickly over his abs. You kept thrusting, pleasure overriding your mind.

"More," you breathed, digging your heels into the soft soil, "oh Santi please."

He couldn't deny that, though every nerve was screaming in overstimulation. You continued to wreck him on the jungle floor, simmering in lustful heat.

Later he crawled back to the Jeep, a half-conscious you slung over his shoulders. Fish and Will were waiting, but made no comment at your kiss-bitten neck and Santi's lust-blown eyes.

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr

@steven-grants-world @ael-xander @silvernight-m @to-be-a-sunshine

comment to join!

[msmk11]

perhaps a tangerine x fem!reader where she's an agent they work with on 3-person jobs, and she gets severely injured (like I'm talking shot in the abdomen or severe head wound or pushed off a roof), nearly fatally and tan goes into a rage, then Angst because she's on the verge of death?

(sorry I really don't know ask etiquette)

Tangerine x fem!reader

CW: Angst, fluff, violence and blood, r almost dies

A/n: thanks for requesting, love! happy reading :)

- - - -

Things went to shit quickly.

The plan you, Tan, and Lemon had put into place should’ve been flawless. You were all supposed to bombard the target at once in hopes of overwhelming their forces. Though there were only three of you, when your individual strengths were combined, you guys were an unstoppable team. Tangerine was impeccable in hand-to-hand combat, Lemon could outshoot anyone with a gun, and you were so agile on your feet that it was already too late for the enemy by the time they noticed your presence.

But this time, they noticed. Maybe you’d taken one wrong step, or the man before you just had a bionic ear, but regardless, you were in trouble. Instead of surprising the target, he surprised you. You were creeping slowly towards him from behind, knife in hand, when he suddenly turned on you, gun pointing straight at your chest.

The cruel smirk that decorated his face made your stomach drop, and you knew this was it. This was how you’d die. You threw up your hands and dropped the knife, hoping your surrender would encourage some sort of mercy.

It seemed your luck had run out, for he pulled the trigger anyways, sending a bullet right into your abdomen.

You’d been shot before, but never so fatally. Instantly, you crumpled to the ground with a loud cry. The searing pain in your stomach was severe, and you writhed on the floor in pain.

The man stalked towards you, gun still in hand, prepared to finish you off entirely. Your life flashed before your eyes and you were overcome with so much regret and remorse. This was it, and you were so young. You hadn’t even confessed to-

Bang.

Another gunshot went off and you flinched, but the pain never came. You opened your eyes to find the man on the ground before you, blood pooling from his head and Tangerine above him, jaw tight and a severe look on his face.

Already you felt so weak, and you could barely whisper his name, “Tan…”

Tangerine rushed towards you and fell to his knees, gun cast aside with a clatter. He pulled you into his arms and you hissed in pain.

“Love? Lovely?”

You gave him no answer, only casting your hand aside to reveal the wound. There was already so much blood.

For the first time ever you saw fear flicker through Tangerine’s eyes, “no, no. Fucking shit. No, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re fine. Nothing we can’t fix just gotta-“

With shaking hands, you cupped his face, “Tangerine, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

Without me.

He shook his head at you, unruly curls bouncing everywhere, “no, don’t say that. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to survive this. Bloody fucking he’ll I should’ve been there. I could’ve stopped it, I could’ve saved you and-“

When Tangerine got into one of these rants, there was little one could do to stop him. So you did the only thing you could think of- and also the thing you’d been dying to do for years- kiss him. His mustache tickled your lips, just like you’d imagined countless times, and he tasted of whiskey and cigarettes. You only pulled away when you felt your grip begin to weaken, “Tan, let me go.”

The tenderness in his eyes vanished, replaced by something darker and more severe, “No. Like hell I will. I finally got to kiss ya, and I won’t let anyone take that away from me. You’re gonna live, I swear it.”

“Tan-“ you protested pitifully.

Tangerine kissed you tenderly on the forehead and propped you up against the wall, “I’ll be back.”

He ran straight back into action and screamed at Lemon, “take ‘er to the car. I’ll finish this off. She needs medical help, now.”

“Bruva’-“ Lemon protested.

Tangerine only screamed at him again, a wild look in his eyes. You were starting to fade in and out of consciousness, everything around you going hazy. But you heard it all, his screams, then the gunshots, and then the screams of others. You thought there was a lot of blood on your hands, literally. But it was nothing in comparison to the blood on Tangerine’s.

“Darling, please, my love. Don’t, don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you.”

Bits and pieces of the words that tumbled from Tangerine’s mouth reached your ears as you struggled against unconsciousness.

The sharp pain in your stomach had subsided and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not- either it meant you were one step closer to death, no longer feeling the pain at all, or somehow, miraculously, you’d gotten medical help in time.

It took everything in you, but you forced your eyes open and were met with Tangerine’s piercing blue stare.

“Love, you’re awake I-“

Tangerine didn’t finish his sentence. His voice was so thick with emotion, he couldn’t manage it. Instead, he reached out, stroking away stray hairs from your face, and you could feel how much his hand was trembling.

“You- you almost died, love. I- I” a single tear rolled down his cheek and landed on your forehead.

“Tangerine, hey, look at me,” you whispered hoarsely.

He tried to look brave as he did, but his jaw shook and tears brimmed in his eyes.

“You wanna know the first thing I felt when I thought I was gonna die? Regret. I laid there thinking- god, I’m about to fucking die, and I never got to tell Tangerine that I loved him. And while the bullet in my abdomen was painful, it was nothing compared to the pain I felt when I understood that I was losing you. My chance to be with you. To be happy with you. To love you. So I’m telling you now. I love you.”

Adoration and awe decorated Tangerine’s face so prettily, and you were sure that you could look around him forever.

“My love, my beautiful girl,” he sighed, “I love you. I love you so much. And imma kiss you every day for the rest of my life, so you always know it too.”

You were surely gonna hold him to it.

[the-kr8tor]

Sink or Swim

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Total Word Count: 16k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, CW food mentions, CW suggestive, TW blood, CW injury, CW miscarriage mention, TW violence.

A/N: I've divided this chapter into two because of how long it is and tumblr wouldn't let me draft the post without the app crashing. So sorry for the inconvenience. I'll put the link at the end and on top.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 13 >>> CHAPTER 13 II

Hobie's throat feels like he swallowed glass. Yet, he screams until his lungs give out, until his body gives out. Fist pounding into steel, skin splitting, blood staining the metal, he continues to call for you. His ears could only hear your frantic yells, his name falling out of your lips, vomited out desperately, asking for him, calling for him to get you out.

He kicks and thrashes at the metal bars, his mind imagines the worst— nails ripped from your fingers, bones breaking, skin scraped and slashed. He doesn't need to imagine how it could feel for he had lived through it all, survived through sheer will alone. But he promised, he promised to you and in that hollow grave that it will never be filled with your body; that your own blood wouldn't spill in between his fingers.

Yet, like the knife that he is, like the one who breaks skin and bleeds everything he touches— he hurt you, shot you where you stood, when he should've protected you, shielded you from the bullet. But how could he do it when the bullet is from him? When he used the same weapon that has ended dozens of lives to protect his crew, to harm you; the only person he deems worthy of telling all his secrets, you, who is worth more than every single treasure in the world.

Maybe he should've listened to you and stayed on the island.

Hobie calls for you once again, in hopes that you hear him too, in hopes that his voice is enough to bring you hope. The lighthouse that guides you home. But he knows, he knows all you could hear are muffled sounds and the creaking from the rocking ship.

Your voice wavers, like you've been forcefully silenced. So he does the screaming for you. It's loud, tone furious, ready to scratch at anyone who gets closer.

“Hobie—” Gwen tries to get his attention as the door opens, revealing the two guards staying in the doorway, keeping their distance.

Guns are strapped to them, knives glinting in the lamp light, armed to the teeth. Hobie knows it's all for him.

“Shut the fuck up.” One frustratingly said, teeth clenched, hands kneading at his temples.

“Keep screaming and you won't get supper.” The bigger one utters, the large scar on his cheek tightens as Hobie taunts them with a grim smile. The smile he reserves to strike fear.

They stiffen in the doorway, shoulders straight, hands reaching for their weapons.

“Do it then.” Hobie says, voice guttural, hands gripping the bars. “End the screaming.” His sheer tone alone sends everyone's hair to stand upright.

No one in the crew dares to stop Hobie. He doesn't know if they're afraid just like the men in front of him or if they're biding their time to scratch and bite too.

“Come closer and end it.” He doesn't yell, and that terrifies the men in the doorway. “And you'll find out exactly what I did to Admiral Kinney all those years ago.” He can still taste the admiral's ichor on his tongue.

The hulking men share a look, sweat dripping off their brows. And with that, they shut the door behind them, returning to their post with their tails tucked between their legs.

“Cowards.”

If it wasn't a grim situation, James would've laughed.

Hobie hears Gwen sigh behind him, the liquid in her hand sloshes as she practically shoves it in his face.

“At least drink some water. For your throat.”

“No, ‘m not drinking that slop.”

Gwen has had enough, she takes him by the collar, eyes bravely glaring at her captain. “If you want to leave this ship and save her, then drink the slop, eat the fucking bread and keep your goddamn energy for when we get the window to escape. Screaming won't help, captain. It's not helping anyone.” Her jaw is set, eyebrows knitted together.

The rest of the crew stand on the side, ready to get between them if it gets physical. He'll never hurt Gwen, never even thought of it. But he can't stand the thought of his family standing against him rather than next to him. So he fixes it, you'd like it that way.

Hobie gingerly takes the cup, chugging it down in one gulp.

“Good, now eat some bread and sit down.”

“Y/N—” he starts.

“She'll be alright, she's a fighter ain't she?” He nods, “you know her better than us, so tell us, cap'n, that she will survive this.”

He roams his red eyes at his sparse crew. For a brief second he sees the ones he lost behind them. For the first time, he's glad he doesn't see you with them.

Returning his attention towards Gwen, he utters the words with the confidence of a captain.

“She'll survive this.”

—

Sitting down in the corner, he rests his poor throat, the dry bread didn't help much. It was shitty to say the least, times like this, he misses Finn. He'd beat him if he ever knew that he let the famous bloodsail pirates into the hands of a former admiral and you into the hands of someone you fear the most.

Hobie shuts his eyes for a second, he swears it's only for a second but when he wakes up with a start and the door opening with a creak, the moon is already shining outside the large boat.

When he sees you appear by the doorway, he thinks he's still dreaming.

“Ten,” He hears you say between gritted teeth. All he could focus on is you, checking for signs of an injury, he starts from your head—nothing, arms, also nothing, save for a few scratches. Then he settles on your bandaged leg, and he remembers what he did, what he did to you. Guilt and grief overtakes his body, he tries his best to hide into the background, into the wooden walls, to become part of the ship, to hide his shame. Because he hurt you, and he'll never forgive himself for what he did.

Hobie watches from his corner, defeated when you tell him subtly that you're alright. And when you called for him, called his name softly like summer wind breezing by, warm and reminding him of home— he couldn't help but oblige.

Who is he to deny the sky?

When you held him in your hands, he felt anew. Apologies spill from his mouth, eyes forlorn at the red spot on your bandages.

What is the tides without his moon?

He feels lighter when you forgive him. But his past action still haunts him, he knows it'll join the long line of nightmares that plague him at night.

“That's my girl.” He says truthfully and proudly, he feels your heartbeat hasten through your pulse.

You tell him your choice, your decision to give up your freedom for him and the crew. He feels like he was back on the revenge, facing Mathias, refusing to let you go as you offer yourself for their freedom.

His heart beats harder as you ask him to read your mother's letter. He's unsure why you would let someone like him read something as heavy as the letter. It's reserved for someone whose hands wouldn't stain the paper with crimson.

“Because I trust you.” You say, and everything aligns in his mind. Like Poseidon shaking him inside out, like the tides itself is splitting him open.

Hobie reads it with trembling hands and broken skin. Like he thought, it turns the paper pink like ink blots dirtying the pristine paper.

He dictates it, heart shattering at every tear you let out. Wiping your cheeks dry, he's careful not to let his split skin touch your softer ones.

“It's real, innit?” He asks like the earth isn't eating him whole.

“It's real.” You answer and the world caves in around him.

Hobie teases to feel the resemblance of normalcy, “little tomato?” He asks.

And you answer with a “I don't want them, just you.” Like you didn't just mend his shattering heart with one sentence. And you break it right after with a “We'll meet again, in this life or the next.”

He's terrified once again. He shakes his head as the door creaks open. “No, Y/N—”

As you kiss his wounded knuckles gently, you ask him something he can't possibly do.

“Don't follow me, please.”

Reaching for you, he should've read the last line in the letter to you. ‘Don't trust anyone’ it said, whatever it was, it's not your burden to carry, so he'll do it for you.

Hobie apologizes in his head for keeping it away from you and for what he's about to do.

—

With the dinner bell ringing, and heavy footsteps retreating, the crew takes their chance. The key opens the door smoothly. They sneak around the ship, only leaving shadows and footfalls that's barely audible.

Climbing up the steps towards freedom, Hobie spots a door at the end of a hallway. Like two hearts beating as one, he knows it's you behind it.

Miles takes his arm before he could come to you. “Don't.” He whispers to his captain. “Don't waste her sacrifice.”

“She didn't sacrifice herself.” Hobie shakes his head, scoffing quietly. “I can't leave her behind, Miles. I can't.”

“I know,” he pulls him away from the hallway. “she asked you to not follow, so don't follow.”

“If this was Gwen—”

“If this was Gwen we'd be doing the exact same thing. She wouldn't ask us to follow and we'll leave because she asked us to.” Miles spares a heavy glance towards your locked door. “I know it hurts, but we'd be in the gallows by morning if we don't leave now. We'll have another chance at saving her.”

“You don't know that.”

“I don't, but it's better to not know instead of being dead. At least we'd have a chance.” Miles tugs him further away. “Do you think it's better for her to think that she caused our deaths just because you took the chance?” His voice is determined.

“Don't hurt her like that, Hobie. It'll ruin her.”

With one last look towards your door, Hobie nods, following the others to the deck then to safety. As the dinghy drops down into the sea, and into the dark night, he hears Miguel curse his name.

He asks for your forgiveness silently.

—

Hobie and the crew finally make it to the docks without being seen by anyone. It was pure luck that no one saw or even heard them, he thanked the early morning and the still dark sky for lending them a hand.

“We need to wait for her.” He says, stretching his stiff hands from rowing the boat.

The sparse pirate crew hides in the shadows, hidden behind the dark alleyway. They lean on the grimy walls, hands cradling their fatigued heads, huffing and groaning at the aches and pains they had from their daring escape. They can still hear Miguel cursing Hobie's name, his voice ringing in their ears.

“Hobie,” Gwen calls for him. “Leave her be.”

“What the fuck?” Hobie turns sharply. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means we leave her alone.” Pavitr says forlornly, eyes downcast at the dirty pavement.

“We promised her—”

“That was when we didn't know it was her actual family. Back when we all thought Miguel was a threat to her.” Yuri pipes up, hands braced on her knees. Fatigued and clearly needing rest. “I love her, Hobie, I really do. We all love her, but she's with family now. Let her be.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Miles scoffs, “We're talking about the same person right?” He stands next to Hobie, arms crossed on his chest.

“C’mon, Miles,” Gwen says tiredly. “We all heard their conversation, it's real, she's noble—”

“And what of it?” Hobie snaps back. “You were too.”

“I was.” She scowls. “But she has a home to go to, a family that's waiting for her. We need to let her be until for whatever reason she decides to stay or leave with us.” Inhaling sharply, she rubs harshly at her eyes. “Let's make a compromise then. We're all clearly feeling conflicted. I don't want to fully let her go, we all agree right?”

Everyone nods, tension running high, glares thrown about the small group. Gwen continues, “Then we stay close to her, we watch her like when we used to observe potential crew members. But this time we make sure she is actually safe and not thrown to the wolves.” Her idea reminds Hobie why he chose her as his first mate.

“I'll keep first watch,” Hobie quickly says, "we switch after I say so.”

“And when will that be, Hobie?” Yuri clasps her hand on Hobie's shoulder, comforting the man. “You haven't slept a wink, add the fact that you were stranded on a bloody island for a month, you're not in the right state for this.”

“I'll be once I see that she's safe.” His voice cracks, “I didn't keep an eye on MJ and look what happened. I-I don't want that to happen again. Please let me do it. You can follow me all you want just let me keep watch—”

“It's Y/N,” James whisper yells, he peeks around the alley, watching you slowly walk down the ship.

They all clammer to see you ignore Miguel's helping hand. Pride swells in their chest, they remember now why they can't exactly leave you behind— you're family.

As if fate is pulling the strings, you crane your neck to look in their direction. The crew ducks away, but Hobie stays, staring at you, waiting for your signal, anything to indicate that you want to run away with them.

He sees your subtle shake of your head, and with that, he hides with his crew.

“Did she say something?” Pav asks, concerned for you.

“No, nothin’” He holds his heart in his hand. “She said nothin'”

—

Hobie follows you quietly throughout the day. Hiding from Miguel's watchful eyes and your sad eyes. The crew left to rest in an inn, Miles offered to come with him, Hobie's glad he did for he found an unhitched horse in a street corner. But it could only seat one so Miles, the angel that he is, let Hobie go on without him.

“I'll take care of them.” He promises before he lets his captain go.

They all know your house, they've raided their ships before. Crates upon crates full of luxury, with the same design on your necklace stamped on the wooden sides. Hobie knows them quite well, the favourite of the king, always giving them special treatment. Yet the queen holds them at an arm's length away, but she never left her eyes away from their business. He guessed sacking random ships has its perks, gossip is one of them.

Hobie silently trots his horse, eyes never leaving the carriage you just left. The cemetery sends his nerves alight, with the crows cawing in the background, he strains his ear to listen in. He's hiding behind the chapel, the irony doesn't escape him.

The truth is revealed to you, and unbeknownst to you, he has learned about it too. His head is in his hands as he listens to how broken your voice is, tone splitting at the seams. Then his heart stops when you tell your mother that you want to stay, that you want to find the person responsible for their deaths, that the same flames burning inside him now have spread to you.

Hobie doesn't want you to go down the same path he walked on, to let the embers singe your skin, to let the fire burn you from the inside out like it had with him. You helped him through his, helped him control it. Now it's his turn to do so for you.

He cares for you, loves you for all your soft touches and gentle tone. But he's prepared to love you through your jagged edges, through all the anger that's inside you. He'd love both sides of you, because it's you, and no one else.

His foot accidentally steps on a twig as he sees you leave. Hobie almost ran towards you when you looked at the source of the sound. This time he ducks away, knowing that there's eyes on you, eyes that are prepared to take you away the moment they see him. So he waits, until there's no more eyes on you.

The next time he saw you again was when you stepped out of the carriage and into the golden doors of the palace. He's terrified for what's to come, whether or not Miguel has brought you on a silver platter for the wolves to devour.

With his guns accompanying him, he readies outside the walls of the palace until you leave, until he sees you again climbing inside the carriage.

He can finally breathe again, he doesn't have to kill this time. Not yet anyway.

Hobie tries his best to stay hidden, he bribes and lies to get inside Hazelside. Then he waits, and bides his time just to talk to you.

—

“Hazelside estate,” Miguel says when the large manor looms over the horizon. “Your family has owned it for two hundred years. Passed down to every first born child of the family.”

Acres and acres of land stretch across the vast space. Primed apple trees and oaks line the road, men and women in work clothes walk near the carriage, not even craning their necks to take a peek inside. It seems this was a daily occurrence for them.

“Two hundred years.” You repeat, contemplating how many generations owned it. “So it's mine once the papers are signed? Where would my…uncle and aunt go then?” Your mind goes through a hundred scenarios where you stay and where you decide to leave it all again.

“They have their own house. Granted it's not as big as Hazelside but it's enough for them. Knowing his majesty, he'd take his sweet time from releasing the papers.”

“How well do you know the king and queen?” You ask, eyes scanning your family's land.

Stone houses are standing miles away from the main estate, employees of the house you think. Chimneys billow out smoke whilst the sun is just about to rise. You imagine them having breakfast with their families, sleep still clinging in their lashes, hot tea wrapped in their cool hands. Opening the window, the smell of fresh apples wafts over you. Home, you think. It smells like home. Or it just reminds you of the apple tarts Jessica made for you when you were younger.

“You alright?” Miguel asks, watching you frown.

“I'm fine, just tired.” You lied, in truth, you miss them all.

“You had a hectic day, I don't blame you. You'll get to rest soon, I promise.”

How could you even think of sleeping alone? After being near him? After saying goodbye?

“You didn't answer my question.” You shift your attention from the trees to the man before you. “How well do you know them?”

“I barely know the queen, but the king? Yes, short answer? He's a moron, a buffoon wearing a crown.”

Lyla snickers next to you, head plopped on the carriage wall, seemingly asleep.

You smile, “You have a monkey for a king.”

“Once you're the Hazelside duchess, he'll be your king too.”

“Christ.” You chuckle nervously.

“Don't worry, I'll help you get accustomed to polite society.” Miguel reassures you and you still have no idea if you'll stay long enough to bear the title.

“Polite society.” You say with a scoff, “What I just saw wasn't very polite.”

“Just remember, everything here is political. Everyone here is climbing the ladder, kissing the royal asses. Some are doing it for their families, some are doing it for their personal gain.”

“Which one do you think I am?”

“Neither.” The carriage stops, horses neighing, hooves stomping on the gravel. “You're not like them, Y/N, that's why you'll end up walking all over them.”

The footman opens the door, Miguel gives you a look before coming down the small steps. He reaches towards you, helping you down. You hesitate. You still don't take his hand even with your bad leg.

The wind blows cold, goosebumps appearing on your skin, face worried at the sheer size of the manor. The glinting silvered birds catch the early morning's sun's rays. Beady eyes seemingly blinking when a cloud passes by.

Vines cling to the ancient walls, small purple flowers run along the plant and along the large windows. Strong columns line the façade, laurels carved on the marble, oak doors displaying the house sigil— your necklace bearing a similarity to it. Flower beds cradling violets lay by the foot of the building, blooming and fragrant. The smell hiding your trepidation from the dozen or so people watching you with unreadable eyes.

The staff greets you with a stiff nod, they stand on the stairs leading towards the manor. Their uniforms are perfect, perfectly ironed and clean; perfect white gloves on their hands.

A couple of them help your drunk uncle off their own carriage. He groans, head swirling, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Fancy clothes sweaty and moist, neckerchief lopsided and dirtied by ale. In contrast to his wife, who looks tired with the heavy eye bags under her eyes, she still looks like a proper noble compared to Frederick.

“Freddy—” She groans, kicking her husband's leg, “get up!”

“Darling…” he slurs, “there's two of you—oh wait…now there's three!” His guffaw fills the quiet morning.

Victoria gives up, leaving the man to the care of her staff. She walks off, huffing and puffing. She gives you a glance, “what are you waiting for? Get inside.”

Her eyes flick to Miguel who stands behind you, she immediately clamps down her bitterness. “Welcome to Hazelside, niece.” With a stomp of her heeled foot, she heads inside, no doubt seething.

“Catty.” Lyla says next to you, elbowing your side. “C’mon, your grace, before the sun gets in their eyes and sends them into a murderous frenzy.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. Something flickers in your peripheral vision, when you move your head to look, whatever it was, it's already gone behind the thick bushes.

“Y/N?” Miguel beckons you over. “It's cold out, come inside before you get sick.”

“Coming,” you call back, eyes darting around the thicket.

—

Miguel shows you around to your room in the west wing. Various historical paintings decorate the walls, wooden simple frames around them, showing the true beauty of the art without all the extravagant gold laurels around it.

Sculpted busts of your ancestors wait at every corner, marble eyes staring blankly at what's in front of them. Large windows line the walls, just outside the glass lies an expansive field of apple trees, bulbs of reds and greens adorning the branches of the mighty orchard. You stand in awe at the sight, workers start flocking the trees, picking and plucking at the ripest of fruits. The sun shines directly at the field, apples aglow with its light like red and green stars.

You lag behind Miguel as you gawp at the scenery, hand tucked inside the pocket of your gown, mindlessly rolling the pearl. Wishing the crew could see it too, wishing that he could see it and harvest the fruits with you.

Miguel calls for you, hand reaching but he retracts it back to his side. “Apples are new around here.” You genuinely smile at him, so he continues. “It used to just be hazelnuts, which still grow plenty in the estate.”

“Why the change then?”

“They didn't change, your family merely adapted. Your grandmother was the one who started planting the apple trees. Whenever she had a—” Miguel falters, you can practically see his brain turning.

“Had a what? I'm a big girl, Miguel, I can handle whatever it is.” You encourage him with a nod.

“A miscarriage,” he says lowly, “At the end of her life she planted seven trees. There was only one seed she didn't plant and that was when your mother was born.”

Your heart aches at the story even though the people in it are practically strangers to you. “Apple of her eye.” You murmur.

Miguel chuckles, turning to watch the vast orchard that spans acres upon acres of land. “It’s an understatement. She was spoiled, your mother. But she had a heart, most of her gifts almost always ‘gets lost’ somewhere.” He smiles fondly. “Strangely enough, it always ends up with someone who would benefit from it more.”

“Which one ended up getting lost in your backyard?” You smile at his rare grin.

“A lot, pocket watches, jeweled eggs, there was a kitten once. Only because her mother didn't like it.” He sighs, hazel eyes shining under the sunlight.

“You loved her.”

“I did,” he stares at you with kinder eyes. “She was my best friend, and so was your father. They both were.”

“What did you mean back at the carriage when you told me that they did the same to you?”

He swallows thickly, staring back at the outside of the opulent manor. “My daughter, Gabriella.” he says after a moment, “She was only a few years older than you. Your parents were her godparents, this was before they eloped and had you.” You can feel the strain in his voice. “She got sick…they poured everything into giving her the best doctors the country has to offer. They were at her side while I was drowning my sorrows in the navy. When they weren't by her side, they were with me. But in the end everything was all in vain.”

“I'm sorry,” you say genuinely, “I'm sorry, Miguel.”

He gives you a tight smile and a pat on your shoulder. “Even after all that they were still by my side, even when I pushed them away.” Sniffing, he subtly wipes his eye. “I didn't cross the sea and traveled thousands of miles to find you because I want us to be even. Or to pay the debt, I just wanted to find the last thing they left in hopes that I also find them in you.” His chest heaves. “I couldn't even say goodbye to them.”

There's tears in your eyes as he chokes on his own words. “I lost my friends but you lost your family before you could even meet them. And for that, I'm sorry, Y/N.” His hand shakes. “They didn't deserve what happened to them.”

“Tell me what happened to them.” You stand toe to toe with him, determined to get answers.

“Pirates, I told you they were pirates.”

You shake your head. “Do you really believe that, O’Hara? Or are you still trying to convince yourself otherwise?”

His jaw clenches, “It was pirates, Y/N.”

“Tell that to the former navy medic I call mother.”

He whispers, “the last time I looked further into their deaths I lost my Job, stripped of all my titles. I almost lost my house because of it.”

“Then tell me what you found.” You challenge him back. “Tell me who ordered it so I can live in this house in peace.”

“I don't have definitive proof—”

“Who?”

“Edward.” He says through gritted teeth. “He wanted to marry your mother, even going as far to ask for her hand. But when she refused him for your father—” he heaves. “I think he has probable cause to order the attack.”

“You were answering the man who might've killed my parents and wanted me dead?”

“How do you think that makes me feel, hm? I had my full trust in the navy, trusting the report they gave, trusted them with my whole life, even dedicating my life to them. And the moment I get a whiff of a planned murder on the only family I've ever had they bar me from the only life I've ever known. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I'm sorry you went through that but you could've done something.”

“He is king!” Miguel's voice booms around the hallway. He shifts his voice, pinching his knitted brows. “His word is law, I couldn't have done anything, even if I had proof.”

“You should've started with that instead of telling me lies, then I would've come to you without a fight.”

“There would've still been a fight.” He states matter of factly. “Hobie was ready to fight the moment I stepped below deck.”

“Could you blame him though? We both know not every single pirate crew is as nice as them, he didn't attack because you claimed it was pirates. Or that he was offended, he knows that he has done unsavoury things too. So what did you say that made him lunge at you?”

Miguel shakes his head, refusing to say anything. “It's best that you don't remember it.”

“Fine, be like that, just know that there will always be a wall between us.” Your heels clack loudly against the oak floors as you leave him behind.

—

The room they gave you was surprisingly comfortable, unlike the apartments in the palace that you explored. It's ten times bigger than the inn you were in, complete with your own bathroom and sitting room. It's all wooden walls covered in beautiful tapestries of various scenes from history— the thick cloth helps keep the heat inside. All the windows are wide open to let the cool air in and the moonlight. So you could hear the rustling of the trees outside, so you could smell the crisp apples. It helps, you think as you sit in front of the large stone fireplace with birds engraved in every corner of the stone.

You're already sick of the bloody birds.

You wrap the fur blanket closer to your body, still in your gown, refusing to wear anything else they've provided for you. You've heard of poisoned dresses before, it's far-fetched but you can't risk it now that you're in a more unfamiliar territory where your own family holds a grudge against you just for existing.

Especially now that you're alone in a large room filled with strange things. And with only his dagger to keep you safe.

Anyone would kill to be in your shoes right now, to be pampered and placed in a household that can provide for all your needs. If it weren't for the hunger in you, you would've left all of the gold in this house just to get back to them. Instead, the fire has you in its hold too.

Miguel's information only fueled the glowing embers in you, you're determined to find who killed them. But you're still restrained in this large manor, and until you can get your answers, you say their names to satiate the hunger.

“Edward and Mathias.” You say through shuddered breath, feeling if you could just say it louder, the sky would strike them down where they stood.

The pearl in your hands is warm, the shiny surface reflecting your scowl.

The flames mesmerize you as it dances in the kindling. Orange and reds illuminate your face, it's the only light in the whole room. You exhale and a puff of clouds escape your cool lips.

It's getting colder, and you're missing him.

Just when you're about to stand up to close the windows, a pebble lands near you. It thuds on the wooden floors, the sound gets your attention.

“What the hell?” You say confused. Standing back up, another flies through the open windows and into your room. “Who the fuck?” Speed walking towards the window, you almost get hit by a pebble if you didn't dodge it in time. “Hey!”

Fifteen feet below your window, you see two people dressed in their night clothes, bundled up in fur coats. They look up at you with wide eyes, like they got caught with their hands inside the cookie jar.

“Cousin!” One exclaims, a wide apologetic smile on his lips, showing you his perfect teeth. “Sorry about that! Can you come down?”

“Who in the world are you?” You ask, confused, you lean down to take a better look, hands gripping the sill for support.

“We're your cousins! I guess?” The girl next to him says, eyes shining in the moonlight, hand holding another pebble. “We waited to see you during supper and around the house but you were apparently hiding!”

“Alright, why do I need to come down then?”

“Because we want to properly introduce ourselves! Without screaming at you from below that is.” The girl shrugs, smiling prettily at you. “Please, cousin?”

“...fine.” you grumble, the dagger is still hidden underneath your skirt in case they're planning something nefarious.

They beam up at you, the girl daintily claps her hands. “Brilliant! We'll be waiting at the entrance.”

As you trudge down the unfamiliar sprawling halls, trying your hardest to not get lost in the maze-like structure. You accidentally encounter another painting of your mother.

Her name is etched on a golden plaque just below the portrait. This one was different from the one in the palace, she was stiff there, lips tightly closed into a line, eyes cold and empty. The one in front of you is warm, a soft smile on her lips, eyes shining and alive. Her dress is in lilac, golden stars adorning the bodice. She still wore the same necklace you're currently wearing, it rests perfectly on her neck. In her hand is a closed locket, you wonder whose portrait lies inside.

“Hi, mum.” You whisper into the cold hallway. “Where's dad's portrait?” You ask like she would open her mouth and answer back. With a sigh, you head downstairs.

Walking the ancient floors, the moon shines down at you, the light peeking in from the gaps of the heavy curtains. Silently, you meet with your cousins in the foyer. Carefully coming down the curved staircase, hand gripping the bannister, the boy who is about the same age as Miles meets you halfway. He reaches towards you, giving you a hand.

“I heard about your leg, I thought you'd appreciate some help.”

“You're Frederick's children?” You say, questioning whether or not you should take his hand.

“We are,” he says with a sigh. “Come on, cousin, or you might miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“The birds.” The girl waiting in the foyer excitedly says. “They're migrating.”

“Oh, I don't see why that would be so interesting.” You say as the boy flexes his fingers, beckoning you down.

“You’ll see why. Take my hand please, you look like our grandmother going down the steps.”

“Fine,” with an exhale, you take his hand. You hold his hand, a feather light touch that he barely feels, giving yourself enough time to react if he decides to do something.

“I'm Jonathan, or just John.” He says as he gently leads you down the steps. His stride is slow, waiting for your own feet to keep up. “And this is my sister—”

“Collette!” She suddenly clasps your hands when you reach the last step. “Sorry–” her tone is sweet and genuine, quickly removing her hands from yours. “I got too excited! I'm Collette, my brother and I are twins.”

“Unfortunately…” John says under his breath.

Collette jabs her elbow by his side, earning a groan from him. You see the similarities on their faces now that you're closer to them. From the slope of their noses to the curls of their hair, they look very much alike. Except for their eyes, Collette has emerald eyes that shimmer from the oil lamp she carries. While her brother has brilliant blue eyes that remind you of the sea when the sun shines above it.

You get reminded of him again.

“Who's older?” You ask teasingly, pushing the previous thought away.

“I am!” They both speak at the same time. John looks at her sister with disappointment, while Collette scrunches her nose.

“I'm five minutes older than you, Jojo.” She says with a tone you could only describe as annoyed.

“Father told me I'm the one who's five minutes older. Not you!”

“Sure,” she nods sarcastically, the lamp in her hand sways. “Because father was in the room when we were born.” Her head swivels to look at you, and you almost jump at how fast she moved. “He wasn't in the room.”

“Ah, I think I got it—”

“Like you could bloody remember.” John says with a scoff.

Before the argument could go on, you stop them with your hands on each of their shoulders.

“I need to sleep, so whatever you want to show me, just fucking show me.”

Collette stares at you with a gasp, eyes wide like you just said the darndest thing. Meanwhile, John has the biggest grin you've ever seen.

“Wow, cousin.” He says, amused. “I heard you used to run with pirates but I didn't know you got their vocabulary too. Hazelside would be more interesting now that you're here.”

“Gosh,” Collette exhales, clutching her pearls (literally) “I didn't know that word could be uttered by a woman.”

“You should try it sometimes. It's very freeing.” You chuckle at their reaction whilst you make your way outside. “Before we freeze to death, cousins?”

“The oldest should lead the way.” John takes the opportunity to rag on his still bewildered sister.

She groans audibly. “You're not the one with the lamp.”

You smile, there's a warm familiar feeling in your chest.

—

Leaves crunch under your bare foot, you've got blisters from the uncomfortable heels Miguel gave you. You'd take walking on bare feet rather than wear that torture device ever again. The only plus side of the fancy shoe is that it makes you feel powerful with every click of the heels. Walking along a path, tall apple trees carve a way for you and the twins.

“I like your dress.” Collette says right next to you, you sense her wariness by how she keeps her distance. “The color is beautiful, it's our house color.”

“Thank you, but I've been told that red suits me better.”

“Oh, I think they're right actually.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah, I'm slowly getting used to this one though.” You lift up your skirt a bit for emphasis.

“Is it true that you were shot?” John asks in front of you, looking over his shoulder. “We heard from the footmen that you were shot by a pirate when O’Hara rescued you.”

“I was, but that's not the whole story. Miguel didn't rescue me.”

“Really?” Collette's brows are raised in question and surprise. You nod at her question. “Huh, I told you we shouldn't listen to gossip.” She slaps her brother on his bicep, he winces, glaring at her. “It's bad to begin with.”

“That's the thing about gossip, Co, it's not always the truth.” He spits out.

“I knew that, pssh.” She crosses her arms on her chest, annoyed and embarrassed.

“Why are we out here again? If you're planning to ambush me—” Colette gasps loudly, like you've shot her.

“Ambush you? Do we look like we know how to fight?” She stops you from going further down the path just as you see a dark river at the end of it.

John knits his brows with a pout. “We're here to give you a warm welcome, cousin. We heard mother and father didn't even give you a tour, so I guess it falls on us to show you around.”

“At night though?” You gesture around the silence of the grounds, save for a few crickets chirping and the flowing of the lake, you're practically alone in the dark.

“Guess we're just living to our house motto, ‘carpe noctem—’”

“‘Seize the night’” Collette finishes her brother's sentence. “The ancestor who established our house was a gambler.” She shrugs.

“That's our house motto?”

“Nope!” Collette answers you. “It was our house motto.” She gestures to herself and her brother. “Before the crown granted us Hazelside, after—” John elbows her. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright, what's the actual motto?”

“‘alis volat propriis—’”

“‘She flies with her own wings.’” You translate, the siblings look at you with awe. “There's latin in medicine.”

“You know medicine?!” Collette shrieks, the sound echoing through the dark.

“Brilliant.” John murmurs.

“Oh you must tell us more!” Collette loops her arm around yours, walking side by side. “How and where did you learn it?”

“I—”

“Don't pester her, Co.” John clicks his tongue, “have you cut anyone's arm off?”

“How grim!” She exclaims.

As they lead you towards the sparkling lake, you three chat through the night by the banks of the hazelside lake. They ask about the world outside the capital, they ask about the sea and the pirates you were with. You don't tell them about all the blood and violence, deciding that you shouldn't mar their innocent hearts with stories of death. It's not yours to tell, and you don't want to traumatize the only people who don't look at you with contempt.

“So you're not mad at me or even at least a bit annoyed for showing up and taking the estate from your parents?” You ask whilst the sun slowly rises, bathing the lake in bright blue. The hazelnuts in your mouth is a welcome one since you haven't eaten a single bite since you got to the capital.

“Not really.” John munches on his own pile of hazelnuts. He lounges near the water, hand cradling his head, chewing quietly. “We were surprised at first because there have been a handful of girls who claimed to be you. Who were obviously not you.” You raise an eyebrow at his statement. “But when they told us it was Miguel who found you, we were sure it was really you.”

“Wait— there were people who claimed to be me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Collette hums, sitting close to you, hanging on to every word you utter. “They weren't very convincing.”

“The story of Miguel trying to find you was pretty famous around here. I mean, the guy abandoned his post to find a missing duchess who may or may not be alive. That was a big story back then, so a lot of women threw their daughters and young relatives at the manor's gates to get a chance.” John informs you.

“We were quite young back then, but the fakes dwindled away through the years.” Collette finishes his statement.

“‘Quite young’ she says,” he scoffs, “we were barely out of the womb, Collette.” His sister sticks out her tongue at John.

“Huh, that's probably why I haven't heard of it either, I was still young.” You wonder.

“The sun's almost out!” Collette points at the clear sky. “Get ready, cousin, because you're about to see the most gorgeous thing.”

“The birds here migrate at this time of year,” John helps you both up to your feet. You surprisingly take his hand. “like clockwork. Collette and I used to watch it with our parents before they got all…well, too much. Now it's some sort of tradition for us.”

“Look look! The trees are rustling!” She points, jumping up and down.

“Any minute now.” John smiles at his sister as she half hugs him.

The three of you wait for a sign of the birds, a minute passes, then two, then five. Yet, not even a feather flies overhead. The early morning sun shines brighter with every minute that passes. And with every minute, the twins grew agitated.

“Why aren't they coming out?” Collette asks sadly.

“I'm sure they're just getting ready for the journey.” John reassures his sister with a pat on her shoulder. “My calculations are correct, why aren't they here yet?” He questions no one.

Their slumped shoulders and frowns get to you. An idea pops in your head, and you think it's all Hobie's fault.

“Maybe they're still sleeping.” They look at you simultaneously, “I mean it's really cold out, they probably wanted to stay in bed— or nest to sleep more. I know I would want to.”

“Oh,” Collette gives you a small smile at your attempt to make them feel better. “That's probably it. Thank you, cousin.”

You grin mischievously at them, “what if we wake them all up?”

John makes a face. “How?”

You inhale, putting your hands around your mouth, you scream, “wake the fuck up!” The sound echoed throughout the field and across the lake.

Your cousins let out a loud guffaw, you giggle at their reaction. John joins in, copying your actions.

“Wake up you wankers!” He yells, exhilaration filling his chest. “I've always wanted to say that.” Chuckling, he laughs louder at the face his sister is making.

“Johnathan!” His sister gasps next to him.

“What? Try it out! Come on then! No one's out here to tell us off.” John shakes her shoulder, giving you a wide grin.

“Join us in the dark side, Collette.” You sing song, “the birds need a wake up call.”

“You won't tell mother and father?” She asks the both of you. Wiggling, she’s excited.

Crossing your heart, you promise. “I won't, I'm not a tattletale.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, Co.”

“Alright.” She exhales deeply before letting loud the loudest scream you've ever heard. “Wake up, cocksuckers!” It's so loud that you swear your eardrums are blown out. Smiling, she turns towards your surprised forms.

Now it's you and John's turn to gasp.

“Cocksucker?!” You exclaim, bewildered.

“Where'd you learn that, Co?!” John pokes his sister.

“I heard it when Mrs. Williams stubbed her toe during lessons.” She said shyly.

“Good on you, sis.” He pats her back. “Good on you.”

Collette looks at you expectantly. “Good show, Co.” You wink at her and she giggles happily.

Facing towards the thick trees across the lake, the birds still don't fly overhead. There's nothing but the wind rustling the branches.

“They didn't wake up though.” She says forlornly.

“What if we do it at the same time?” Your words have them smiling again.

“Yes!” They say simultaneously.

“Ready?” They both nod, taking in air before screaming their hearts out.

“Cocksuckers!” The three of you let out simultaneously. The canopy rustles and out comes a hundred or so birds from the thicket.

You all jump up and down, arms up in greeting the birds. Their feathers shine in the sun, light filtering through their wings. Iridescent blues and whites glowing, reflecting in your eyes. Wings flapping loudly, beaks held up high as they greet the sky with open wings.

Amidst the beauty of it all, you wish that he was there to witness it.

A tear slides down your cheek. You wipe it quickly before the twins notice. Head staring up at the sky, amidst all the beauty and light, there's a darkness swirling inside you. Amidst all the life around you, you feel the opposite. And you miss him. The worst part is, you see this place becoming your home.

>>> CHAPTER 13 II

[whinypuppi]

PAPA–PAPARAZZI!

thank fuck for vegas / @screampied or i never would've been able to figure out the pretty colored text!

also PLEASE don't come at me if someone did something like this already without me knowing....i promise i'm not plagiarizing.

cw: no curses au , gn!reader x victim!gojo , reader is a stalker but they just looove him sm , gojo is honestly flattered , praise kink , reader is hinted at having a hair-pulling kink , handjob & blowjob (m receiving) , rough kissing , cum swallowing , mentions of knives , minimal violence , you cut him up a teeny bit , no this doesn't count as dubcon , not proofread , i don't do accurate word counts leave me alone

38 days. 38 days you've been stalking satoru gojo since you first saw him in the supermarket. you might've followed him home in search of learning more about him (but being too shy to initiate conversation.)

he lived in an apartment on the second floor with a roommate named suguru geto. that was how you found out satoru's name. he had purple eyes, long black hair that went down to his back, and a monolids which made his features stand out more.

they both hung out a lot. you found that out on only the 5th day that they did just about everything together. you almost felt jealous but always pushed the thought to the back of your head.

today, the 39th day, you were going to try something a little different. masterbaiting to the thought of him wasn't working anymore. you didn't have any pictures, either, so you relied on your memory alone to picture his face between your thighs—or pounding you hard and rough on his bed.

you thought about sneaking a camera into his room or stealing one of his shirts to inhale his masculine scent, but it was far too risky. you tried getting once or twice in separate times, but the door was always locked.

your need for him was starting to worsen, too. listening outside his door to hear him telling suguru what he planned on doing for the day wasn't working. you needed to see him—have him saying your name—feel him.

you waited early in the morning patienly around the time suguru left for the day. he always left before satoru because he had a favorite coffee shop he wanted to go to before work started. they both worked at the same place, too, and you knew if you wanted to get this done you had to be quick.

when suguru told satoru goodbye, you snuck off somewhere else so he wouldn't see you and waited for the door to open and close. he knew satoru would be leaving after him, so he didn't lock the door. to your suprise, when the door knob turned, it in fact was unlocked. god, were you smart. your hands were already shaky and you could feel the adrenaline pumping through you.

slipping in without any noise, satoru, in the kitchen, was cooking while humming something. your pupils dilated at the sight of him and you bit your lip to avoid screaming. he was so fucking hot. 6"3, white hair, bright blue eyes, and those dumb sunglasses on his head that you thought suited him. suguru said otherwise, though, and thought they made him look dumb.

you dug around in one of your pockets to make sure you had your knife. it was just a precaution—you didn't want to hurt him! you knew he'd be scared, though, so you took it with you anyway. you just had to admit your dying love for him. would he accept it? of course he wouldn't.

you snuck up behind him to the best of your abilities and put the pocket knife to his throat. his body instantly tensed and you almost giggled when he gasped softly, but you held it back.

“don't move, 'toru.”

“'toru?' w..who are you?” he asked, clenching his jaw and staying still like you wanted. you could easily slit his throat if he wasn't to comply, and he knew this, so he stayed calm (the best he could.)

“doesn't matter. you're mine now.” you had to stand on your tippy toes to coo in his ear—finally letting out the giggle you were holding back. “love you so much. you'll be mine forever, right?”

“...”

“ever since i first saw you, i knew i had to get my hands on you. you're so pretty...and i love your voice.” you complimented him despite the knife at his throat which seemed to prove otherwise. he thought you were a burglar, but that assumption was incorrect.

“oh yeah?” maybe playing along would let him leave with his life. he did one time mention to suguru that he likes his partners crazy. a joke a not, that was being put to the test. “that's cute.”

you perked up, eyes widening slightly. of all the things he could've said, he called you cute? you were nearly giddy. “really?! oh, 'toru...i've wanted you for so long. just couldn't help myself...” he wasn't going to ask how you knew his nickname—and probably his real one too.

“is that so? you wouldn't kill someone you like, right?” he subtlety hinted at the knife on his pulse—pressing in just barely enough to sting, but not draw blood.

“oh, right! i won't hurt you. promise.” you reassured him and took the knife away, but still kept it firm in your grip. “wanna touch you s'bad. i need you, satoru.”

that shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did. he could already feel his pants getting tighter from his stalker.

he knew what you wanted, and he was going to give it to you—no further questions asked. the thought of someone being so obsessed with him as to follow him wherever he went and even break into his apartment made his cock twitch. he was used to people flirting with him and asking for his number constantly, but they never went this far.

he pressed his lips to yours in a searing-hot kiss—one that was fuled by lust and hot desire. you groaned into it and opened your mouth to allow him to explore it and mold his tongue with your own. he tasted good in a way you couldn't put your finger on. it made you lean further into it even though you couldn't breath.

he finally pulled away when your hand reached for his belt, panting and chuckling. “someone's eager,”

“don't keep me waiting..!” you whined, pursing your lips and blushing at the tease. he didn't stop you this time and let you click his belt off impatiently. “easy, sweetheart. my cock isn't going anywhere.”

you listening to him even though you were already rubbing your thighs together—moving slower as you tugged his pants and boxers down. your salivated at the sight of his hard cock with pre at the tip. he was huge and took pride in that, smirking when you looked shock at the sight.

“what? don't tell me you can't take it.” your swallowed back your drool and fell to your knees, wrapping a hand around just the tip for now.

“don't be so cocky, satoru.” with knife you held in your other, you brought it up to the slit on his cock and rubbed. his muscles clenched, but he let you continue.

“mmh, keep saying my name like that and i jsut might cum.” he took a handful of your hair to guide your face lower until you licked the pre off his tip. he hummed in amusement and shuddered when you dragged your knife down the big vein on his length—pressing in and leaving little droplets of blood to make a small heart.

“you're a real si-sicko, aren't'cha?” his breath hitched and his cock pulsed under your grip. you lapped up the blood and watched his lip twitch when you looked up at him. those gorgeous eyes you loved desperately were locked onto yours as you kitten-licked his tip and listened to him whimper.

“hngh—don't keep me waiting, princess. c'mon—use that pretty mouth.” his command sounded whinier than intended and made more pools of slip drip out of you.

“mh, i dunno, 'toru...are you gonna call the cops on me?”

“n-no. just—please.” you ran your tongue over the bulging vein on his cock once more before starting to deep throat it—using the practice you had done in the past with your fingers if you ever needed to give a guy head. you gagged the first few times and closed your eyes to distract yourself from the tears welding in them.

“goddd...fuck yes fu-fuck yes,” he praised you and started to constantly babble curses and little mewls. the grip on your hair had drastically tightened, but it only made the situation better.

after getting the hang of it, you bobbed your head and carefully played with his balls as he panted and grunted above you.

“holy shit—'m almost there..! normally i don't—fuck, cum so quick. wonder if your pussy feels just as good...” you took pride in knowing you were 'experienced' enough to bring him to orgasm (considering you were a virgin.)

the mix of your saliva and his pre-cum only made things sloppier, those bright blue eyes of his rolled into the back of his skull as if it was the most heavenly thing he'd ever experienced.

“so close so close sooo—” he choked out a moan and came hard in your mouth—holding your head in a death grip to keep it still as his spurts of cum coated the inside of your throat. his thigh muscles were clenching and his chest heaved each time he inhaled. his tummy hurt from how hard he reached his peak and his cock was starting to soften as he slipped out of your mouth.

you made sure to swallow all of it, but the back of your throat ached. “ouch...”

“hurts, huh? 'm sorry, baby, but that was the best i've felt in a while.” he wiped a bead of spit from your bottom lip which made you blush.

“at least tell me your name before i head to work. maybe we could get to know each other, yeah?” you nodded eagerly, to which he chuckled.

“also, my dick aches a little from that cut of yours. if it leaves a scar, we'll be bonded for life.”

[danibee33]

ever after - purge!ghoap x reader

cw: dark themes, dubcon, noncon, graphic depictions of violence, blood, sa, overall just horror/slasher movie type of vibe *pls read at your own discretion*

word count: 1.9k

Purge - rid (someone or something) of an unwanted quality, condition, or feeling.

You’re not sure when the sun had set, or how long it’s been since the sirens sounded.

Unable to recall when you were separated from your small group.

You don’t even know if it’s your own blood you’re covered in, or someone else’s. Hopefully the latter..

All you know for certain is that someone is following you. And judging by the silent way they creep just within your peripherals, the knife in their hand glinting dangerously in the flickering, strobing lights, they were only trying to hide their presence enough to keep you waiting-

They want you to know you’re being hunted. Stalked like prey through the desolate back alleys.

You’re not made for this. You’re not a fighter, not a killer, you were never supposed to be here- alone. The grip you have on your own knife tightens to near painful, your breaths growing ragged and shallow, eyes desperately searching for an escape, for something, any fucking thing-

“Awh, c’mon pretty thing..” A terrible, raspy voice echoes off the brick around you, “Make it interesting for me.”

He’s getting closer, and you’re running out of time, and options. If you really ever had options to begin with.

“I think you’ll like what I have in mind for ya.”

Your stomach rolls, threatening to forcibly expel the insignificant amount of food you were able to choke down before the sirens rang out-

“I’ll be gentle.. At first. Get you nice and ready-” – you hear the deep groan he gives, inhaling through his nose, “mmh, fear has a smell, ya know? And fuck, pretty thing, you smell so goddamn good.”

You only just register the change in his tone, amusement turning to something far darker, obviously, he’s done toying with you- and without warning, long, lean arms wrap you up in a bear hug from behind. He’s so much bigger and stronger than you, it’s like he doesn’t even have to try to lift your feet from the ground, doesn’t feel when your heels strike at his shins.

Like the inexperienced idiot you are, you let the hunting blade in your hand clatter to the wet pavement- the potency of your fear numbing your fingers and hands. You try to scream out, but it’s muffled by a grimy, sweaty hand that smells of oil and pennies-

He shushes you almost.. sweetly. Like one might a child, his lips pressed right against the shell of your ear, “You’re a feisty one- I like that.”

With one arm still wrapped around your torso, pinning your arms down, he thrusts the other down the front of your pants, those same disgusting, stained fingers roughly cupping over your cunt- and you swear he fucking purrs against your neck.

But that fear that had gripped you so tightly minutes ago turns red and molten, something primal, instinctual taking over, something you’ve never quite felt before this moment- and you still can’t put a name to it -

With a nausea inducing crunch, the back of your head makes solid contact with his nose. The pain and shock is enough for him to shove you to the ground, your knees making contact first, the asphalt tearing your jeans, debris lodging itself in your soft flesh-

“You fucking bitch!”, the man wails, doubled over somewhere behind you.

You’ve already crawled away, your fingers frustratingly close to the hard rubber grip of your knife when you feel his hand wrap around your ankle. This time his hand isn’t close enough to silence the blood-curdling scream that tears itself from your chest, your free foot kicking vainly, fingertips clawing at the ground.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die terrified and alone on the greasy, wet pavement of a back alley that smells of garbage and ash.

And you wish it could be like the movies and books, where you simply blink yourself into peaceful dissociation- relive your greatest hits, see the faces of your loved ones one more time, maybe even shed a tear for all the experiences you’re going to miss.

But it’s nothing like the movies and the books.

You writhe under him, spit through clenched teeth, “Just do it.”

God, if you could see yourself now, you think you might actually be scared of her. Acting like an animal trapped in a wire, baring its teeth and hissing, howling even when you feel him rip the button and zipper of your pants,

“Don’t worry, pretty thing. I am-” He growls, lower half of his face still drenched in darkening crimson, “And I’m gonna make sure you suffer until the - very - fucking - end.”

Just as he cuts through your shirt, a thick shadow catches your eye. You try to focus on it, because you swear it moved. But, the longer you look, the more you convince yourself it was just your panic- no one was coming to help you. Hell, if anyone did come by, they might just help him-

Another guttural shriek bounces around the alley when he sinks his teeth into the fatty swell of your breast. Not hard enough to break skin, but you think you can already feel the bruise deep in your muscle- the pain radiating and unrelenting.

“You did this.” – he seethes, dirty fingers digging into your now bare thigh, “Could’ve made it good for ya, but then you had to be an ungrateful little brat.”

Your muscles shake and tremble from the prolonged effort of trying to get away, you taste blood in your mouth, but you’re not sure if it’s his or yours. Maybe you split your lip or bit your cheek, both, or more- you don’t know.

He pulls your underwear to the side, your leg pinned open by his own, “Ahh.. there she is. Been waitin’ for this-”

“Please-” You croak, your vocal chords shredded from screaming and shouting, “Please- don’t.”

Vomit rises in your throat when you feel his finger dip between your folds, your body shuddering to a halt- frozen once again.

“Awh..” He coos, pulling his hand away only to suck the offending digit between his lips, “Pretty thing wants to beg now, huh? Too bad-”

Liquid splatters across your face. It’s hot, which only confuses you more. It just keeps coming- soaking into your hair, and washing over your skin. And just as suddenly, the weight of your attacker is lifted, his body making a dull thud as it hits the ground.

What.. the fuck?

Your fear-addled brain isn’t keeping up. It isn’t comprehending this very abrupt change of events, or the fact that the unnaturally hot liquid that covers you reeks of iron, or that the shadows are moving again. Coming closer-

Wait, shadows?

Another scream is bubbling up your throat, but it's cut off when a hand wraps around your bicep, pulling your back off the ground, “Hey, s’allright lass, we got’ya.”

“Don’t-” You pull away, trying to cover your exposed chest.

You nearly stumble over getting to your feet, pulling the tattered remains of your shirt off the ground and jerking your pants back up. All the while, you’re trying to take slow steps in the opposite direction of the two men-

It’s dark, but you can see enough to know one of them is wearing a skull mask- and you wonder errantly if the skull sewn into the black cloth is actually real. The other one, the one that had helped you up, is standing just to Skull-Guy's side. The top half of his face covered by a red skull, though his looks more like a halloween costume.

“Well..” You say, voice far more confident than you expect, “What are you waiting for?”

They don’t move. Red-Skull simply meets the other’s eye before turning back to you, “I’m not running- so, do whatever you’re gonna do!”

You don't know where your raised voice and rage comes from. Maybe from the fact that you were still partially nude, your clothes thoroughly ruined, or maybe it’s because you’re covered in the blood of the man who had almost succeeded in defiling you-

“We saved you.” The taller one says, his accent different, brassy and curt.

“What do you want? A thank you card? JUST GET IT OVER WITH!”

Red raises his hands, “Woah, woah- we dinnae wan’ to hurt ye, lass. We heard ye screamin’. Saw what was goin’ on-”

When he steps forward, you take one back, “What do you want?”

The question seems to offend him, his eyes widening as he takes another step, “Don’ want anythin’. This is just what we do- we dinnae agree with the purge, but..” – he shrugs out of the thick jacket, giving you a view of his broad chest and strong arms, “it does make it easier to pick off the scum, y’ken?”

He holds the garment toward you, not daring to step any closer, “Glad we found ye’ when we did. Name’s Soap.”

You look at the jacket, and back to him, your arms still crossed over your chest- and somehow you’re even more confused than ever. They look dangerous, fuck, they are dangerous- they slit that man’s throat while he was hunched over you and then threw him to side like nothing more than trash. And now he’s offering you his clothes?

“What kind of name is Soap?”

A smile pulls at his lips, pushing the jacket a little closer, “ ‘M ‘fraid that’s classified.”

“We need to get a move on.” – shit, you’d almost forgotten the other man lurking behind Soap, his gaze hooded and indifferent.

“Cannae just leave ‘er here- the big bastard is Ghost, by the way.”

Finally, you take his offering, quickly wrapping yourself in the heavy material- immediately noticing the spicy, musky scent of him replacing the harsh metallic in your nostrils.

“Good girl..” Soap coos, still holding his hands up in a surrendering gesture. And something about the sweet way he says the praise makes your stomach flutter, “Can we help ye get back to somewhere safe? Are ye with anyone else?”

“N-no.”, you struggle to speak above a whisper, “We were separated.”

Soap clicks his tongue, looking back at the one he called Ghost, “Are ye close to where you live?”

Without ceremony, he tugs the mask off his face, hooking it on one of the numerous tabs that litter his vest. And it’s an odd thing, to see just a normal man beneath- he’s attractive, in a rough-around-the-edges way. Striking blue eyes offset by olive tanned skin and hair dark enough you don’t if it’s black or brown in the lack of light.

It takes longer than you’re proud of to stammer out another pathetic ‘no’.

Soap’s gaze lingers on yours, “Ye could come with us.”

“Johnny-”

Both of you look at Ghost as he makes his way closer, his sheer size overwhelming you in the moment- fucking Christ.

“C’mon, LT- she’s got no one. And there’s still-” – he looks at the diver’s watch on his wrist, “four hours left ‘til sirens.”

The giant man glares down at his partner before pinning you with the same unwavering look, and maybe, for just a fleeting second, you think you see something akin to hunger in his eyes. But it’s gone just as fast-

“Fine.”

*throws this into the tumblr-verse and runs*

thank you for reading🖤 there’s only a million and five ways a part 2 could go… hmmm decisions, decisions.

[yellowbunnydreams]

Mechanised Devotion (Part 7) ~Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader~

~Am I aware that I pump these out at a stupidly fast rate? I sure am! Do I care? I mean, I get to write about a large hot scary man so...yes and no. Enjoy the scary man!~

Word count so far (all parts:) 12,580

Tag List!: @ruh--roh-raggy @likoplays

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

CW: Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), afab reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 40's), mention of crimes and violence, blood, mentions of child death (it's FNAF, what did you expect?), past trauma; abusive relationships.

The bed was shockingly comfy as you collapsed into it, the back of your head bandaged up carefully, the sting of peroxide on it still lingering and making your head throb, small steri-strips lined your cheek and along the back of your neck. You'd somehow convinced Steve that the one on your side didn't need them too, mostly out of embarrassment that you would be exposing yourself more than you already had to the kind man. He had insisted that you slept in the bed that night however, putting his foot down that it was the least you could do for him to be well-rested.

Dinner had been pizza ordered in, it was thick and stodgy, with Steve grumbling under his breath that things were so expensive nowadays and that he was sure that when Freddy's had been open it had better pizza. Even though you didn't want to think of that place, the comments had made you laugh and smile, and you felt your cheeks heating up as he stole glances at you when he thought you weren't looking.

Curling up onto your side, you placed one arm under the pillow, you couldn't help but breathe deeply and smile as you realised the pillows smelled like cologne, burying your face into it and allowing your eyes to flutter closed as you held it close against your body. The weight of the duvet against your smaller body was reassuring, gentle and made you feel safe despite being in a relative stranger's bed and soon the moonlight slowly rising through the window and onto the covers became blurred as your eyes fluttered closed and sleep consumed your exhausted body and mind.

~~

Steve Raglan had other ideas on how to spend his night however, and as soon as he heard the heavy breathing on the other side of his door to tell him that you had fallen asleep, he carefully prised open the door and let his eyes adjust to the moonlight for a moment. The wind outside had begun to shift the trees into a gentle rustle, and he couldn't help but smirk as he padded into the room, having pulled on a grey sweater at some point in the evening to fight off the chill and to save all the blood in your body from collecting in your cheeks. Although he did find it amusing that he seemingly had such a profound effect on his new little toy.

Carefully placing his footsteps, Raglan sat on the windowsill and disrupted the light behind him, crossing his ankles as he reached into his pocket on the sweatpants and pulled out a pocket knife. The handle old and worn, but well taken care of with the name 'Afton' inscribed in cursive on the hilt in once gold lettering, but as he flicked his wrist and allowed the blade to click into place, it glinted with a wicked sharpness that made the man smile gleefully.

With a practised skill, he began to click the blade back into place with his index finger, twirling the now closed blade in his fingers before flicking it open again with a snap of his wrist. The motion was smooth, clearly well practised and rehearsed many times as he avoided his fingers each time. Letting the sound of your deep breaths and the 'click' of the blade locking into place and folding back again fill his ears to the symphony of the wind outside.

"It would be easy to clean up if I slit your throat right here, you know." He murmured to the darkness, letting his low voice carry for a moment before he grinned and kept up the play with his pocket-knife. "Such a vulnerable, sweet thing." he pretend pouted again, chewing on his lip for a moment as if in thought.

"Do you know what you've done to me? Oh how I hope you scar up really prettily." He chuckled, keeping his voice soft and even despite the dark hunger creeping into it.

"It's been a long time since I wanted somebody to scream for me again and again.. You looked so pretty when you cried for me sweetie. When the lights in your eyes flickered and dimmed but never quite went out." the musings continued to the clicking the knife in his hand, leaning onto his elbows and watching your sleeping form.

Steve's head tilted to one side, watching how your chest rose and fell. Thinking of how he could feel the pressure against the suit change when he was pressed against your back and you sobbed for him, he had to adjust how he was sitting, his own breathing becoming a touch ragged as he felt the pulse in the side of his neck get stronger and faster. There was a temptation to see if you would feel and sound just as good against him when there was no metal and fabric to separate you from him. Your breaths would be more audible, the shaking of your body would be so divine against his chest as he felt those rattling breaths, how he could tilt your head back to watch the light fading in your doey eyes again and see how the tears made them sparkle in the light.

"Perhaps I'll let you live, keep you around like a little pet. You seem obedient... perhaps it would be fun to let your throat go hoarse with my name on your lips, begging me to let you live another day."

In your dreams, you could hear a faint ticking sound, finding yourself annoyed that you had somehow managed to dream of a clock. Stirring and turning, the pain in the back of your head as you rolled over forced your eyes open groggily, unsure of the time or even where you were for a few seconds as you adjusted to being trapped in the state between sleep and conciousness.

Looking around for the clock, you freeze as you realise it isn't a ticking clock that you could hear, but rather the soft 'click, click, click' of a penknife being opened and closed repeatedly. Sleepily staring towards the window, your blood ran cold as you caught the moonlight against the blade, being twirled as a shadowed figure sat in the window. Silent and encroaching as you laid paralysed with fear.

'Click...Click....Click...Click.'

You opened your mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out as you felt your body beginning to shake. Steve Raglan watched as fear turned you paler and made your already mal-adjusted pupils shrink as adrenaline coursed through you. Listening to your rapid breathing, almost hyperventilating as he watched how you would react.

Slowly, the man unfolded himself and allowed his height and broadness to dominate the window, blocking most of the light apart from barely enough to keep the blade illuminated. Grinning widely as you trembled and your hands uselessly gripped at the sheets.

He realised after a moment, that you were caught by sleep paralysis and the thought made him chuckle darkly. You were powerless to stop him in that moment, your own mind working against you to protect you from the monster at the foot of the bed. Bringing the knife to his lips, he licked the back of it, feeling the duller edge run against his tongue before he leaned one hand down against the bed, tracing the outline of your leg through the sheets and humming to himself.

Mercifully almost, your brain decided that it was going to attempt to shut down again as you helplessly watched Steve Raglan drag a knife up to the inside of one of your thighs with a sickenly hungry and predatory smile across his face.

~~

It felt like instantly that you woke up again, hyperventilating and sitting bolt-upright and gripping the sheets with white knuckles. Eyes wide and darting as you instinctively moved your legs away from Steve, but found yourself confused when he wasn't there. Swallowing and gasping for air, you tried to process what you had just seen, body shaking and feeling your eyes straining against the light as adrenaline pushed itself through your system.

"S-Steve?" You called out, quiet at first, but then louder as the panic fully set in.

'Why am I calling for the man who just ran a knife across my leg?' You thought to yourself as his name slipped from your mouth again, frantic and shaking as you felt your eyes watering.

Suddenly you heard the sound of something heavy thumping downstairs, before the sound of heavy and fast footsteps climbing the stairs and suddenly the door was swung open and the light turned on in the room. Revealing Steve to you, still wearing his sweater that he had put on earlier and his sweatpants, no glasses and his peppered hair messy and part of it falling across his slightly lined forehead. He was breathing heavy too, and as his voice called you name back quietly, it sounded hoarse and crackled like he had been woken from a deep slumber.

"Are you alright sweetie? Are you okay? Are you hurting?" He asked rapidly, stepping into the doorway and wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm, eyes concerned as he watched your body shaking and breathing become shallow and fast as you panicked.

"You...You had a knife and you put it against my leg a-and you were watching me sleep. Y-You looked terrifying" You managed to gasp out to him, watching his eyes go wide before he slowly reached his hands into his pockets and turned them inside out, showing that there was nothing inside before he padded over to you with open, flat hands and cooing softly.

"You had a nightmare doll, that was all. Just a silly old nightmare because your brain's been trying to process everything that happened today." He said, reaching the edge of the bed and sitting on it, causing the mattress to groan under his much heavier weight and you to move slightly more towards him.

Reaching up, the older man stroked you hair softly and reassuringly, allowing you to break down in tears. Soft hiccupping sobs as he continued to touch you gently and affectionately. Making soft hushing sounds as you tried to wrap your head around it all. Why your mind would come up with something so horrible about a man who had only shown you kindness and who you felt some form of connection towards, why else would you have called his name?

"Come on sweetie, I'll turn out the light and how about I give you a hug. Hmm? Let me comfort you." Steve spoke softly, warmly and evenly, watching you intently before you nodded a few times, giving your head one final stroke before he stood up again, padding over to the lights and climbing back into the bed.

Pulling himself under the covers, Raglan shuffled closer to you and used his large hand to carefully guide your head to rest against his chest, ear over his heart so that you could hear his deep, even breathing and the strong beat of his heart. It was soothing, especially as he leaned down slightly and planted a tender kiss to your head, hand moving to stroke it afterwards as he sat back up-right.

"Go to sleep sweetie, you clearly need it if you're having such bad nightmares." the warm suggestion came from above your head, and you didn't feel much need to fight it as your arm wrapped around his waist, holding onto him as he cradled you to his side and stroked your hair. Humming softly and letting you feel the vibrations through his chest, warm and safe. Adored in that moment. You found yourself wishing you could stay like that for longer than a night, despite the fact you knew it would never happen.

As your eyes closed, and Raglan continued to hum some unknown lullaby to you, you were just drifting into newer, safer dreams when you thought you could hear a soft sound coming from just above your head.

'Click...Click....Click...Click.'

[kleftiko]

❦ MISTY

cw: mature, some violence, reader is a stripper

@kakashisboothangg @factae here’s part 1 ;)

PART 2 | MASTERLIST

kakashi didn’t mind going to the strip club. he was pretty shameless reading his icha icha books in public anyway, so it wasn’t a stretch that he and guy occasionally had a couple drinks around some dancers.

he said hi to the waitress when he entered, who gave him a smile and got his usual ipa for him as he sat down. the days he went to the strip club with guy, he arrived a bit earlier to see his favourite dancer.

and when he says favourite, it’s because every time she comes out for her solo dance, and sees him in the front row, her face flashes with a nasty scowl and a roll of her eyes that he can only see because he’s so close.

upon their first meeting, kakashi was a little too drunk and apparently spilled something that he can’t remember on her. since then, he has yet to apologize because he honestly thought your scowl and scrunched up nose was the cutest thing he’d every seen.

so when the stage lights changed colour, the music started up, and you came out, he hid his smile behind a sip of his beer as you narrowed your eyes at him.

despite the multiple eyes on you when you danced, your focus always found your way back to his.

he knew you liked him. if you really, truly, hated him, you’d have him kicked out of the club. yet here he was, front row to your dance, heterochromatic eyes following your body wherever you went.

the smoke crept along the bottom of the stage to shroud you in mystery, it added a little element of surprise when you appeared through the mist, eyes locked with kakashi’s and an expression of disinterest as you took the cash he was holding out. he was so entranced by you that he didn’t even notice the dark bags under your eyes.

then you were gone. the mist subsided and the music faded out into the regular ambiance. this was the time guy usually showed up, and thoughts of you were put in the back of his mind, not forgotten, but hoping.

he didn’t drink a lot that night, he got guy a cab cause of his stumbling and decided to walk home. kakashi was never too concerned with the area being dark, he could easily take care of himself, but his shinobu instincts always kept an ear out for anyone else in trouble.

so when he heard a small commotion around the corner, it was second nature to butt his head in.

but seeing you, shaking slightly with a knife clutched in your hand held out towards two guys; one shuffling through your bag haphazardly thrown away from you and the other towering over you, it only took a second for him to appear behind them.

the first guy he grabbed was the one intimidating you, with a hold of his collar and the advantage of a surprise, he easily took him down, his head eliciting a sickening crack against the pavement.

it was a bit gruesome, and it caught the attention of the one with his hand in your bag, who then attempted to grab your things and run. with kakashi’s fist still clutching the other’s collar, he couldn’t go after him, so with the throw of a couple of kunai’s that threateningly pierced the perpetrators ear and struck the wall, the guy was dropping your things and running off, the one on the ground quickly following as he cradled his bleeding head.

with them out of sight, kakashi grabbed your bag and moved back to your shaking body. upon closer inspection, he noticed sniffles and tears coming from your shaking figure.

“hey,” he said in an attempt to be soft, but it sounded a bit awkward. “they’re gone now, you don’t need to be scared.”

you flashed him a murderous look.

“i’m not scared,” you bit and grabbed your bag from his hands. “i’m exhausted. shit—i know not to come this way, i just wanted to get home.”

you slumped over your bag, and kakashi could hear your sniffles. he squatted down to be level with you.

“go away, i’m fine now.” you mumbled.

“i’d rather not leave you crying and alone in an alley.”

“i would like nothing more.” you sniffled.

kakashi sighed, placing a soft hand on your arm and, surprisingly, you didn’t flinch away.

“at least let me walk you home, i know you hate me, but you’re in no shape to be alone right now.”

to his surprise, you nodded. not only that, but you held out your hand for him to help you up, which he abided by. as he pulled you to your feet, he was about to crack a joke when you fell limp.

“woah!” his arms caught you and held you tight against him, “easy, girl.”

he laughed a bit to himself, but it quickly died out when you didn’t say anything back. upon closer inspection, kakashi saw your eyes closed, soft snores escaped your lips and he realized you passed out.

the only thing he could think to do was pick you up and take you home.

you immediately snuggled into his arms, completely oblivious that you fell asleep in the middle of an alley. and it was only after a couple blocks that kakashi remembered that he doesn’t know where you live.

[cookie-crumblr]

Hype Train!

F! Streamer Reader x M!Yandere Streamer OC

Part 3~

His Info: 📹✨

Part: 1 2 3 4

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: Use of the name jasper🫡✨ (u no who u are soldier💀) !F reader, use of she/her when referring to reader, reader has a vagina, trauma related hallucinations, GORE, violence, murder, torture, kidnapping, blood, sadism, M! masturbation, pet names(good girl), not TOO smutty yet sorry i hope it’ll be worth it 🙈✨

You aren’t sure when you fell asleep… It’s nighttime, “Fuck!” You reach for your phone.

It reads 9:24pm.

You have to work in the morning, but you’ve slept all day, how are you going to get proper sleep now?

You look over at your microwave, the time is blinking 12:00.

“Hm… Power must’ve went out,” You speak out to yourself.

Hearing your own voice is always better than hearing none.

A loud *BANG!* on your door startles you, you lurch forward.

Is it them? “Oh god, no, No NO! I can’t go back!! I PAID YOU!! Please!!”

the banging continues, as you claw at your own head.

and then,

It stops.

Just as abruptly as it started.

You get up to take one of your emergency meds.

They’re so expensive…

You don’t take them as much as you should.

You sigh, and gulp it down.

You turn your computer on, and get ready to stream.

“AHH HAHA HAH,” Pleasured laughing all day long has rendered his vocal cords sore and hoarse.

Jasper gazes fondly over his work so far.

The man you’ve been meeting every month, sitting bound to a chair.

His screams have reduced into nothing but strained guttural noises.

He can’t handle much more.

Jasper did too much, too quickly.

He’s usually more methodical, but the way you make his heart burn, has him losing every strand of sanity in his body.

Squares of this brutes flesh have been removed, the facia torn to shreds.

His teeth have been ripped out.

Fingers snipped off joint by joint.

That wasn’t good enough, Jasper had seen the way he groped you.

The hands up to his wrists sawn off next.

He wrapped him up to stop the bleeding.

He shot him up with adrenaline.

But this—This pathetic thing, isn’t lasting nearly long enough.

Even for how long it’s been going on.

Jasper wanted to savor his pain longer.

So much longer.

He launches the knife like a dart, aimed straight at his head with a furious grunt. It flies through the air and enters dead on the bullseye.

“FUCK YOU! FUCK. YOU. FUCK YOU!FUCK YOU!FUCK YOU!” He pants.

The black handle sticks out of the man’s eye socket.

He lolls his drenched head back and forth, coughing up what’s left of his own blood.

How he isn’t dead is a wonder.

“Awww, doesn’t it suck SO much not being DEAD yet?”

He walks over to him, resting an arm on the wall behind the restrained man. He leans his face down to just above his level.

“Wish I could’ve taught ya a real lesson, you disgusting thing. Sadly I think your time is jus’ about-”

*PING* his blown out pupils slowly follow the air to his pocket where he slides out a phone.

You’re live-streaming!

His hand grasps the handle.

He gurgles out one last labored plea.

“I have to go now~” He shoves the blade back in one swift motion all the way through the man’s socket, and the tip breaks through the back of his skull hitting the grey cement wall behind him.

“and so~” He flips the blade, before another vicious jab into the same socket making the hole an “X”.

“do.” *Crack*! one more

“YOU.” Blood spurts onto him one last time, he doesn’t flinch.

Jasper’s face is now completely coated sticky, drying crimson.

“Mmm” he sighs contently. “I guess I’m done here.” A final pleasured chuckle leaves his chest.

He wipes his face with the back of his hand before whipping it toward the ground, flinging more spatters of blood around him.

He pulls up your stream up on one of the laptops, and puts a phone to his ear. The man’s blood is leaving little pools on everything Jasper touches.

He can’t care less.

He’s too engrossed, too mesmerized by your precious voice.

He quickly informs the cleaning crew on the phone of his location, and that he has spilled cake all over the floor… And walls…And ceiling… Everything really.

“Yes sir! we will send the heavy duty crew asap”

Without knowing it, you soothe him, his eyes flutter shut.

A hand slowly trails to groin as he deeply listens.

He types with the other; “Hey! how are you, Y/username?”

“Hai Jasper!!! I’m so happy to see you again!!”

“mmf” he grunts as his thumb presses down on his clothed lap. “Yess” he whines, “Say my name again”

“I’m good by the way! thanks for askin! How are you!”

He finds the button and unzips his pants with his eyes still closed picturing your actual face and replaying you saying his name again, and again, and again in his head.

He can’t even hear anything you’re saying, to anyone else.

“Good! Wanna hang later?” he types deftly, hoping you’ll call out his name again.

“Omg! Yes please, Jasper!” It’s so innocent, yet he’s still fading fast into a lusty haze.

“Haah! yeeeessss,” His palm wraps his length and squeezes. His thumb teases the tip, pressing down and then massages his glands. “Beg me! Yell my name!”

The blood is acting as lube as he continues to work himself, while one hand desperately clings to the table.

He’s losing his mind just imagining the possibilities; how wet he can get you, how well you’ll take his girth. You’ll be such a good girl, won’t you?

His imagination runs wild: “Harder, Jas-Jasper! M-more!” He can picture you begging, “P-please, please! Fill me, Jasper! Fill me!”. He wants you begging.

“YN!” A low grunt leaves his mouth as he climaxes, mixing white with the red splatters across the keys.

He’s not satisfied though.

You’re not in his lap.

The pain doesn’t subside, and the swell refuses to go down.

He covers his face with his hand.

“I can’t wait to have you…”

[lanymme]

hi this is rose (wavers huswife) Can I put in a request for Kiara yuri violence with Nero who is feeling her own encroaching Beasthood crawl up her back. can be chaldea or CCC setting but I am curious to see kiara taunting Nero into becoming a beast and getting gay with it too

What a fantastic request. Fate/Extra CCC is a game about showing the most embarrassing parts of yourself to others, and I always felt like dear Saber didn’t get her chance to shine in that light. And wow, I had fun with this. Thanks for giving me this opportunity to write some of my favorite characters!

This takes place during the CCC True End, so, spoiler warning for that!

CWs: gore, consent

--

Saber’s heels clack and splash through the shallow wine-colored water, blood roaring in her ears, fire burning in her veins, as she charges toward that howling mass of disquieted spirits and the manifestation of depravity at its center.

A swirling mass of magic rises above that horned head as the incantation end, and with peals of indecent, unrestrained laughter, hundreds of streaming trails of souls peel off it fly toward her. She dodges and weaves and turns as they spatter the ground, sword cutting sheets in the water as it trails behind her, eyes fixed on the prize: the newborn goddess she will bring crashing down to honor her dear Praetor’s beautiful path through life, that lead her from knock-kneed fawn to eagle-hearted worthy, who would stand alone against certain ruin, head held high without even a knife at her hip.

But her Saber is here now, and even as she takes a few bolts in the shoulder, she reaches her foe and brings up her sword, clashing against that outstretched palm. Kiara, that enigmatic but approachable holy woman who always gave her Praetor advice, who heard her worries and made their struggle possible, smiles down at her, bemused, loving. Saber pulls her sword—tries to pull it back, but that palm has curled forward, and the grip of those fingers are irresistible. Desperately, she pulls on her blade to removed it.

Kiara leans forward, so close that Saber can smell her, incense and flowers and something unnamed.

“Ah, Saber,” she lilts, voice sweet and slow. ”I thought you had unlocked your Origin and donned that mythological Mystic Code to play with me, and yet your sword has no strength behind it. Have you decided to accept my love, after all? Please, if you are ashamed, don’t worry—shame, humiliation, disgrace: to the enlightened, these are perfumes of life.”

She grits her teeth, uninterested in responding, fighting for control. The Rose of Olympia is better than this—her dauntless partner deserves better.

Kiara laughs, and her Praetor cries out to her, and shame brands her like bitter inelegant wine.

For a moment, she remembers. Tacitus, blind to the glory of her art, ignorantly wounding her pride; Seneca, dismissing her brilliance. That gaping, yawning emptiness opens up in her heart.

She never wants to let that person down, never wants to see her disappointed in her Servant, to be unable to protect her.

Digging deep, she jerks her blade out of Kiara’s grasp, and delivers a quick duelist’s strike to her wrist, tasting blood. Turning, she spins to strike again, but her blow is deflected, unseen, and Kiara’s open palm takes her in the chest, an overwhelming flood of sensation shattering her concentration, bringing her down to a knee. Weakly, she raises her sword to defend herself, but just as Kiara bears down on her, throwing her full bodyweight into both hands, her Praetor rescues her, healing her just at the brink.

The blow is crushing, agony beyond reason seeping into her, but she survives. She survives, and she leaps back, disengaging: battered and bent, she remains on the stage.

Hakuno’s hand touches her arm, and she meets her concerned gaze, smiling proudly to reassure this precious woman whose life depends on the mettle of her sword.

But inside, her heart is shaken. She can’t disappoint her, can’t let her down—can’t fail to measure up. Anything but that.

“Good grief, Kiara. Even now, you’re playing with your food? I suppose the last dregs of your self-restraint truly rotted away in that chrysalis.”

“If you would like to fight her yourself, by all means, allow me to support you as your Master.”

“As if I could stop you from showing your ass, you gutter-side slut! Go on, embarrass yourself. I’ll just watch from here.”

She takes her Praetor’s hand in hers as she steps away, letting it drop when only their fingertips can reach.

“Keep your eyes on me!” she declares, an edge of insecurity in her voice, like it’s a plea, not a declaration to reach the ears of the gods. “I will show you how I shine!”

She turns before she can see the flash of worry in Hakuno’s eyes.

For a moment, she remembers that awful moment, repeated again and again—the eyes of the people falling, turning away, as she begins to sing.

Kiara giggles, staring at her, eyes burning. Delicately, a hand comes up to her cheek, one finger to her lips—an indecent perversion of that considerate, sisterly gesture she often showed in her rapport with Hakuno. “Oh, Saber,” she intones, voice ringing and sticky-sweet. “You’ve shown me something so interesting to inaugurate my ascension. Please, let me reward you—let me bestow favor upon you, who pleases me.”

“Foolishness! I am my Praetor’s instrument, to be wielded by her hands! The only thing I require from you is a triumph for the stage!”

Striking a ready stance, she calls up her power, the power of Rome, of a people ripening and flowering, whose aspirations and dreams she carries on her shoulders. “Fountain of Flames!”

Something stirs inside her.

Aestus Estus ignites, and she rockets forward to rejoin the fight.

“Let the arc of my blade signal the curtains to fall! Rosa—”

Kiara pulls her hand back, and a hundred magical threads entangle her, jerking her to a halt. “Ahaha! Please, don’t be so hasty!”

Saber jerks and struggles, a mere fly caught in a web. Despair runs through her heart. She can’t bear to turn around and see the face of her Praetor, who has faced adversity time and time again to bring her here, entrusting her fate to this sword now frozen in the air.

Kiara smiles at her, pityingly. “You speak of triumphs, and yet, to my recollection, you never had one yourself, did you, Heroic Spirit of the Sword?”

Saber glares at her, sword raised uselessly above her head. Kiara begins to step closer, howling spirits and death’s head encroaching alongside her.

“When I saw your impressive Mythological Mystic Code, I was so surprised to learn that one with such few achievements in the eyes of humanity would have such sealed inner mysteries to unlock!” She claps her hands together, smiling sweetly, the very picture of an innocent young lady, curved crescent ox horns titling with the motion. “I thought the Moon Cell must be unexpectedly generous, to put such thoughts toward you.”

She stands before Saber, who struggles desperately, mortally, in her bonds. But she’s too weak to free herself, to weak to respond to her Praetor’s cries, to weak to stand on the stage to which she had devoted her life.

Those beautiful, baleful eyes glint wildly, conspiratorial with dark enlightenment. “But as we have… fought,” she offers, and it stings like a knife between the ribs, “I have come to understand: the Moon Cell, the eye of god, sees things as I do.”

Kiara’s scent envelops her, running like lightning through her body. One hand strokes down her sword arm, and her face passes close enough that Saber can feel her warmth, feel the tickle of her breath agains there ear, wine and blood and smoke, and a shiver passes down to the base of her spine. “Suffering and bliss. Favor and disgrace. Pride and shame… they are each one and the same. So please, comfort yourself: your name is exalted above all others, immortalized, celebrated, in the eyes of all the world.”
 Something, something is rising inside her. Her knees are wobbling, her chest burns. Her head hurts, ah, it hurts, as bad as that day, when flames reached the heavens.

Kiara looks conspiratorially over her Saber’s shoulder, at her Master, and then back to Saber, eyes twinkling, conspiratorial.

She leans in, so close, to whisper breathlessly in Saber’s ear.

“Nero Claudius. Whore of Babylon.”

Lightning strikes through her—a fire, dark and sweet, in her gut—singing, calling, hollow craving, devouring her shame, blissful, forbidden.

At the edge of her vision, tiny flames lick at her corners of her eyes—fledgling embers, things to be nurtured, on blood and wine, on the engorged hearts of humanity.

She squirms and struggles in her bonds, panting and jerking, trying desperately to look over her shoulder, while Kiara coos to her, and smiles, and presses a kiss just behind her ear.

“Please… no.” she cries, voice melting. “Not, not in front of her.”

“Mmmm… if you want to break free. Then all you have to do is stop holding back. Right? Do it for her sake.”

It’s true. It’s true. Ah, she’s been so foolish. Disgraceful. But even in her disgrace, there’s something, something she can do, to respond to that hand that reached out to her, that accepted her, that chased her back until she could stand beside her, that rescued her when she was injured, that returned for her: Hakuno, who sacrificed her body to free her from that eternal sleep.

“…”

I’m sorry.

She can’t bear to look, can’t bear to see the expression on that face. But all of a sudden, she snaps her bonds, and strikes her blade deep into that shoulder. Blood, rich and red and plentiful, gushes from the wound, even though this is the Moon Cell, and such things are normally impossible.

Kiara laughs, full and throaty, and with a backswing of her hand, a wall of force swats Saber away, desires and foibles and vanities sizzling and burrowing through into her.

But now, it is devoured, into that hollow, hungry emptiness burning inside her.

All too soon, she sees that wound close, fading away to nothing. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough. To… to find victory, for her Master.

Her stomach growls.

She refocuses her attention on Kiara, and all of a sudden, she is dazzled. How could she not see it before? Decadence, vanity, satiety and want—a cradle of sin, a body offered up, mother-sacrifice to all of humanity: the ripest, burgeoning fruit of the intersection between wilderness and civilization, the she-wolf that suckles the world at her breast.

Breathtaking.

“… You really are the most graceless, despicable manifestation of a woman,” Andersen says, disgust permeating his voice. “Come on then, Kiara. If you’re done wallowing in your own filth, let’s get this over with.”

“As you say. Come, Saber. Shall we dance?”

“…I smell the scene of rot in you, woman. The time has come to pluck you from the vine with my own hands. As you have set the table, so I shall sit down to feast.”

Kiara claps her hands together, delighted. “Oh my, how lovely! I’m so glad to see you have accepted my invitation and received my teachings honestly with your heart. After all, the first step on the path to enlightenment is to renounce one’s heavenly desires, is it not?”

“… Saber?”

She shuts out that frightened voice. It hurts, it hurts, but… win, win—she just needs to win. To cut this woman down, so she can…

So she can?

So she can devour her heart, bite by bite. So she can reclaim the throne that belongs to her, the cracked egg in the branches of the blooming Sakura tree, shining down the light of civilization on them as they stand in the blood of humanity, so that she can gather it in that grail, her crystal glass, and watch as it pours over onto the earth below, as the fire spreads at her feet.

Her head hurts. Blood seeps down through her hair, and she catches some of it on her tongue as it passes beside her nose, into her mouth. Rich, salt, iron. The fruit of conquest, of germinating empire.

“Saber!”

She charges forward again, and as she sees those rapid mudras begin once more, she rends her sword through the waters at their feet, and a foul scarlet wave rushes ahead of her, floating lotus blossoms bobbing up, turning over like helpless ships in an angry sea.

She laughs, imperious, hollow, anguished, as she charges forward, bursting through the swell.

Kiara raises a hand to stop her, the wave parting around her, but Saber bursts through it at her side, flanking her, and puts her whole weight into spinning, stabbing forth with all her strength—shattering that barrier, taking her foe in the side, drawing out a cry somewhere between scream of pain and heat laugh, her burning blade hissing and crackling as it rends through spiritronized flesh. She groans in satisfaction at the first taste of this extravagant gift.

“What a delicacy you will make. The appetites of a dozen burgeoning cities, fallen and decadent, condensed down into the body of one woman.” She looks into those gold eyes, wells to the hollow where all the desires of humanity collect to steep and mature. She twists her blade in the wound, and Kiara’s body jerks. “I shall be sure to clean my plate.”

Kiara steps closer, approaching like a lover through a doorway, sword sliding deeper into her body, and strikes Saber in her sternum. Flashes of muddied, amalgamated desires tear through her thoughts even as the blow fractures bone: the unfulfilled promise of decadence, starvation after feasting, an unending cycle. Sharp pain, the dull and intoxicating burn of want, mingle together like a dizzying, fragrant wine. She shudders, overcome, and then seizes that wrist and bites into it deep, like ripe fruit, like meat, raw and bloody, tendons and bone, the deeply marinated craving of a myriad living souls swirling down to the hollow in her gut as Kiara moans in agony.

(Somewhere far away, someone calls her name. The echo of mortal shame tugs at her, and she pushes it away).

But Kiara offers her arm up to Saber’s face, does not so much as flinch to pull away. “There you are,” she soothes, voice hot. “See?” Her other hand comes up to stroke the back of Saber’s neck, softly, encouraging, even as she licks at her bones, lips and tongue and teeth, inside her. “I—ahh—always knew our tastes would be aligned, if you could only let your hair down. Would you please me, down on Earth? Live in depravity, voluptuary, chasing your own ends?” She tucks a hair behind Saber’s ear, the wet sound of consumption smacking like a deep kiss. “Accept my love, and your place in paradise: an endless banquet where the ten thousand-colored decadence of humanity blankets the land, want and excess and prosperity swelling and withering on the vine.”

She salivates, and gnaws, and dreams. City after city, conquest and shattered spears, empires at their apex with gravity just taking hold—hers to savor and take in forever. The unquiet spirits that roil behind Kiara reach out to her, dozens of beseeching hands grasping toward her. All the while, the fantasy smoulders in her gut, tempting, yearning.

But she has to kill this woman here. To devour her.

She releases that arm, and wrenches her sword free, and Kiara gasps, eyes fluttering and rolling, legs going weak, as Saber pulls back into a high guard, preparing to shear those generous arms off by the shoulder.

But in that moment, those binding threads cast by Kiara’s quick hands steal her momentum, long enough for her target to dance back out of her range.

“A pity,” Kiara laments. “But you have been wonderful. I can at least content myself to thoroughly enjoy you at your fullest, in the end.”

All the hairs on her body stand up.

Andersen is saying something. She doesn’t hear it. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears. Kiara clasps her hands together—her wrist is already better, like new.

Spiritrons gather with foreboding density, and she can feel the laws of the space they occupy run thin.

Saber races toward her, all agility, animal quickness.

But too slow. She won’t reach in time

“The hour of salvation has arrived. Those who are still alive—nghh!”

A familiar ring of energy collapses around her, disrupting the flow of spiritrons, and Saber instinctually takes advantage of the moment, landing a clean strike across her chest, mangling one of those perfect breasts—but a moment later, all evidence of the strike is gone.

They clash again, sword inches from outstretched palm.

“Your Master is persistent. Unshakable, unlike her Servant.”

A pang runs through her.

Again and again, the two of them exchange blows. Clashing, feinting, riposting. She takes a hit to her ribs, and then her shoulder A cut across Kiara’s thighs, across her stomach—rich, satisfying, but so fleeting: unlike her, her opponent doesn’t flag in the slightest, and is back to full condition in a second.She can feel her grip on victory slipping, desperation setting in.

A blow to her head makes her vision swim, and she steps back, covering the distance with her blade as she disengages. She begins to warily circle Kiara, who stands still, watching her.

Those sharp, accepting eyes pick details from her face, from her body, and Kiara smiles at her, patient, kind.

“You understand, don’t you? Yes, we truly are compatible. Your seeking fang, your hungry flames…” she sighs, a hand coming up to her impassioned lips, eyes dewy. “Ah, it’s like a dream. You truly are giving it your best. But, dear Saber, did you forget? I have an Authority over craving. All The World’s Desire is pointed at me, and living things take succor from my flesh. But in that fleeting satisfaction, want is never satisfied: and so that craving returns again to me.”

A cold sweat breaks out on Saber’s body.

Kiara smiles, sweet, radiant as the golden clouds that surround their battlefield, while that formless mass of spirits that lies behind her struggles and clutches and cling to her, a hundred grasping hands, and that giant smoldering death’s head lurks, watches, from above. “I see you understand. If you would like to indulge yourself in this body, by all means, continue. But if your object is victory… triumph…”

Desperation. Humiliation.

“I think you may find that more difficult to come by.”

Crush. She has to crush her, like a ripe tomato between her teeth.

The ground trembles. A peal of distant thunder rumbles through the throne room, and tiny ripples form in the water.

For some reason, a pang of sorrow runs through her. But she knows this is the only thing left.

She lifts her head—

And startles, as two hands slap the side of her face.

“You stupid Emperor! You were the one who said you would always answer if I called for you! Listen to me when I try to get your attention!”

Oh. There are tears in her eyes.

Her Master is standing there before her, in the middle of the field of battle, her back to the enemy. Of course she is.

Of course she is.

She takes hold of her waist with one hand, pulling Hakuno behind herself, and the other comes up to parry Kiara’s killing strike.

“Aha, I see you—“

“Silence! My Praetor is speaking!”

Her riposte strikes Kiara in the kneecap, smashing the intricate bone there, dropping her too her knees with a scream.

Leaping backward, Master in tow, she creates a wide berth of distance between them.

Midair, she makes eye contact with her foe. Kiara glares at her from the floor, water lapping up over her hands, horns bent low. Her eye twitches.

They land, and Saber sets her Master down. But she won’t meet her gaze.

“Look at me.”

“I need to—“

“Saber, look at me. I mean it. Please.”

She can hardly bear to do it. She has thrown away all her pride, tarnished and bloodied the gold that she wears, shown a side of herself that even the lowest would sneer at. She has nothing left to offer her Master of that bounty she brought from the Throne: neither reassurance, a steadfast back to chase, nor the strength to stand as her champion, as she promised so long ago, in that place of death at the bottom of the Lunar Sea, far away on the Near Side of the Moon.

But she does still have faith. She has the faith they’ve built in each other.

And so she looks again into those eyes.

“There you are,” Hakuno Kishinami says. “Thank goodness.” She smiles.

Her lip wobbles a little bit. But she does not cry.

That kind hand, with only one command seal remaining, touches her face. “It’s okay, Saber.”

She knows that nothing is okay. But still… still, it’s comforting, to hear those words from that voice.

“I don’t think any less of you, you know. I just… learned more about the person you choose to be. Surrounded by darkness, but still shining on that stage… That’s my Saber. The person I admire, who taught me how to live as a human being. To lead a beautiful life.”

She does sob, this time.

It’s undignified, unworthy of her, but perhaps… perhaps in front of her Empress is the proper place for an Emperor to show that side of herself.

Behind her, she hears splashing, as Kiara stands.

“Even so,” she starts, voice wavering, as Hakuno wipes a warm tear track from her cheek, “even so, I… I’m not strong enough.”

“Nothing we’ve done has ever been certain,” Hakuno says. “We’ve always been the underdog. All we’ve ever promised each other was our best.”

Truly nothing, nothing can soothe her the way this woman can.

Kiara’s fist is clenched, but her eyes are misty and lost

“… I don’t understand. Surely my sermon was without fault. How could this be the outcome? It makes no sense.”

Her Servant laughs at her openly.

“Seriously, Kiara! You were so embarrassed about reading fairy tales, and yet you still couldn’t see this coming! As a reader, you should reflect on yourself a little!”

Hakuno takes both of her hands

“I need to keep this last Command Seal for when we win. But… but if I can ask anything of you, as your Master… I want to see you perform. I want to see you shine brighter than you’ve ever shone. And whatever comes after, I’ll be satisfied. Can you do that for me?”

She brings herself to her full height, chest puffed out, smiling through the tears.

Really. She never needed anyone else’s love, anyone else’s regard. So what has she to fear?

“Umu! You need not even ask! But hearing those words, I must raise my sights beyond the heavens! My Master, my Praetor. Your loyalty is just! Allow me to show you the art of a genius that reaches the very gods!”

She turns to face their opponents once again, emboldened, blood singing, blinking the last tears from her eyes. A pristine rose in bloom manifests in her fingers, and she closes her eyes as she takes in its familiar fragrance

Kiara begins a series of mudras, but her Master, whos heart beats as one with Saber’s own, preempts the attack with the codecast she inherited from Leo, setting the stage as she has so many times before.

Heart full, pride and love and wonder ringing throughout her body, she tosses a single rose into the air and as she charges forth, she declares:

“Behold my genius! Listen to the thunderous applause! The glory of the Empire is here!”

With a flash, a single magnificent stroke in one impossible stride as she passes over that glorious inlaid golden floor, she cleaves past Kiara’s defenses just as that flower comes to rest on marble.

“Throw open the doors like a flower in bloom…”

Once again she stands on that stage where all the beauty of the world’s beauty gathers, where storms of rose petals fall like snow: stands proud before a beloved audience who truly appreciates her art, stands in the light of the sun where she can shine unparalleled like she has so often in her dearest dreams.

“… to my Golden Theater!”

[prentissluvr]

eyes open pt.two — joel miller

gn!reader , can be read romantic or platonic , takes place a couple months after reader first meets ellie and joel! , angst, hurt/comfort , cw : pretty canon typical violence but no described injuries or blood, joel kills a couple raiders (implied), language ofc, ellie tells a pun <3 , wc : 2.3K part one here ! could be read as a stand alone tbh

“why did the can crusher quit her job?”

you don’t have to look behind you to know that ellie’s pulled out her book of puns. joel doesn’t say a thing, as per usual, and though you know she’ll finish the joke regardless, you always try to engage.

“do tell,” you encourage.

“it was soda-pressing.” she giggles, emphasizing the punch line in the way she always does. you let out a soft snicker of your own.

“not too bad. don’t trip, there’s a root right here,” you warn, knowing ellie’s probably paying more attention to her book than where she’s stepping. she always tells at least a few of her puns before tucking the book back into her pack. 

but before she can get to her next joke, joel stops in front of you. once by his side, you can see the small town that’s come into view over the hill. “we’re running short on a few things, let’s search a few of these buildings.” he doesn’t have to tell either of you to stay alert and close together; that’s always a given.

it takes mere minutes to reach the outskirts of the cluster of abandoned buildings. everything seems quiet entering, but you’re all more than aware that one can never be too careful. the three of you sweep through a couple of houses the way you always do. ellie and joel stick together while you search separate rooms for efficiency. you know what you’re doing by now; careful, thorough, and quick, with your gun always raised when entering a new room.

on the third building you hope for better luck than the first two, though you don’t quite expect it, as it appears to be an old office building—usually not too many useful supplies in those types of places, but sometimes worth it. as you explore the longer hallways, you notice the way you lose the sounds of ellie and joel’s rustling as you move from one room to the next, but pay it no mind due to the quiet of the building and safety of your gun.

“hell yeah,” you whisper in celebration after scoring a whole, though quite small first aid kit stored in a desk drawer. from the same desk you find a pack of tissues and grab a pen just for the hell of it. the rest of the room turns up empty, so you move on to another room. you anticipate the same drab desks covered in dust, but what you don’t expect or have time to retaliate against is the gun to your face as you step inside.

“drop your gun,” demands a gruff voice. you curse internally, letting your weapon fall from your hands. “now your pack.” the owner of the voice, a middle-aged woman with the same heartless eyes as every raider you’ve come across, gestures to your bag with her gun. “slowly,” she emphasizes. you sigh, following her instructions, knowing you can’t take chances with the gun inches from your forehead. you can only hope that joel and ellie will find you before this asshole can get away with your shit, and hopefully before you get a bullet in your brain. the woman is relentless, having you empty your pockets and checking them herself.

“i’m not stupid,” she growls, grabbing your spare knife out of your pocket and even further screwing up your chances of getting away. she grabs rope from her own pocket, grinning as she tells you to turn around and put your hands behind your back. “you’re lucky i’m not killing you yet,” she whispers in your ear cruelly as she grabs your hands. “my friend’ll wanna take a look at you.” before she can finish binding your wrists, the both of you hear footsteps coming down the hall.

“james?” she calls out, dropping the rope and instead wrapping an arm around your neck and resting the muzzle of her gun on your temple. fuck. realistically, you knew she wouldn’t be travelling alone, but you had certainly hoped she was.

yet, her unseen partner isn’t the one to slowly swing the door open, gun raised and a fierce focus in his eyes. it’s joel. you have to hold yourself back from letting out a sigh of relief. his gaze lands on you as he enters the room, the focus in his eyes only wavering for a moment as he takes in the sight of you being held at gunpoint. immediately you notice the lack of ellie by his side.

“let ‘em go,” he growls. the woman just scoffs.

“i think you’re the one who should be dropping your gun.” she shouts her friend’s name again, clearly looking for him to come help.

“your friend’s not coming,” joel states.

at this, your captor digs the gun into your head, bringing out a small wince from you. “fuck you,” she spits out. “now i’m gonna kill your little partner unless you drop your gun and slide it and your pack over to me right now.”

“not gonna happen.” thusfar, he’s avoided looking at you, but he still sees the way you mouth a simple question to him. where’s ellie? all you need is the light nod of his head and the look in his eyes to know that she’s safe.

“you’re real stupid, aren’t you?” the woman scoffs. “old man, you have five seconds to do what i said before i blow their brains out.” you’re stuck now, really, truly stuck. and so is joel. you can’t let him and ellie get screwed over like this, and there’s no guarantee that they’ll make it out even if he does what she says.

“joel, just go,” you choke out.

“not leavin’ ya,” he asserts, not even letting his gaze shift to your face.

“joel, you have to,” you argue. “just go.” you leave the next words unsaid, but when he finally looks you in the eye he can see them loud and clear. for ellie. that’s when he wavers, and it stings, but you can’t afford to think about it, because you mean it and you know what he’s thinking about. he doesn’t want to leave you, that much feels special coming from him despite the way he’s still thinking about doing so. you know he’s thinking of ellie, that he knows he could get her out of this alive and with all of their supplies. she’s his first priority, and you’d never argue for her not to be. 

so what surprises you is the way he levels his gun back at the woman after he let its aim fall a few inches down. “shut up.” you can tell he’s directed those words at you, despite his gaze focused back on your captor. he’s told you in those two words that he doesn’t want that sacrifice from you, but more importantly, that he’s found a way to get you all out of this. you discover his plan only a moment later, when the sound of ellie’s voice meets your ears.

“drop the gun, or i kill you, right here, right now.” she’s right behind you, and you can imagine the way she’s frowning, trying to make her voice sound older than it actually is as she presses the barrel of her gun right against your attacker’s head. “you’ve got three seconds, asshole,” ellie threatens, “one, tw–”

“okay, okay!” the woman relents, dropping the gun by your feet, and in mere seconds you’ve overpowered her. you shake the loose rope from your hands, grabbing her arm and twisting it around to face her. the next moment, she’s on the ground with you on top of her and the knife she took pressing against her throat. she stares right into your eyes with a look of hatred. 

“fuck you,” she grunts.

“yeah, fuck you too,” you snarl. with both hands you grab her collar and yank her up to her knees, knowing she has no chance to fight back with both joel, who’s travelled to stand nearer, and ellie’s guns trained on her. you shove the straps of her backpack off of her shoulders and nod to ellie to grab the bag. she snatches it up and, at the moment, the woman tries to lunge for her gun. you beat her to it, kicking it out of the way and grabbing her by the collar once again. “that was stupid, you know,” you whisper to her, then raise your voice for everyone to hear. “i was going to try and get him to not kill you. but i’m gonna walk out with the girl and it’s all up to him what happens when i do. best of luck.” with that, you let go of her and grab her gun and yours from when you dropped it earlier. you stuff hers in your pack then sling it over your shoulder. “let’s go, ellie.”

she slowly lowers her gun to follow after you, out the door and down the stairs. the gunshot echoes loudly through the building as you reach the exit. the two of you pause there, your gun drawn while waiting for joel, just in case. your sigh of relief when he appears in the hallway is impercpetible, but still a silent testament to the way you’ve come to care.

“let’s go,” he says, voice gruff as always. once back in the cover of the forest, ellie sorts through the contents of the woman’s bag, each of you taking all that you can fit in your own backpacks. no one talks much, not even ellie, as you continue travelling. joel pushes you all to go further than normal, afraid that someone could have heard the gunshot and been aligned with the raiders you ran into. by the time he deems it too dark to continue on, you’re exhausted and cold from the trek through the snow, and though you’d never admit it, still shaken from your run-in today. you all huddle around the fire, silently eating the lucky rabbit joel was able to catch.

“thank you,” you break the silence. “for saving me.”

the look on ellie’s face is almost funny as she incredulously exclaims, “obviously! we’d never leave you. that ass didn’t know what she was getting herself into.”

you have to hold back a grimace at her words, knowing exactly what she doesn’t about the moments right before she came into the room.

“of course,” you agree with her. “but still, i mean it. thanks.” ellie gives you her signature grin and you catch joel’s tight nod and downcast gaze from the corner of your eye. not long after, joel offers to take first watch, and you and ellie are quick to tuck into your sleeping bags. it doesn’t take long for you to hear the gentle snores of ellie, but sleep does not grace you as quickly as it does her.

at first, you had settled down facing away from joel, but as you grow tired of your position, you can’t help but shift over onto your other side. you keep your eyes closed, hoping sleep will find you.

but joel’s voice, soft in an effort to keep ellie asleep, with a hint of some other intention you can’t quite place, interrupts your restless state.

“i woulda figured something out,” he starts, and you let your eyes drift open to find him staring into the fire. you sigh and bite your lip apprehensively.

“are you sure?”

the question was easier to ask when he wasn’t looking at you, but now he’s turned his eyes to you. the look in them is like the softness in his voice, something you’re unsure of; could it really be fear, a hint of tenderness? Or just the cruelty of your mind playing tricks on your heart that’s desperate to be cared for.

“yeah. ‘m sure.” and from the way he says it, you can only find it in yourself to believe him, at least a little bit.

“okay,” you sigh, a bit of peace pushing some of that pit from your stomach. you don’t expect him to speak again, and let your eyes begin to close. but he does.

“are you alright?” his voice is almost hesitant as he asks, as if he’s afraid the answer could be “no.”

“i’m okay,” you reassure.

“listen, uh. i’m sorry that happened. we won’t split up next time.” an apology. and a pause, an inhale that makes you wonder if he’ll offer another. but nothing follows, so you’re not sure what to say.

“wasn’t your fault.” it’s true. the situation wasn’t his fault. but his wavering was his own and you wish with every particle of your being you weren’t hurt by it because it was you who told him to go, because you understand. you understand and you still wish it was a figment of your own imagination, but you hear from the hesitance in his voice that he’s skirting around the subject and he knows that you saw him doubt. “that’s alright. splitting up makes it go faster.”

“no,” this time there's a fierceness in his voice, a determinedness you’d never expect. “it’s safer that way. gotta keep you two safe. both of you.”

and that last sentence that he says with much more of his soul than you’re sure he intended sends your doubts to hell and your lonely heart to heaven.

“okay,” you whisper, voice soft and accepting of his protection like an exhale of breath when spring comes after a harsh winter. finally your eyes drift closed on their own accord, and before you slip into sleep, his gentle voice tells you to “sleep tight.”

[ifonlyitwasmidnight]

TW: DARK CONTENT. Massive yandere themes. Dubcon. Murder. Knife play. MINORS, BLANK, OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. I WILL BLOCK YOU ON SIGHT.

WC: 3.7k

This is dark. If you are not okay with obsessive stalker exes coming after you to get you back and murdering your date, DO NOT READ THIS.

Shikamaru is obsessed. He wants you back, and he won't let anyone stand in his way. Not even you.

ShikamaruxF!Reader

CW: Names (including whore), threats, violence, fingering, vaginal sex, coercion, forced voyeurism, aged-up content

Shikamaru stood across from the restaurant you were in. That fancy one you had been begging him to take you to for the past few months, watching as you reached across the table and placed your hand on your date's forearm. The heavy drag he took from his cigarette did nothing to calm his nerves. 

You'd stopped returning his calls three weeks ago. Now he knew why. You must have thought you were smart by changing your phone number and moving jobs. It had been an easy task tracking you down again. A charming smile and a quick hook-up with one of your co-workers, and she spilled all the information about you he was looking for. Simple enough for a man like him. 

He always told you that you needed to be more careful about who you were friends with. He watched, never removing his eyes from you, as you gingerly drank from your cup, covering your mouth as you placed it down to cover a giggle. He knew the sound of that giggle—he could hear it in his mind. He'd be hearing that sound from your sweet lips again. Soon.

Your apartment was bathed in moonlight as he pulled himself up to the second floor of the building, hopping smoothly over the railing onto your patio. Shikamaru reached into his pocket, fishing out the keyring that contained a key to your new lock. You'd had them changed one day after someone had broken into your apartment while you were asleep. You never figured out it was him checking on you after a night out with your friends. 

Shikamaru had simply taken the liberty to swipe the extra key when you called him, crying and begging him to sit with you while the locksmith did his job. You had said you needed him... even though you'd already asked for a "break" at that point. He couldn't deny you, not when you were begging in that sweet way you knew drove him crazy.

Your keys jingled in the hallway. Shikamaru disappeared into the shadows in the corner of the room, where he knew the light from the hallway outside wouldn't permutate and reveal his hiding spot. He could hear your tipsy laughter and the deep timber of a male voice.

You'd brought him home. Here. To the place he lived with you. 

His blood ran cold. Had he put his hands on you in the car? Had this nobody touched what belonged to him? You tumbled in through the door, tossing your purse and keys onto the entryway table while your date was pressed against your back, arms wrapped around your waist as he peppered kisses over your exposed flesh. 

Every muscle in Shikamaru's body was poised to strike. To beat the man bloody. But he waited. Waited until you turned in your date's arms and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips against his in a hungry kiss. Watched as you stepped backward, stumbling over your own feet as the bastard reached behind you to unzip your dress. The air was quickly turning thick. The scent of lust in the air seeped into every nook of a place that was once filled with you and him. 

Your date tried to lead you to the couch, closer to where Shikamaru stood, and he relished it. How unsuspecting you both would be. At the last second, you pulled away, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him towards your shared bedroom because it was his bedroom still, even if you refused to admit it to yourself. You didn't even bother to shut the door before he heard you both collapse onto the bed in a fit of giggles. 

Shikamaru stalked slowly toward the door, straining his ears as your contented sighs began to fill the next room. He stopped just on the other side of the wall, listening as you let this man attempt to fuck you right. He could tell by your strained grunts that he hadn't even bothered to try and prep you, that he didn't bother to give your sweet pussy the attention it deserved. He wondered if you were regretting it yet, bringing home a stranger to try and fuck him out of your memory. Shikamaru knew it would never work. 

Ten minutes. That's all the fucker lasted before he whined, asking if you had finished yet. He smirked when he heard you fake your orgasm a moment later. The bed creaked as you excused yourself to the bathroom. Shikamaru reached into his pocket, knowing this was his chance. 

The idiot didn't have a chance to scream before Shikamaru was on him, yanking him off the bed, quickly wrapping an arm around his neck, cutting off the airflow. He covered your date's mouth with the rag he had retrieved. The pathetic sounds he made muffled as he tried to warn you of the danger waiting for you upon return. His body soon went limp in Shikamaru's arms, and he let the bastard's body collapse to the floor. 

Shikamaru moved to the bathroom door next and waited once more. The door cracked open, and you emerged wrapped in a silk robe he had purchased for you. You paused just over the threshold, looking around whatever his name was. Shikamaru grabbed your arm, pulling you tightly against his chest before slapping a hand over your mouth, muffling your screams of panic. 

"Shh, angel. You wouldn't want the neighbors to hear, right?" He whispered in your ear.

You were frozen. Unable to move even a single finger. You knew what this was. You'd played with these shadows too many times in your life before. Shikamaru knew you would understand the implications. 

"I'm going to move my hand. I need you to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?" He could feel you shiver as he trailed his nose up and down the column of your throat. You were wearing his favorite scent. He savored the way you felt in his arms again. Safe. Secure. You'd see in the end that this was what you needed, just a simple reminder that he was what was best for you. 

Shikamaru tightened the arm around your waist when you didn't answer, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper. You nodded quickly as fat, hot tears fell onto Shikamaru's hand. 

"That's my good girl," he said. 

He let the shadow possession fade away before pushing you forward to the bed. He turned you in his arms, not giving you a chance to run from him again, before digging into his pocket again for the zip tie he had stashed there. 

"I'm going to tie your arms behind your back, and then I want you to sit. Can you do that for me, baby?" He didn't wait for your answer before securing your arms and gently pushing on your shoulders until you were sitting. He wiped the tears from your cheeks as they continued to fall.

"What're you doing here, Shika?" Your lip trembled as you spoke. 

"I missed you." 

"We broke up." 

Shikamaru froze and felt the anger roaring in his mind. It clouded all rational thought. It drowned out all the things he wanted to say. He gripped your thighs tightly, hard enough to bruise, before looking you in the eye. He knew by the sharp intake of breath that he must look terrifying. 

"You're mine." The words were laced with venom, dripping in ire as he spat them at you. He knew you were trembling out of fear now. You flinched as he raised a hand and pressed the backs of his knuckles against your cheek. "Don't be afraid of me, angel. You know I'd never hurt you."

Shikamaru pushed your back onto the bed and climbed over you to press his lips against your forehead before retreating. He went to the small table for two where you used to have breakfast together and grabbed a chair, dragging it across the floor and back into your room. He placed it at the end of your bed, facing you. He quickly retrieved your unconscious date and sat him upright in it, using the remaining zip ties to secure his hands and legs to the metal legs and backing. 

"Dan!" You gasped when you saw his lolling head. Dan, Shikamaru now knew he was called, groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. A loud crack sounded through the room as Shikamaru's hand collided with Dan's cheek, rousing him completely from his stupor. 

Dan coughed as he gasped for air. He struggled to raise his arms to rub at his abused throat, which already had a purple bruise blossoming across the skin. 

"What the fuck?" Dan yelled in a hoarse voice. 

Shikamaru grabbed Dan tightly by the jaw, forcing his face up at an unnatural angle while sneering down at him. 

"You touched what's mine," Shikamaru spat.

"Shikamaru!" You screamed from the bed.

"Shut up!" Shikamaru yelled back, whirling on you. "I told you to stay quiet!"

You shrunk back into yourself, trying to retreat as far onto the bed as possible to escape. Shikamaru looked back to Dan, who was struggling with new vigor to escape his imprisonment. He spat in Dan's face before shoving it away. He returned to the bed, ripping his shirt off and dropping it to the floor. You wiggled, desperate to get away as Shikamaru advanced on you. He grabbed your arm and sat you upright, dragging you back to the center of the bed. You were looking at him with such fear and hatred. He'd fix that soon enough. 

Shikamaru climbed behind you, leaning back into the mountain of pillows still askew from your previous encounter with Dan. He pulled you back against his chest and hooked his feet under yours, pushing your legs apart, causing your thighs to be draped over his own. Your robe fell open, exposing you to Dan, who looked upon you with fear and disgust. 

"I don't think he likes me being here, angel," Shikamaru whispered in your ear, dropping his voice an octave. He touched your inner thigh, and you jumped from the unexpected contact. 

"You're a sick bastard," Dan said.

Shikamaru felt your skin prickle as he dragged his fingertips over your exposed skin, making his way up to your center. He felt you shiver against him and hid his smirk against your shoulder. He couldn't resist pressing kisses there, covering the places he had seen Dan kiss you. He'd erase all the marks on your body put there by another man. Shikamaru groaned, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head when his fingers grazed over your pussy; you were wet. 

"My, my, my... if I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me too," Shikamaru said.

You whimpered when his fingers brushed over your clit. 

"I just need one more thing from my pocket, love." Shikamaru nipped at your earlobe as he fished a kunai out of his pocket and pressed it gently against the underside of your jaw. You froze as the cool metal met your skin. 

"What're you doing?" Dan yelled. 

Shikamaru looked Dan in the eye as he resumed the light brushes over your clit, causing you to whimper again.

"If she wants to act like a whore, I'm going to treat her like one," Shikamaru said simply. He applied more pressure to your clit, rubbing it in a perfect figure eight like he knows you enjoy, and your body instantly responded, chasing the stimulation. 

You tried to suppress your moans at the ministrations, struggling to keep your composure. 

"I want you to look at him while I play with you, baby. Did he make you cum?" Shikamaru felt your head turn slightly as more pressure was placed against the kunai in his hand. "Tell him. I know the answer." 

Shikamaru slowed the assault on your clit as your legs began to tremble. 

"Go on. Did he make you cum?" The words were said a little more forcefully this time, Shikamaru's patience running thin at your continuously delayed answers. 

"No." Tears fell from your eyes once more at the confession, stifled by the loud moan reverberating through the air when Shikamaru plunged two of his long fingers into your pussy, curling them tightly to drag against your g-spot. 

Shikamaru placed a hot, open mouth kiss on your neck as he pumped his fingers into you. Only aided by the gushing of your pussy as he increased the pace.

"Did he fuck you as good as I do?" He continued.

"N...no," You whimpered.

"Did he play with your pretty pussy before he shoved his dick into you? Did he bother to get you wet like this?" Your hips writhed against Shikamaru's hand, spurred on by the words he was spitting into your ear. 

"No!"

"You sick fuck!" Dan yelled again, horror across his face at what he was witnessing.

Shikamaru stopped his fingers and removed the kunai from your throat, pointing it at Dan. 

"If I hear another word out of you, this kunai is going into your heart." Shikamaru turned your head by placing the back of the blade against your cheek. "Do you want me to keep fucking you, angel?"

Your pupils were blown wide. You were looking at your ex-lover with a mix of lust and fear. 

"Why are you doing this, Shika?"  

Shikamaru slowly pumped his fingers back into you. Once. Twice. Before stopping again.

"I already told you. Now answer my question: do you want me to keep fucking you in front of your date, or should I kill him now and leave you here unsatisfied?"

Your eyes darted between Shikamaru and Dan. Dan trembled in the chair, his eyes shut tightly. 

"Will you let him go?" You whispered, and Dan's eyes snapped open.

Dan was shaking his head, "No! No, you don't have to do this! Tell him to stop!"

"I'll think about it." Shikamaru began pumping his fingers back into you quickly, rushing you toward the precipice of orgasm. Your legs shook, still hooked over Shikamaru's thighs. 

"Open your eyes, Dan!" Shikamaru shouted. He grinned as Dan made eye contact with you. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he watched you submit to Shikamaru's wants. He couldn't tear his eyes away from watching Shikamaru's fingers disappear into your cunt. 

Your walls fluttered around Shikamaru's fingers, sucking them back in each time they retreated from your heat. 

"Let go, baby. Let him hear you." 

Your back relaxed into Shikamaru the closer you got to orgasm, letting your head lull against his shoulder. Your moans grew in volume, little whimpers of Shikamaru's name thrown in every so often that made his cock strain against his pants. He wanted to slam his cock into your wet cunt. He longed to feel you wrapped around him again and hear the sound of his flesh against yours as he made you scream. 

"Tell him how good my fingers feel," Shikamaru demanded. You shook your head, biting down hard enough on your lip that Shikamaru could smell blood. "Tell him or I stop," he growled.

"Good! Fuck, Shikamaru! Please don't stop!"

Shikamaru dropped the kunai to the bed and grabbed your jaw with his now free hand, turning your face up so he could slam his lips against yours. You moaned into the kiss as your legs shook and your back arched off Shikamaru's chest. 

"Cum, whore," Shikamaru growled against your lips, and you exploded. You came with a scream of his name, and if Shikamaru were a lesser man, he might have come in his pants from the sound. 

Dan was sobbing and shaking where he sat. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you came down from your high, melting completely into Shikamaru. 

"Shika," you whimpered.

"Hmm?" He answered as he pressed kisses along your hairline.

"My hands. Please." 

Shikamaru retrieved the kunai and cut the zip tie, content with you lying in his arms now that you had begun to remember who he was to you, where you belonged. The knife clattered on the bedside table. 

You leaped for the knife and quickly turned back to Shikamaru, straddling his hips before pressing the blade against his throat. Shikamaru chuckled darkly at the turn. 

"You gonna kill me, sweetheart?" Shikamaru lifted his chin and leaned forward, pressing the blade deeper into his Adam's apple until it drew blood. 

"Do it!" Dan yelled at you.

Your hands trembled as you loomed over Shikamaru. He knew you couldn't do it. You would never seriously hurt him. 

"Do it, baby," he teased. His hands landed on your hips, pulling you down onto his stiff cock and rocking you against the fabric of his pants. "Go on. Do it."

Shikamaru groaned at the feeling of your cunt rubbing against him, unbothered by the knife to his neck. Seeing you like this, over him, threatening him, made him harder, only reaffirming in his mind that you were just as crazy for him as he was for you. That you would be willing to do this and still hesitate confirmed how much you still needed him. He knew his cock would be dripping in pre-cum by the time he finally got to fuck you.

"Can't do it, can you?" He increased the pace of his push and pull on your hips, and your resolve faltered again, loosening the grip on the knife. "You want me too much, huh, angel?" 

"What the fuck is wrong with you! Kill him!" Dan yelled.

"Shut up, Dan! I can't fucking think!" You screamed.

"Kill him, whore!" 

The room froze as the words escaped Dan's mouth, and Shikamaru quickly disarmed you, launching the kunai with perfect precision into Dan's throat. You didn't even scream as Dan gurgled, eyes wide with shock. Blood pooled from his lips and escaped down his chin before he slumped over. 

Shikamaru gently guided your eyes back to him. 

"No one gets to talk to you like that," he said as he brushed hair away from your face.

"You killed him..." 

"I said I would."

"You said you would let him go!" 

Shikamaru shrugged. "I said I would think about it."

Your eyes bounced from Shikamaru's eyes to his lips, clearly panicking about what to do next. 

"You're mine," Shikamaru said again. 

You pressed your lips against his in a heated kiss, fighting for dominance as emotions overtook you both. Shikamaru nipped at your bottom lip before forcing his tongue into your mouth, resuming the rocking of your hips. You reached your hands down and undid the belt and button on his pants, grabbing his cock through the material of his boxers, forcing a hiss from his lips. 

He pushed you off him onto your back and quickly shed his pants. You ripped at the robe, letting it fall from your body just quickly enough before Shikamaru latched his mouth around one of your nipples, causing you to yelp as he sank his teeth into it, sucking the bud into his mouth harshly. His fingers trailed up your slit again, testing to see how wet you were. He paused, letting your breast fall from his mouth.

"Did he fuck you raw?" His voice was low. A threat lingered. 

You shook your head. 

"Good." He bit into the skin at the top of your breast, leaving a harsh imprint before lining himself up and slamming his hips forward, filling you in one thrust. 

Shikamaru moaned at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him already. He pressed your legs back against your chest, settling his chest on the back of your thighs. His pace was relentless, knocking the breath out of you with each punishing thrust. Your moans grew in pitch each time he angled his hips to abuse your g-spot. 

"This my pussy, baby?" Shikamaru's words broke through your moans, and you nodded. A sharp slap landed against your thigh, causing you to yelp. He asked again.

"Yes! Yours, Shika. Only yours!" Tears forced themselves from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure. 

"Good. Now prove it." Shikamaru thudded to his back on the bed, pulling you with him and settling you on top. He grabbed your hips, forcing you to bounce. Each downward pull was met with a harsh thrust up. Your hands landed on his chest, digging your nails deeply into his skin. You worked your lower body, keeping up with him, rolling your hips in a way that made Shikamaru's eyes disappear into the back of his skull. 

"Gonna fill you up. That way, you can never leave. You'll be mine forever," Shikamaru was rambling, too lost to the pleasure to be able to control his moans. He felt it in his lower stomach, that growing sensation that clued him to how close he was to filling you with his cum. Your legs began shaking again as your walls gripped him tighter. Shikamaru leaned forward and captured a nipple between his teeth again, twirling his tongue around it. Your fingers tangled into his ponytail, and you pulled, causing him to groan against your skin. 

"'m gonna cum, Shika," you whimpered.

"Do it. Cum on my cock, angel. Fuckin' do it!" 

You screamed his name as you came, sobbing loudly as he pulled you down once more onto his cock before he pumped you full. His hips weakly twitched, ensuring you drained him of everything before collapsing back on your bed, pulling you down to lay on his chest. 

You both panted, sucking in desperate gulps of air as reality set in. Shikamaru felt you stiffen against him.

"Nara..."

"Don't you fuckin' dare," he said. 

"Shikamaru, you killed my boyfriend." You said it so matter-of-factly. 

"And I'd do it again." It wasn't a threat. "I love you. Don't you see that?"

You sighed heavily, fully collapsing your weight against him, surrendering to the circumstances.  

"Don't you love me?" The whisper was broken. You looked up at Shikamaru, who looked so broken, so lost in that moment.

"I wish I didn't have to." 

Shikamaru pressed his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. He'd deal with the body once you were asleep. 

AN: I blacked out and somehow wrote 3.7k of Yandere Shikamaru which has been plaguing my brain for the past 72 hours. It's barely proofread, don't come at me. <3 Take care of yourselves.

@tengens-4thwife