#five creatures chapter two

[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER FIVE (part two): HELL

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Five p.2 Warnings (spoilers): this chapter is dark, serious depictions of torture (breaking bones, loss of finger nails, tooth extraction, use of whips, being held by chains) with lotta blood/gore mentioned, alluded reference to SA, emotional manipulation with gaslighting

Note: "anne" is Turkish for "mom/mother'',

This is the second half to chapter five. I decided to split it in half so it wasn't super long. Happy reading<3

[link to chapter index]

Clinking chains rattled in her ears. 

The sound swayed gently back and forth above her head. 

There was a tight, aching pain in her shoulders which throbbed with each slow beat of her heart. 

A quiet moan whimpered from her chapping lips. 

Her feet were dangling on unsteady ground. Her toes were just barely scraping the surface as she tried to keep her body from the constant sway. 

She felt like she was bobbing along the gentle waves of the ocean. 

Lost at sea. 

She had been dreaming of her mother. 

“Ah, welcome back, Aylin.” 

She knew that voice.  

She forced the sandbags from her lids as she struggled to open bleary eyes. 

“Mom…anne…”

Her words sounded foreign in her ears. Scratchy. Deep. Like they came from somewhere other than her own lips. 

A wavering face of a beautiful woman appeared in front of her. 

Her jawline could cut through steel. Soft, full lips that were stained with a juicy red which shimmered under the dull overhead light. 

Aylin focused in on the color as a drop of crimson trailed down the woman’s chin. 

“I’m not your mother, little one. Though I could be with the right persuasion.”

Calypso dabbed at the drop of red with her finger, sucking it into her mouth, and pulling it back out, clean, with a pop. She threw back her head and let out a laugh that echoed off the stone walls. 

Aylin flinched away from the venomous sound as it pierced her ears.

Panic started to overtake her senses the more they awoke. 

She was dangling upright with her arms outstretched above her head. Heavy, rusted cuffs locked her wrists in place with a chain descending from a thick, wooden beam of the ceiling. The tips of her bare feet just brushed against the cold, concrete floor. She was stripped of her clothes apart from her dark sports bra and matching underwear. A shiver wracked through her scantily clad body. 

“No!” Her panic seized in her throat, forcing her to shun away the grogginess grabbing hold of her mind, and flood her with horror. 

They were going to hurt her. 

She was in danger.

“Mom!” She screamed out, her shrill voice echoing off the walls, her desperation evident in her pleading tone. “Help me! Anne! Help me! Someone help me!” 

She thrashed at the chains holding her, her careful balance losing grip, as she spun around like a fish dangling from a line. Tears burned behind her eyes and spilled down her heated cheeks. 

She was scared.

Terrified. 

Left feeling like a little girl shrinking into her covers at the shadows dancing in the corner of her dark bedroom. 

The terror of the unknown was taking hold of her quickly draining sanity. 

“What are you doing? Where are my clothes?” Aylin cried. “This isn’t right! Let me go!” 

Sergei and Calypso both stood side by side against a large table opposite her. They watched her futile attempts with stone cold expressions. 

Finally, Sergei rolled his eyes, and stepped forward to halt her growing madness. He placed a large hand over her bound wrists to stop her spinning out of control. He held her steady with an exasperated sigh. 

“Enough.” His stern voice cut through her panic and made her hold her tongue from further outbursts. 

Her lip quivered in response, biting back another whimper. Her eyes darted around the room in a desperate attempt to take stock of everything she could see. 

Calypso was lounging against a large table behind Sergei’s back. She still donned her skimpy robe which did nothing to cover her body. It hung open to expose her large breasts and red, laced panties. She had never been one for modesty and used her beauty as a tool to command the room. Here, she was using it to keep the other woman in a constant state of unease. Aylin caught a glimpse of ominous looking tools scattered across the table’s surface behind the deadly woman. Nothing good could come from those. 

Her eyes sought out the wood burning stove glowing orange with dancing light against the back wall. It cast a wave of oppressive heat over everything it could reach. The chill of fear Aylin had felt upon waking was replaced with beads of sweat glistening over her bare skin. The glow from the fire was the only other light source besides a single, dull bulb dangling from the ceiling. 

The floor under her scraping toes was stained dark. Horrifying splattered stains trailed down to an old grate in the middle of the floor. Old blood stains. The implications of what she was looking at, and where she was placed, made bile rise in the back of her throat. 

This was a torture chamber. 

Hidden underground.

Away from the guild’s prying eyes. 

She had no doubt her screams would be muffled by the earth surrounding them. 

She had lived here her entire life and never once heard the cries of those who’d been unlucky enough to pay a visit down to the depths of this hell. 

No one knew where she was. 

No one would hear her. 

She was alone with two sadists. Two people who she once admired and wanted to be like. Two people who she used to trust with her life. Two people who had worn their masks so well, she never dared to look further. 

She could see them clearly now. 

They wore no masks down here. 

All she had was herself. 

A rustling noise over her shoulder grabbed her attention and she quickly craned her neck back to see a familiar, silver lined cage pushed into the far corner of the basement. 

Aylin’s heart leaped in shock.

The girl from the ceremony. 

She lay, curled into herself, at the bottom of the cage. Her naked body was caked with dried blood. Her hair was greased back from her dirt covered forehead. She had a fresh, openly bleeding wound leaking from her wrist onto the filthy concrete bottom of her cage. Her dull eyes rolled back in their bruised sockets as her head lulled against an outstretched arm. 

She was still alive. 

Barely. 

But she was breathing. 

They hadn’t finished her off the night Aylin ran. 

Though, a part of her wished that they had. The miserable, young girl looked to be in terrible shape. She might have been better off dead than trapped here. Aylin should have just killed her. Put her out of her misery. Now look at where she was. Right back where she probably started, trapped in a torture champer, covered in her own filth. 

Sergei hummed with approval as he allowed Aylin to quietly observe her surroundings. The sound drew her attention back to the man towering before her. A brushing of red stained his lips much like his wife’s. Aylin glanced back at the fresh cut on the wolf girl’s wrist. It was thin and precise. The curved dagger hanging at Sergei’s side was tipped with the same colored crimson.

Wait. 

No. They weren’t. They couldn’t be. That would go against every word they ever preached. It was impossible. It was…absolutely what they were doing. 

That was the wolf girl’s blood on their lips. 

They had been drinking her blood. 

Lycan blood. 

Aylin couldn’t recognize him anymore. He was no longer her revered guild leader but a stranger masking dark secrets. Secrets her dazed mind couldn’t even begin to unravel or comprehend. She couldn’t remember what made someone a Lycan. There was definitely some lengthy process that merged human cells with that of the wolf. But, blood drinking…that was…she didn’t know what it was. She didn’t know what it meant. Her body ached and her brain was in desperate need of a long sleep. Whatever they were doing, it couldn’t be good. 

He was no longer Sergei Kravinoff in her eyes but had made his final morph into Kraven the Hunter. This was her enemy. 

The caged girl let out a soft moan of pain. The sound of her rustling against the bottom of the cage filled the room as she tried to curl tighter into herself. 

“She’s not dead,” Aylin croaked out. “You kept her.”

“Surprised? We had a deal, don’t you remember?” He released his hand from her wrists and watched as she desperately tried to find purchase on her tiptoes to stop from swaying. He leered down at her like a puppet master pulling the strings of his doll. “You were supposed to bring me a heart. I sent you on a mission like I do with all new hunters. Go out, away from the safety of your party, and take out a single wolf all on your own. Return with their heart as proof of your kill and be welcomed with open arms into the big leagues. An honor among the Silver Colts. A tradition as old as time. Should be simple for someone who has trained their entire life with us, should it not? I sent you out with the highest of expectations. I even gave you additional orders to bring back important information on the pack. Anything of value we could use. You claim to have killed two wolves yet returned, a day late, with nothing to show. No information about the pack. No heart. Empty handed with nothing but a story.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Samuel’s daughter would never dare weave an elaborate tale to her leader. I helped train you. I’ve been on hunts with you. I’ve seen what you can do. I know that you can kill. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I wanted to believe your story, Aylin. I really did. And I do think that there’s a truth to it. I think you really did kill a few wolves that night but, I think, you’re forgetting something…important. Is there some little detail you might have forgotten about? Anything you might want to share with us?”

She adamantly shook her head, keeping her jaw locked tight, and pleading at him with her eyes. 

Kraven took a thick finger and traced it down her jawline until it landed under her rounded chin. He lifted her face up to his to study her imploring expression. 

“Such a beautiful girl,” he mused as the pad of his thumb brushed over her bottom lip. “You look just like your mother. There’s hardly a trace of Samuel in your features but I see his spirit in your soul. That fire burning behind your eyes. That hatred flowing through your veins that’s aimed in my direction. That, right there, is Sam. You’re the daughter of one of the best hunters this guild has ever seen. Apart from me, of course.” He smirked down at her. “You have talent. Purpose. Your future shines so bright here. So, what I can not seem to understand is why you refused to kill that pathetic creature-” his head jerked over her shoulder to the girl in the cage “-in front of everyone. I was giving you an out. A way to prove yourself to everyone. You fumbled the mission but I gave you everything you needed at that ceremony.” His voice was starting to rise as his temper grew. “I was handing you your new position in this guild on a silver platter! Why didn’t you follow through? What the fuck happened in that camp? What did you see out there, Aylin?! What changed you? Tell us!” 

His hand tightened painfully at her jaw and she flinched as specs of spit flew from his lips to hit her face. 

“Nothing!” She tried to advocate for herself by making her voice sound steady but it only came out as a wailing cry. “I swear, Sergei! I would never lie to you. I just got ambushed. I was overwhelmed. I was in the process of extracting that wolf’s heart when the whole pack showed up. I had to run or else I would have been ripped apart. I’m so sorry.” 

He gave her a smile though there was nothing warm behind it, “Oh, see, I believe that part. I believe you were ambushed. But none of that would explain why you refused my command in front of my guild during your ceremony. It was so easy, Aylin. Your future was right there. All it took was gutting that whore and giving me what I wanted. Any hunter should have been able to accomplish that! Even the new trainees who haven’t yet seen their first werewolf could have done it! If this was last week, you would have ripped her heart from her chest without a second thought. Something happened the night I sent you out to that camp. Something changed. I want to know what it was.” 

She swallowed. 

She didn’t know what to tell him. 

She had no answers for him. Any hint of the truth would be treason. Truth or lie, she was still the one chained up and begging for her life. She would be tortured either way. She’d be punished regardless of what she said. The only difference that would be made was Peter’s freedom. If she held her tongue, he could escape with his life. If she told the truth, he would be hunted down. 

But isn’t death what he wanted? Isn’t that what he had been begging her for all this time?

But it wasn’t what she wanted. 

And, right now, she was the one hanging from the chains. Not him. She was the one who still held the power over his life. If he was going to die, it would be at her hands. No one else was allowed to touch him. 

“I-” her words floundered. “Nothing…nothing happened…I just…wasn’t feeling well…” 

“Bullshit,” he spat back at her. 

Peter would live. She had made up her mind. She didn’t give a shit what he wanted. He was going to live whether he liked it or not. She refused to get tortured for someone who was just going to die anyway. No. He was going to stay alive as payment for whatever she was about to endure. That was the least he could do. 

Her jaw tightened with determination. They could do anything they wanted to her. She wouldn’t let her secrets fall. 

Calypso must have noted her change in attitude because she turned around to carefully examine each tool thrown onto the table before her. She appeared at her husband’s side with a pair of heavy, thick pliers and a daunting smile plastered to her lips. 

For a brief moment, as Aylin’s eyes landed on the tool, her resolve faltered. Fear flooded her veins. This was going to happen. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.

“I can get her to talk,” Calypso mewled in Kraven’s ear. “Let me give it a try. I’ll get whatever you need out of her.”

His eyes glanced from Aylin, down to the pliers in his wife’s hand, and he took a step back, crossing his arms, “Well? What do you say, kid? You can let us in on whatever it is you’re hiding or I can leave you alone with Cal for a bit. Hmm? Now is your chance. Forgiveness is still on the table. I just want the truth.” 

Aylin gave a soft, defeated sigh. She wasn’t going to talk. Whatever would happen, would happen. She gave up her control and resigned to her fate.

A look of genuine disappointment flashed across his face, “That’s a shame. I had such high hopes for you. You’re just like your father. Another failure. Another disappointment.” 

She didn’t understand what he meant. Her father had always loved him like a brother. They were best friends. Since when did he ever look at Kraven with hatred? He loved him. Just like she had loved him. Something wasn’t adding up in the story she was told. The webbed lie of her entire life went deeper than she could have ever imagined. 

“We can still fix you, Aylin. You just need a little rehabilitation to get you back on the right track. Don’t worry. You’ll fall in line soon enough.” 

Without another word, he turned with a stiff back and walked up the wooden stairs. The sound of grinding gears followed as the bookcase locked itself back into place.  

A silence fell over the room. 

The rickety breaths of the young wolf girl were all that filled her ears as she stared down Calypso. 

“Why do you still have her?” Aylin asked, hoping to potentially derail whatever horrors were going through Calypso’s mind. “She’s practically dead already. What more purpose could she have?” 

A pointy toothed grin flashed before her eyes. 

“She was your gift. A peace offering from Kraven, the mighty hunter, to his favorite protégé. A gift you threw back in his face.” She trailed the cold tip of the pliers down the inside of Aylin’s arm and over her armpit, enjoying the sight of the chained woman squirming beneath her. “Ticklish?” 

Aylin responded with a grunt and narrowed her eyes, “I thought we’re supposed to kill wolves. Not torture them. Why is she still here?” 

Calypso raised her thick, curved brows, “Because of you. You were supposed to be the one to kill her. Or did you already forget why you’re hanging by your wrists?” 

“I thought someone else had done it when I left,” she squeaked out. Shame washed over her. Whatever happened to that girl now was her fault. 

“We let whoever stuck around after you ran have their fun with her, don’t you worry, but her heart is yours. So, until you take it, she will be stuck down here…rotting. Waiting. Wishing for her demise.”

It was like Calypso could feel the guilt drowning Aylin because she flashed her a giddy smile. She dragged the pliers slowly down her bare side and over her hip, toying with her, drinking in her remorse. 

“That bitch has been here a long time, though. Long before she was meant for you. She’s served her purpose. We drained her of everything she could give. Her last hurrah, her final offer to the guild, was all for you. And you blew it. Want to tell me why? I’m starting to feel a little pinchy,” she clicked the pliers in front of Aylin’s face. 

With a heavy sigh, Alyin let head dip, “I told you. I wasn’t feeling well. I had to run home.” 

Home. The thoughts of her mother filled her vision. Nesrin had no idea where her daughter was. She hated whenever Aylin would disappear. She’d be putting on a fake smile and going about her day but her worry would be consuming her every fiber of being. This guild was never a place she belonged. She was weaker than the rest. She wouldn’t survive losing another child. 

Aylin should have been more thoughtful. She should have gotten her mother out before she escaped back to Peter. Her family should have been her first priority. Nesrin was her only flesh and blood she had left in this world. She shuddered to think what Kraven would do to her mother if Aylin didn’t cooperate. It was no longer just her or Peter’s life on the line. 

“And we already told you,” Calypso’s sultry voice cut through her building sorrows, “we don’t believe you. You’re a terrible liar. You and your gas station boyfriend. Peter, was his name? We watched you grow up. We know you better than anyone. You would never speak to an outsider, let alone, invite them on a camping trip. No, no. I think you did something stupid. Reckless.” Her eyes widened with a smile. “I think you took something or found something…or someone…you weren’t supposed to. I think you stumbled on more than you’re giving us. It wasn’t your fault.  You couldn’t have known what we were sending you into. We haven’t been entirely honest with you much like you haven’t been with us. It’s our fault for assuming that you’d be loyal to your family, to the people who raised you and loved you, and that you’d come back with important knowledge that Sergei’s been seeking. Your solo hunt was meant to be more than just another initiation. You were meant to become something great. You were meant to give your leader important information he’s been so desperately trying to find. He knew that pack was harboring secrets, he just needed confirmation from you to tell him what they were. Or, rather, who they were.”

Aylin’s breath caught in her throat. 

They knew so much more than they let on. 

The glint shining in Cal’s dark eyes told her everything she needed to know. 

“Ah,” Calypso remarked. “So he was right. He had a hunch that a certain wolf was being given refuge in that pack. Sergei believed they were keeping him hidden, safe from our prying eyes. It’s unusual for a wolf to split from one pack to another but I wouldn’t put it past that conniving bastard.” 

Refuge? Safe?

Maybe they didn’t know as much as they seemed. She had to be careful with every word she chose to speak down here. 

“Tell me, Linny, did you find what Serg wanted? He wanted intel. He wanted someone he’s been hunting for a long time. Were his sources correct? Did you find someone special at that camp?” 

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you’re looking for. The entire pack showed up in wolf form. I have no idea who they were. I didn’t stop to ask for their names when they were lunging at me. They could have been anyone. All I know is that I killed Serena…Selena…Sierra…whatever her name was, who was my initial target, and then another white wolf. If the person you’re looking for was a white wolf then they’re dead. If they’re not then I don’t know what to tell you.” 

“And, yet, somehow Sergei just so happened to overhear you mentioning a Peter. Do you know who Peter is? Peter Parker,” she spat at the name. “The only wolf to ever outsmart my husband. The only one to ever escape his grasp. He’s been hunting him for years now. It’s his little obsession. His white whale, if you will. He wants that creature's head mounted on his wall. Human or wolf, it doesn’t matter to him. A trophy is a trophy, after all.”

“Peter is a very common name,” Aylin covered. “There are probably so many Peter’s living in New York right this very second. Why the hell would you think I knew anything about that specific one? I told you where the Peter I met is from. I don’t know his last name. It wasn’t on his name tag and I never cared enough to ask. Go take a drive. Check out that gas station. He’ll probably be standing behind the counter, bored out of his mind, and definitely not turning into a werewolf. The dude just wants to ring up your lotto tickets and Slim Jims and get on with his life. And, if, on the very rare chance that he is that same Peter you’re looking for then, by all means, kill him. I literally do not care.”

She sounded so convincing that even she almost believed what she was saying. It would be a shame if anyone did actually go check out the gas station as the chances of a young guy named Peter working there, at this exact moment, were fairly slim. 

Calypso clucked her tongue to the roof of her mouth in annoyance. Her jaw ground back and forth as she mulled it over. 

“You’re still lying. You went to that camp as a killer and came back as a newly found pacifist.”

“I’m not a pacif-”

“Shut up. You’re hiding something.” She lifted the pliers to Aylin’s eye level. “You’re going to give me an exact play by play of your every move, every little detail, of your solo hunt. The second you leave anything out, or the moment you don’t give enough substance to your story, I’m going to use these. There’s so many fun things one can do with a pair of nice, sturdy pliers. Do you want to hear a few spoilers? First, I’ll use it to break your delicate, little pinky finger. A fun and exciting start to get your heart pumping. Then, we can move on to your nails. Ever had each individual nail ripped from its bed? Painful. Not deadly but just painful enough to get you squirming. Or, we could skip right over that, and go straight for your teeth! That would be fun! It’s not like you ever smile anyway. Your permanent scowl won’t miss a couple of teeth. After that we can go back to breaking some more appendages. There are ten fingers and ten toes, afterall. We have a lot to work with. Or we could skip to another tool to spice things up if it starts getting too repetitive. I am quite fond of a whip. If you’re good, I’ll even let you decide your fate. Don’t worry, kid, we’re going to get you set back onto the right path in no time.” 

Aylin refrained from showing any emotion despite the tears desperately wanting to form. Her shoulders were already switching from a dull ache to outright screaming in protest from holding most of her body weight. She closed her eyes in an attempt to help her mind dissociate. Before she could let it wander anywhere, they snapped back open when she felt Calypso’s hair tickling her cheek. The woman had pushed her way against Aylin’s side, snuggling her face against her neck like a lover going in for a kiss. She brought her lips to brush over the other’s carotid artery, letting her nails trail up her spine until they tangled in Aylin’s long hair, painfully jerking her head back with a crack. She whispered against her, her breath heating up her skin, and sending a flutter of shivers through her stomach. 

“I can hear your pulse. Feel it, quivering, under your skin. It’s a faint sound but I can make it out,” Calypso let out a soft moan as if the sound was turning her on, flicking out her tongue to trace over Aylin’s pulse point. “It’s delicious. I can hear so much now. Every little flutter of your heart. I can smell your fear radiating off your body. You’re scared. You should be. I can tell when people are lying to me. I can make you talk. Only the dead can hold secrets.” 

She placed a soft kiss against Aylin’s neck.  “Now it’s your turn to shine, little hunter. Tell me exactly what you did the day you stepped foot into that camp.”

She wished she wasn’t screaming. She wished she was strong enough to swallow the sound entirely. She wished she wasn’t giving Calypso the satisfaction of hearing her pain. 

But it was too much. 

This witch of a woman was true to her word. 

If Aylin dared to even pause in her rendition of her solo hunt, she was met with swift punishment. Three of the nails on her right hand were now scattered on the floor at her feet and her pinky and ring finger were snapped into an unnatural shape, bent at the knuckles, each pointing in two different directions. Her hands had gone completely numb apart from a dull, throbbing burn. It was probably a mixture of the torture being inflicted on them and fact that her blood was struggling to make the climb upward as they hung above her head. 

She’d hadn’t even reached the part where she killed Sierra yet and she hadn’t even had a chance to lie either. Every punishment was simply because she tried to take a breath between words. 

Calypso was diligent. When she said she wanted every single detail, she meant it. Every thought that Aylin had in the moment, every sight, every smell, every damn step she took, she was meant to recall with perfect accuracy. 

“And then what happened? Tell me the entire phone conversation you overheard.” 

Aylin was hiding outside of the main lodge under the open window to the kitchen. The rain had soaked through her hair and was cold against her scalp. It obscured her vision as the drops clung to her lashes. Sierra was inside cooking. Chicken. For Peter. She was talking on the phone to someone about Kateri and the way she was keeping Peter. She hadn’t liked the way he was being held. He was in terrible condition. His body was starting to fail. She was trying to feed him despite whatever Kateri had told her. That’s why she was cooking. Not for herself but for their prisoner. 

Because she wasn’t a terrible person. 

Aylin couldn’t tell any of that to Calypso. Anything with Peter had to be subtracted from the equation. 

A quick, biting slap to her face shot her head sideways. Tears blurred in her eyes but she managed to keep them from falling.

“You do not pause,” Calypso shouted at her. “When I ask you a question, you answer without hesitation!” 

“I was trying to remember…” 

She had been using that excuse the last few times without success. The state of her hands should be enough to determine that “remembering” something was not allowed. She was supposed to speak without thinking. The truth was harder to fabricate when you had no time to ponder.

“Sierra was inside,” she blubbered back through trapped tears. “She was on the phone in the kitchen. Cooking chicken. I could smell it. I don’t know who she was speaking to but she was gossiping about a woman named Kateri. Sometimes she called her Kat. I could gather from the way she spoke that Kat was their leader.” 

“And what exactly were they saying about her?”

“I don’t know!” Aylin cried. “I don’t remember every word! I think she said that Kat was a bad leader. She said she disagreed with the way she was running things. She didn’t like how she had been acting. It sounded like Kat was a bit of an asshole and Sierra was fed up with it. I could only hear one side of the conversation. I don’t know what the other person was saying. It was a short conversation. I only caught the end of it. Then she hung up, grabbed her stuff, and she went outside. That was when I followed her. I-”

Calypso caught Aylin’s jaw in her tight grasp and forced her head to look up at her. Her eyes were flashing with an accusatory distrust, “What did she do with the chicken?”

Aylin blinked, “I…I don’t know…she brought it with her, I think. I didn’t look through the window for fear of being spotted.” 

Dark eyes narrowed down at her, “She left the comfort of a warm kitchen with a dining area to do what exactly? Walk through the pouring rain with a plate of freshly cooked chicken? To go where and do what with it? Why would she leave the lodge at all after preparing a meal she’d been making? Why wouldn’t she sit down and start eating it herself? You said it was pouring rain. Why would she leave a warm kitchen? Was she taking it to someone? You said the camp was empty apart from her.” 

Fuck. Leaving Peter out of the narrative was creating holes in the story. 

Her pause was all it took to be labeled guilty. 

A precarious smile spread across Calypso’s lips. A look of glee settled onto her sharp features. Her long, pointed nails raked into skin as she clamped down harder on the other’s jaw. She had caught Aylin in her first lie. 

“Ah, do you hear that?” She teased. There was a sing-song undertone to her voice like she couldn’t be more pleased to catch her prey in her web. “That would be the flutter of your heart. The skip and the beat of someone panicking. It seems someone isn’t telling the whole truth. That’s very interesting. What could you possibly be hiding? Hmm?” 

Aylin tried to shake her head from Calypso’s grasp, her eyes wide with fear, “No! It’s not a lie! She was probably bringing it to her cabin! I killed her before she got to her destination! I never got a chance to see where she was going! I-” 

The pliers were against her lips before she could pull away. Her jaw was being crushed under Calypso’s tight grasp, bruising her skin, as her nails cut into Aylin’s flesh, drawing up beads of blood, to pry her mouth open. She was unnaturally strong as she forced open the young woman’s jaw as she desperately tried to thrash out of her hold.

“I told you what would happen if you lied,” Calypso grunted, her breath rapid with building adrenaline and excitement. Her eyes were flashing with elation as if she was getting high off the torture. “I laid it all out for you. I told you exactly what would happen. This is entirely your fault. Not mine. All you had to do was not lie. It was so easy, you silly girl.” A haughty laugh bubbled out her throat. “Now, which precious tooth should we grab to add my collection of trinkets? Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…” 

Alyin kicked out her legs, feeling the sole of her foot connect with Calypso's shin, but the woman didn’t budge. She kicked and thrashed her body around, the sound of the chains violently rattling above her, with no success. Aylin was the weaker of the two. She couldn’t win this battle. She let out a strangled cry as the cold plier gripped onto one of her back, top molars. A tightness enveloped the tooth. She could feel the ridges of metal digging into her gums. Her eyes widened with horror and she struggled her body as hard as she could against her captor. 

But Calypso was stronger. 

With a sickening crack and an inhuman strength, a blinding pain scorched through Aylin’s every cell, as a piercing scream ripped from her throat. Roots were ripped straight from her socket in one fluid motion like her tooth didn’t give any resistance to Calypso's physical prowess. Thick, warm blood flooded her mouth and choked out her airway, cutting off her screech with a horrid gargling gag. She sputtered out a mouthful of blood, splattering it across Calypso’s face. Her vision blurred as the pain overtook her. A sharp headache split down her skull like a crack of lightning. Her body went limp, the weight of her being supported by her weakening wrists. Her chin bobbed down to her chest as her neck gave out. Blood gushed from her lips and hung in congealed strands of saliva being pulled downwards by gravity. Her entire head was nothing but agony. 

Calypso admired the red, dripping tooth still clutched in her pliers. She didn’t seem to mind the splattered blood across her face. She let out a proud, entranced smile.

Aylin could barely hear her through her fading mind as she started to drift off. 

“You know, I think this tooth is perfect for me. It can be a prized charm on a necklace. Yes, yes. This will do wonderfully…”

The crack of the leather whip echoed off the stone walls as it slashed through Aylin’s bare back. 

By the tenth hit, it had split through her sports bra, which now hung loosely in tatters at her chest. It wasn’t like the thin fabric had much to cushion the blows, anyway. 

By the thirtieth, she had lost consciousness again. It was her body’s way of protecting itself and conserving her energy.  

Calypso would stop for a few minutes, allow the pain to radiate throughout her body, let her take the time to really feel it, and then continue with her flogging. Short, quick, fast slices through her ravaged, chewed up skin. 

She had no idea what number she was up to now but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 

She wasn’t even screaming or fighting it anymore. That’s how she knew it was bad. Once her body couldn’t even work up a scream, Aylin knew it was starting to fail her. Her heart beat was getting slower. If Calypso didn’t stop soon, she’d whip her to death. Maybe that was her goal? Maybe she was never supposed to leave this basement alive? She hoped it would happen quickly. 

The smell of rusty copper filled her nostrils. It was all she could smell now. All she could taste. So much blood. It felt like it was consuming every part of her. Her eyes only saw red. She was aware of the blood trailing down her back and soaking into her underwear but she couldn’t feel it anymore. She could hear it dripping from her lips, too. It landed in nearly perfect circles at her feet like drops of rain. 

She felt nothing and everything all at once. 

There was nothing but pain and nothing but emptiness. 

She didn’t know how long she’d been down here. It could have been hours or days or weeks. Time did exist in this basement. 

Only torment. 

She hadn’t even noticed when Calypso stopped her assault. It was only when she took a step in front of her, did she realize there were no more cracks from the whip. She was starting to shiver. Full body tremors shook through her despite the heat from the stove filling the room. Her teeth chattered together sending waves of pain through her jaw and up into her skull. She was losing too much blood. 

Calypso looked down at the broken girl with pity. She brushed her bloodied hands off on her robe and placed them tenderly against Aylin’s sore cheeks. Her head was being titled up until she was forced to make eye contact. Through wavering vision, she could make out a look of feigned compassion. 

“Oh, you poor thing. Look at you. What will Sergei think when he sees the mess you’ve become? He’ll be heartbroken. His favorite little toy, all broken at his feet.” Calypso caressed Alyin’s cheek with a soft touch that could be considered loving had she not just experienced the ravenous torturous side of her. She bunched up her robe to gently dab at the streaks of tears and blotches of blood along her face. Aylin was too weak to reject the soft, warm touch. She didn’t care if it was nothing but a ploy to screw with her fragile mind, she craved any kind of empathy she could get right now. Her bottom lip quivered. She wanted her mother. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was Nesrin caressing her cheek, instead. She could pretend it was backed with love instead of malice.

“Should we get you cleaned up before he comes down, sweet girl? He doesn’t want to see you in this state. Let’s fix you up, honey. Cal will make you all better.” She ran a soothing hand through Aylin’s hair to push it out of her face and tuck it behind her ears just like Nesrin used to do. “You’ve made a nasty mess of your back. Shredded it to pieces straight down to the bone. There’s an awful lot of blood. Don’t worry, I’ve got a wonderful homemade salve from my personal collection that should help put a stop to that pesky bleeding. I like to think of myself as a bit of an alchemist. No one else can create my little potions better than me. I know just to think to help with the blood. I’ll be right back. You hang in there.”

She shook the chains holding her up, sending an agonizing, shooting pain through Aylin’s entire body then placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and disappeared from sight. 

A whimper fell from her raw, bloody lips the moment she heard the gears of the bookcast close. 

She was finally alone. 

Hot tears slipped down her cheeks to carve a path through the blood and sweat. Her wrists could hardly hold her weight anymore but they had no other choice but to keep her physically upright. The metal dug into her flesh causing the skin to start to chafe away. A fire was spreading across the slashed, open wounds of her dripping back. Her hair had soaked into the blood and stuck to the ravaged flesh. Every time her head bobbed, her hair would drag through the wounds and bring a fresh wave of pain. Her jaw ached in irritation at the bloody hole in her battered gums. Fingernails and broken bones were the least of her concern anymore. Her circulation no longer reached the tips of her fingers so they remained cold and numb. She’d rather have her every finger broken, one by one, than have another tooth extracted or endure the long, thin biting of the whip. 

She hadn’t even spoken in hours. Calypso was no longer trying to extract information from her. She was merely trying to break her into submission. She was teaching her what it meant to be a Silver Colt. 

Judging by the state she was in, Calypso had won. Whatever fight Aylin felt when she first woke up down here had floated off into the ether hand in hand with her waning sanity. 

She was broken. 

Her body and her spirit.

“First time being tortured?”

A soft, feminine voice startled Aylin. Her cloudy eyes sought out the sound of the young woman locked in the cage. She had forgotten she was there. She’d been too absorbed in her own plight that no one else in the world remained to exist apart from herself and Calypso. The wolf girl had managed to push herself into a sitting position against the bars. She stared back at Aylin through emotionless, hollow eyes. Aylin wondered if hers looked the same.They’d both been broken down here.

“You didn't do too bad for your first time. Held up pretty well. Didn’t give away anything they wanted. But that was just the beginning,” she muttered. “She'll clean you up so you don’t bleed out then she’ll send in Kraven. He’s even worse.” 

What could possibly be worse than what she’d already experienced? 

Aylin couldn’t form any words to reply. The chains clicked against each other as she tumbled backwards, losing her precarious balance, her arms outstretched in front of her as her head lolled back. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be on sturdy ground.

“You’re one of them so it might be different but I doubt it,” the woman continued, watching Aylin fight to stay conscious. “I thought I was strong until I spent weeks down here. I gave them everything they wanted and more. I gave up my entire pack, my family, my friends. I gave up everything I ever loved. The thing is, it’ll just slip right out of you. Whatever secrets you’re holding, it’ll come out before you can stop it. It’s not something you think about, it’s something your body just does. Call it self preservation, call it weakness, whatever it is, she’ll get it out of you if you don’t get out of here.” She paused to let out a series of hacking coughs. Splatters of dark blood dotted her lips. It was miraculous she was even able to speak. 

“The woman is worse than Kraven when it comes to physical pain but Kraven…” Her voice lowered. “He tortures you in ways that break your psyche. He’ll take whatever he wants from you, whenever he wants. Trust me, there’s nothing gentle about that man. She breaks your body and he breaks your mind until there’s nothing left for you to give.” 

Aylin’s stomach churned with nausea but she was too weak to force anything up. All she could do was blink slowly in the woman’s direction. She already had nothing left to give. No words. No apologies. Nothing. 

All she had was a low, rickety groan as her body failed her. 

“Eventually, they’re going to make you kill me. They’ll make you take my heart to prove that you’re still one of them like you were supposed to do before. She’ll clean you up, get you strong enough to stand, then make you prove your loyalty. Hopefully that’s sooner rather than later. But, when that time comes, I need you to do it. Make it quick.” Her eyes closed as her head rested back against the bars. Her gaunt cheeks and blackened eyes already resembled that of the dead. “You better not fuck it up this time. My death is long past overdue. Play along with their game. Make them think you’re reforming. Kill me. They’ll give you a knife for that. Then-” she paused to hack up some more blood. “-then you’ll be the one with the knife and they’ll be the ones with their guard down.” 

She gave Aylin an exhausted, blood smeared smile as her eyes closed to rest. 

“Give ‘em hell, hunter.” 

[Chapter Six]

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[vunblr]

Tangled (#7)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Eventual teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: 6.8k

Previous Chapter

A few days later, she ventured back to the rocky beach. No yarn this time. No hooks or half-finished projects to keep her hands busy. Just a hope and a little cloth bag swinging from her fingers.

She wasn’t sure if he’d be there. Maybe it was foolish to assume he would. Still, she went at the same hour she used to, settling on her usual perch with her coat pulled tight against the biting wind, scanning the dark water. Listening. Waiting.

But the cove remained silent.

Eventually, she stood and approached the cave’s entrance, calling his name. Her voice echoed in the air and came back empty.

Too cold to stay longer, she placed the red satchel just beyond the reach of the tide -some strawberries and an apple inside- and cast one last glance toward the waves before heading back. Her breath misted in the air as she walked, disappointed.

----

He surfaced just after dusk. The swim back had taken longer than he meant, he’d been cautious, doubling back, scanning the seafloor for any glint of metal or other trail left behind. Paranoia, maybe. But the wrong eyes had once found him too easily. He couldn’t afford that again.

He breached near the cave, glancing around. The water was quiet.

But then, something.

A flick of red caught his eye near the rocks.

Slipping closer, body low and cautious, his gaze narrowed at the small cloth bag tucked safely out of the tide’s reach. It looked soft. A human object.

He drew near and the wind shifted, and her scent hit him like a blow. He closed his hand around the bag and held it to his chest for a moment.

She had come.

And he hadn’t been here.

Inside, he found strawberries. An apple. Simple things, but they felt more personal than any grand gesture.

He looked out toward the cliff, where the shape of her cottage would be lost in the gray distance.

She had come.

And he had stayed away too long.

----

The next day, she made her way back to the rocky beach, with a cloth mat tucked under one arm, and a small thermos in her bag just in case she decided to stay a while. The weather had turned kinder, no harsh wind, and the sun timidly peeking through the clouds.

She settled into her usual spot, brushing sand and tiny pebbles off the rock before setting the mat and sitting cross-legged, scanning the shoreline with cautious hope.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Less than five minutes had passed when she saw movement in the water. Between two moss-darkened rocks, he appeared. Gliding, carefully, with his upper half rising above the water like the sea was reluctant to let him go.

She smiled, lifting her hand in greeting. She could’ve sworn -just for a second- he smiled back. A flicker, there and gone.

He didn’t come any closer than the waterline, where the shallows lapped gently against the lower half of his body. Only his human half remained exposed, gleaming wet under the muted sun.

“You’re not joining me today?” she asked, tilting her head.

Behind him, a tendril coiled upward, curling once before swaying side to side, almost like a cat’s tail twitching at the end of its patience.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, almost casually. Almost.

She opened her mouth, about to joke, but something in his expression stopped her. The way he looked at her wasn't teasing. It was... careful. As though he was bracing for the answer.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, softer now.

He didn’t answer at first. His gaze dropped, shifting his shoulders slightly like the water was colder than it really was.

“What’s with you?” she pressed, “Why are you all shy now?”

A pause, then a quiet, vulnerable murmur: “Maybe after seeing me like you… you forgot what I am.”

She frowned, and her teasing vanished like mist. “Oh. Bucky.” She leaned forward slightly. “Trust me. I could never forget what you are. That’s the version of you I met. The one I got used to watching from the rocks. The real you. Why would it be different now?”

“Because I want to touch you.”

“You’ve touched me before,” she said, carefully.

His jaw flexed. “Not how I want to.”

She arched an eyebrow, hiding a flicker of thrill. “And… how do you want to touch me?”

His expression didn’t change much, but something simmered beneath it, something old and raw and sincere. “As my kin do,” he said. “I stayed at your house as a human. I did things with you, helped, sat, and shared food. But… some things felt incomplete. I want to be familiar with you but… in my way.”

He glanced away, as if ashamed. “When I left, we hugged. I liked it. But it felt incomplete. I felt like something was missing. I want to be familiar with you, like I would be with someone of my own kind. But I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” she asked gently.

His tendrils stirred behind him again, slower now, uncertain.

“I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I recognize you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Recognize me?”

“My tendrils, when they sense you, your skin, your scent… the chemical taste of you in the air…” he paused. “It’s not just information. It’s a connection, and maybe I can get carried away trying to gasp all of it. I don’t know if that might scare you,”

“Would that familiarization entail something painful?” she asked gently.

His head jerked up. “No! never hurt.”

She didn’t move for a beat, her heart tripping in her chest. His uneasiness wasn’t from rejection or shame, it was fear of overwhelming instinct.

“It wouldn’t scare me,” she said, finally. “Not if it’s you.”

He stood still for a beat, with his chest rising and falling a little faster than usual, then seemed to gather himself, and finally began to come forward, slow and deliberate, like approaching a sacred place. His lower body emerged bit by bit from the water: slick black and blue limbs unfurled under him, glistening under the pale sun as he made his way up the damp sand toward her.

She waited, sitting cross-legged on the mat, looking at him calmly. When he was only a few feet away, she offered the gentlest greeting.

"Hi," she said, warmly.

He bit his lip, tensing his jaw for a split second before he lowered himself beside her. The movement was oddly elegant: tentacles settling around them both in wide, curling spirals. They stayed still at first, but the tips twitched, swaying ever so slightly, betraying the nerves he was trying to bury.

She watched them with open curiosity, then her gaze met his. His posture was still hesitant like he was holding himself back from bolting into the sea again.

"How does this work?" she asked softly, and there was no fear in her voice, just fascination. “The sensing. I want to understand.”

He swallowed. “I just… touch your skin and… feel you,” he said. “What you’re made of, what you feel like. You leave traces… your temperature, taste, all of it. It… lingers.”

A pause.

“Want me to touch you first?” she offered.

His breath caught briefly. His eyes dropped to her hand, then back again to her face. Finally, he gave the smallest nod.

Maybe that was better. Safer.

She reached out with care. Her fingers hovered for a breath before they made contact with the thick curve of one of his limbs. It was smooth and cold, the texture almost like satin soaked in seawater. Her hand glided slowly across the surface.

“So soft,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

He inhaled sharply. Not startled, but reactive. Like that small contact had sent something cascading through him he didn’t expect.

Encouraged, she let her hand trail lower, beneath the limb, until her palm met the underside, where two rows of suction cups twitched in anticipation.

“You said you sense with these?” she asked, meeting his gaze, searching for any sign she should stop.

He gave a short, curt nod. His whole body seemed tense with restraint now, like he was bracing against something internal.

She pressed her palm gently against the cups.

There was no immediate suction, just the delicate shifting of the muscle beneath, a subtle, almost shy pull against her skin. As if it were testing her shape.

And then two of the cups latched, gently, and released.

His breath caught audibly.

She didn’t move away.

"That tickled," she said with a soft laugh, watching the way the soft suckers twitched along the underside of his tentacle. Her voice broke the silence between them, but not the tension.

Encouraged by her reaction, he repeated the motion. The cluster of suction cups pulsed and flexed with deliberate care, touching her palm again, this time with full contact.

That brief, simple action was enough.

Her scent flooded him, clean skin, faint traces of citrus from her soap, or maybe the fruit she’d eaten that morning. Her warmth bled into his touch through the delicate skin of his limb. Her taste came next, something his kind would know as identity.

He shuddered.

The tentacle glided slowly, reverently, up her forearm under her sleeve, each cup engaging in turn, gripping lightly, then releasing. Some suctioned harder than others, tugging at her flesh in faint pulses like he could drag more information from each small patch of skin. Soft and strong, rhythmic and controlled… until it wasn’t.

He was too immersed, too hungry for input.

Her breath hitched and then came the sharp little yelp. “Hey!”

She startled, trying to pull her arm back, and the spell shattered.

He released her immediately, tucking the tentacle close to his body instinctively as it had bitten her. Which, in a way, it had.

She stared at her arm with wide eyes. A trail of faint marks dotted her forearm, already beginning to fade, but visible against the chill-raised skin.

“Well,” she said after a pause, half-laughing as she rubbed the marks with her free hand, “that felt like you were giving me a hickey.” She looked up at him with raised brows, clearly expecting a reaction. “There are better spots for those,” she added playfully.

The joke passed right through him. He didn’t respond.

Because he was horrified.

He stared at her arm with wide eyes. Her skin was marked. Marked. He knew human bodies didn’t change color as he did. If they did… it meant they were hurt. That they bruised, that they bled. His gut twisted.

“I-” he started, “I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said, sensing the shift in him. Her smile dimmed, not out of fear, but because she could see how fast he’d retreated inward. “It’s okay, Bucky. I’ve had worse from kitchen cabinets and sneaky coffee tables. See? There is nothing, it went away.”

But he barely seemed to hear. He was pulling away, not physically, but mentally, and emotionally, curling into guilt like a wave withdrawing from the shore.

He hadn’t meant to be rough. He’d wanted, wanted her scent, to feel her, wanted to understand her in his way, as his kind did. And he’d gotten carried away.

Her hand reached out, gently circling his wrist, trying to calm him.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he did.

“I’m okay. I promise.” Her voice softened. “Want to try again?”

She offered it like a gift, unafraid. But he didn’t reach for it. Didn’t reach for her. If anything, his body tensed in subtle retreat. Like he was already halfway back into the sea.

Her shoulders fell with a sigh.

So she reached out instead.

Her hand found his, cool and damp, curling her fingers gently around his palm. She gave it a squeeze.

“Hey,” she said, searching his gaze. “What happened to the grumpy sea cat that didn’t give a damn?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m not- What is a cat?”

That startled a laugh from her. “Nevermind.”

She waited a moment before lifting their joined hands a little. “Do I feel nervous to you? Afraid?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Then touch me again.”

His throat worked as he swallowed, parting his lips as if to argue, but the words never came.

“Another time,” he said at last.

“Bucky-”

“You don’t understand. I could get... lost in it.”

She tilted her head. “And what if I want to be found in it with you?”

That made his eyes snap to hers, startled.

You don’t have to be afraid for me. If anything happens, I’ll tell you to stop. But I trust you. And I know you want to do it again.”

“I do,” he admitted, almost in a whisper.

“Then do it,” she mumbled.

Still holding her hand, he shifted, and one tendril -thicker, darker near the base- slid across the sand and up beneath the hem of her sweater, gliding along the curve of her waist.

She gasped softly. “Oh. Okay. Someone feels adventurous.” A shiver trailed up her back. “And cold.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and his jaw slackened just slightly as the suckers latched onto her skin in a pattern that wasn’t random. There was intent behind each touch, drawn out, searching, collecting her. The tendril flexed and curled, dragging back and forth against her skin in a slow rhythm, and the motion made her breath stutter.

He tilted his head, parting his lips, brushing his tongue against the edge of a canine, like the sensation pulled something physical from him as it tasted like more than just her.

She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t even think of pretending to be unaffected. Not when his face looked like that, concentrated, absorbed, straining for control even as his body acted with instinct.

Her thoughts weren’t where they should’ve been. Not for an innocent reunion. Not in the open. But the heat spreading in her cheeks -and lower- didn’t care much for propriety.

“S–so?” she managed to squeak, slightly higher than she intended.

He opened his eyes, slow and heavy-lidded, and there was something wild behind them now. Something ancient and hungry and confused by its own longing.

His voice came out husky. “You taste… beautiful.”

She blinked, and her heart fluttered hard in her chest. “That’s… not something I’ve ever been told before,” she said, trying for lightness, but her voice trembled a little.

The tendril still rested around her waist, unmoving now, its suckers gently released, one by one, leaving behind only the faintest impressions on her skin. His hand was still in hers, large and cool, his fingers twitching slightly like he wasn’t sure whether to hold tighter or let go.

He seemed to catch himself then -like surfacing from a deep place- and slowly, with visible effort, pulled the limb back and curled it against his side.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, dropping his gaze again.

“You didn’t. It was... quite the experience"

His hand stayed in hers a moment longer, before slipping away slowly.

She adjusted her sweater with a small tug but didn’t move farther. Her eyes were still on him, curious and calm. Not flinching, or pulling away.

That didn’t help.

Or maybe it did, he wasn’t sure. What he was sure about was the low, aching thrum beneath his skin. A want that went beyond just touch. It crawled deeper, into instinct and memory, into everything he hadn’t let himself want for too long.

He swallowed hard, flickering his gaze down to her collar, her throat, the delicate rise and fall of her breath. His fingers twitched in his lap. The appendages at his back shifted and flexed in the sand as he tried to center himself, some curling, some spreading in frustration.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently.

He looked up at her. Her voice cut clean through the haze of want. He nodded, a little too quickly.

“I just…” He looked away, jaw tight. “I’m still feeling.”

She tilted her head, tucking her knees under her. “Do you always feel this much when you do that?”

He exhaled slowly. “No. With you...” His voice dropped even lower. “It’s like… everything I take in makes me want to take more.”

A breeze moved between them, cool and sharp against his damp skin.

She didn’t lean away.

“I guess I should take it as a compliment,” she said after a beat, smiling faintly. “But you don’t have to hold back so hard. I won’t break.”

“I don’t want to ruin what’s… gentle between us.”

She blinked, taken aback for a second. That sentence… something in the way he said it made her heart pinch.

“Well,” she murmured, “I don’t think you could.”

That made something inside him still.

One of his tentacles crept forward, slowly, cautious as a breath. It hovered just short of her knee, unsure. Testing. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But after a beat, he slowly lowered it again, laying the appendage on the sand beside her instead.

“Talk to me,” he said, his voice a little rough.

“About?”

He gave a small shrug, eyes drifting away again.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I can do that.”

So she did. About nothing at first. About how the tide had reached higher than usual last week. About the gull she saw stealing someone’s sandwich and flying off victoriously toward the cliffs. And then, with a little smile curving her lips, she added, “I had fun when you visited.”

“Fun?” His brow furrowed.

She laughed under her breath. “It was gratificating.”

He looked a little sheepish. “I misbehaved. You got angry.”

Right. That.

“I know you didn’t do that on purpose. You told me,” She said gently. “It was kind of fun, showing you bits of my life. And, I got to cut someone’s hair for the first time. That’s not something I expected.”

He scrunched his nose and lifted a hand to tug lightly on one of his damp strands, inspecting the ends. “Your hair doesn’t grow?”

She stifled a laugh. “Pfft, no, it does. But some people cut and style hair for you, as a job.”

He blinked, clearly processing that. “We don’t… not like that. We just cut it with knives. Or sharp stones. Or shells.”

“I figured,” she said with a playful squint. “Now that you mention knives…”

His shoulders went stiff. A flicker of tension ran through his body, echoed in the subtle twitch of his closest tentacle.

“Do your kin use tools?” she asked gently, careful not to let her curiosity sound like an interrogation. “I mean, clearly you do weapons, since-”

She pointed, just lightly, to the faint scar that still cut across his side.

His eyes followed her hand, then dropped away, the memory darkening his face for a moment.

“But I mean… other things. Normal things.”

He curled his fingers in the sand beside him, considering.

“We make things when needed,” he said finally. “Blades, spears. We shape coral into bowls, carve driftwood, and sometimes string things with seaweed threads. But we don’t keep much. The ocean takes back anything not used.”

She nodded slowly, picturing it. “So, survival tools. Things with purpose.”

“Yes.”

She glanced at him sideways. “Not even something pretty? Just for the sake of it?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, almost reluctantly, he said, “Sometimes the shells are shaped… nicely. We pass those to small ones. Or wear them on cords. But if it has no use, it is lost eventually.”

“So… not jewelry,” she said, tilting her head.

“There are some who wear what’s found on sunken ships,” he admitted. “Shiny metal. Stones. They wrap them around their necks or arms.”

“I take it you don’t?”

He gave a faint shake of his head. “Things like that bring attention.”

Her eyes slid pointedly to his left arm. “You have a tattoo, though.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Every adult male has one.”

Her brows lifted. “Like a rite of passage?”

“Something like that.” He shifted slightly, tracing a small groove in the sand with one clawed finger. “The ones who have ink marks are the ones who can mate.”

Oh.

“And you got it with age?”

He shook his head. “You bring proof of your strength. Something you hunted. A jest. You offer it to the witch, who marks the skin in proportion to what you did.”

Her brows lifted slightly, drifting her gaze again to the intricate ink covering his entire arm and curling over the round of his shoulder. “So… the bigger the mark, the bigger the feat?”

He inclined his head in a slow nod.

“So, is yours… the expected size?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

There was the briefest pause, then he tilted his head, and something unmistakably smug passed through his expression.

“They usually don’t pass the elbow,” he said, with a low voice edged with pride.

Her mouth parted slightly, then curved into a wry smile. “Well… I guess that makes you quite the catch.”

He blinked, then frowned faintly. “I’m not a-“

“It’s an expression,” she laughed softly. “A compliment.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Then… thank you.”

Her gaze traced the ink over the dark whorls etched into the skin, part tribal, part something older, curling like tide patterns. Without thinking, she reached out and let her fingers hover just above it.

“Can I…?” she asked, already brushing the tips of her fingers lightly across the design.

His breath caught -just a fraction- but he didn’t move away.

Her touch was gentle, and slow, tracing the raised edges of the tattoo. The texture surprised her. Not just a visual pattern, but something tactile, layered.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

His eyes had gone half-lidded, but they never left her hand. His muscles clenched slightly under her fingers, not from discomfort, no. From restraint.

She followed a looping curve toward his shoulder, not knowing the path of her touch mimicked an old gesture, a courting touch, one that in his world meant intention. Interest. Trust. Desire, too.

“You’re… breathing differently,” she noticed aloud.

“You’re touching a mating mark,” he said quietly.

Her hand froze, mid-stroke.

“Oh.”

But he didn’t pull away. And she didn’t either.

“I didn’t mean- I just thought it just was-” she faltered.

“I know,” he said. “You didn’t know. Again.”

The moment stretched.

“Again?” she asked, already starting to withdraw.

“You… already gave your neck. And now your hand.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, that sounds like I’m proposing to you and I don’t even know what it means.”

He looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching in the ghost of a smile. “It means something. But it’s not binding. Not unless… you keep doing it.”

She lowered her hand, resting it against her knee, with her heart thudding.

“I’ll try not to accidentally seduce you again, then.”

That earned her a real smile, small, but there.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

She was still watching him out of the corner of her eye, unsure whether to laugh off his comment or run with it under her arm. But before she could say anything, he shifted, and his tentacle’s tips curled slowly against the sand like he was working something out in his head.

Then, softly “What do your kind do, when they want to bond?”

She turned fully toward him, blinking. “Bond? You mean like… relationships?”

He nodded. “Yes. That.”

She hummed, thoughtful. “It depends. Some people date, which is like… trying to figure out if you want to be with someone you met. Some stay friends and slowly become something more. Some just… fall in love and decide they want to stay together.”

“Fall,” he echoed. “You fall into it?”

She smiled at his puzzled frown. “It’s just a saying. It means you don’t always see it coming. One day, you look at someone and you know, oh. It’s them.”

He was quiet for a moment, still furrowing his brows.

“Is there… a mark? A ritual?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Sometimes. For us, it depends on the culture. A lot of people marry, which is kind of like a formal bond. There’s usually a ceremony, vows, rings, witnesses. You stand up in front of people and promise to stay together.”

He frowned slightly. “So others must see it happen?”

“Usually, yeah. Not always. Some do it alone or just sign a paper. But the idea’s the same, it’s a public choice. A promise.”

“A performance,” he murmured, half to himself.

She smiled faintly. “Sometimes. But it means something. At least, when it’s done for love.”

He nodded slowly. “So no mark on the body. No blood drawn. Just… rings?”

She lifted her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Sometimes. On this one.”

His tentacles shifted in the sand again, subtle, like ripples beneath still water.

“And if someone touches you where the ring should go?” he asked.

She gave a soft laugh, more breath than sound. “Then they might be flirting.”

That pulled a look from him, eyes slightly narrowed, confused, and intrigued. “Still, it’s not the place of the ring, per se. It’s the way someone touches you that’s considered flirting.”

He huffed softly, not quite a laugh. “So many rules,” he murmured, flicking his gaze back to her hand as it moved.

She shrugged, with a little smile tugging at her mouth. “We’re more complicated than your people.”

He watched her for a long second, and the corner of his brow twitched, but he said nothing.

The silence stretched between them, loaded.

“Did you eat the fruit?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the quiet.

He gave a short nod. “Yes.”

“Slowly, or you just-”

“It didn’t make me feel bad after,” he cut in quickly, defensively, as if bracing for disapproval.

She suppressed a grin. “I wasn’t judging.”

He blinked, then looked away, as if embarrassed by the outburst.

A moment passed.

Then he looked back at her. Something was searching in his gaze, something almost... resolved. He straightened a little. “Have your bag. I’ll go get it.”

She waved a hand, casually. “It’s not necessary. You can give it to me another time.”

But he was already turning purposefully, without another word, and sliding back toward the water.

She watched him go, shaking her head. Alone again, she let out a slow breath, glanced around, and then lifted her sweater, peeking at the spot where his tendril had touched her. Her skin was unmarked.

When he returned, his hair was damp, clinging to the sides of his face, and water dripped in lazy trails down his naked chest. He held her bag twisted in both hands, wringing it out with care before offering it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, reaching out. But the moment her fingers curled around the strap, she felt it, the weight inside.

Curious, she began to open it, but his hand darted out. He caught her wrist, gently, closing his cool fingers around her flesh with enough pressure to pause her.

“Later,” he said, his voice a little lower now.

Her brows rose. “Uh…”

His gaze skittered away, as if unsure how to explain. “Open it at your house.”

She watched him for a beat, her smile slowly spreading. “Oh? Like a surprise?”

He nodded once, stiff, like admitting that made him vulnerable.

“Well, thank you,” she said, shifting the bag into her lap. “You didn’t have to give me anything.”

“You bought me clothes,” he said, flicking his eyes to hers and then down again. “And crunchy fish.”

She laughed softly. “It wasn’t necessary to reciprocate, Bucky. But… thank you again.” She leaned forward slightly. “I’ll look at it at home.”

He saw her shiver, her shoulders giving a subtle twitch beneath her coat. A small frown formed on his brow.

“Go home,” he said quietly.

She quirked a brow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

He shook his head once, firm. “You’re cold.”

“I can stay a little longer,” she said, brushing off his concern with a wave of her hand.

He shifted, and the ends of his tentacles curled slightly against the rocks as if unsettled. “You’ll get sick again,” he muttered. “You’re… weak.”

“Hey!” She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “That was harsh. I’m not going to get sick from a little chill. I get sick like any human, just my symptoms are just a little worse, that’s all.”

He looked away, clearly regretting his choice of words. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know what you meant.” Her tone softened. “Just… work on phrasing.”

He gave a slow nod. Then, quieter: “Tomorrow. You can come earlier when the sun’s higher.”

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes with mock suspicion. “Tomorrow, huh? Is that an invitation?”

A flush crept over his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze, brushing the rock beside him with the tip of his fingers. “You were going to come anyway,” he murmured, trying to deflect.

----

She stayed by the rocks longer than she should have, with her hands tucked into her sleeves and her breath visible in the cooling air. But eventually, the wind picked up. The light dimmed. And she still had things to take care of.

So she said goodbye with a soft smile and slung the cloth bag over her shoulder as she headed back up the path.

By the time she reached home, she shrugged out of her coat and carried the satchel straight to the table. Then, she untied the knot and opened it, expecting… she didn’t know what.

But not this.

Four large pearls, luminous and warm-toned, sat nestled together in the folds of the fabric. Their soft peach hue glowed even under the dim kitchen light, catching hints of pink and gold as they shifted.

They looked like they belonged to a museum. Or an auction house. But there they were, sitting in the bag she’d used for groceries and fruit as if he’d gathered them like wildflowers and thought she might like them.

She reached out, running the tip of her finger along one pearl. It was cool and impossibly smooth. Each one was unique in shape, imperfect in a way that made them more beautiful.

But that wasn’t all.

Beside them, nestled with just as much care, were two conch shells. They were smaller, polished by time and sea, their curved surfaces were silky smooth and speckled with tiny brown dots. She ran a thumb along the edge of one, marveling at its texture, and the delicate spiral.

The pearls were priceless, true treasures from the ocean’s depth, the kind collectors paid fortunes to acquire. And yet… he’d placed the conches right alongside them like equals, no less important, no less offered. And somehow, that made the whole gesture feel even more intimate.

She let out a slow breath, touched in a way she couldn’t quite explain. To him, these weren’t just beautiful objects. They were tokens. Offerings. Chosen and given with care.

And she’d felt the weight of them in her hands.

With a small smile, she closed the bag again and held it to her chest, and then, tucked the pearls and one of the conch shells beneath a loose wooden plank in the kitchen floor, the one Arthur had once called his “secret savings place,” back when the house was his.

She left the other shell on a table next to the window. She already had plans for it.

Still moved by his gift, she poured herself a generous mug of milk coffee, the kind she made when she needed comfort and focus, and sat down with her half-finished projects. There was a lot to do, but her hands refused to cooperate.

Her gaze kept drifting to the conch on the table.

And from there, it was a short trip back to the beach.

To the way his tendril had wrapped around her waist, snugly and deliberately. To the way his suckers had pulsed against her skin, curious, careful, sensing her like no one ever had. To the look on his face, with his parted lips and eyes fluttered shut like he’d been drinking in something sacred.

It should’ve unsettled her. Maybe it had, at first. But the longer she sat thinking about it, the more her skin remembered the touch, and the more honest she had to be with herself.

It had been... enticing.

And she found herself wondering. Wondering how it would feel to have more of him touching her like that. Exploring. Suckling. Moving across her body with the same gentle hunger he’d shown at her waist.

Before she even noticed, her breath had gone shallow, and her panties were damp with heat.

She buried her face in her hands.

Was that normal? -no- Was it even possible to…

She shook her head, trying to will the thoughts away.

Maybe he was just being kind. Maybe it was his way of bonding, the way his people expressed trust. Maybe the gift was just gratitude, for the clothes and the fried fish, as he said.

But still… the way he’d looked at her in the general store. The way his body had blocked hers, how he'd moved between her and everyone else. That hadn’t felt friendly. That had felt-

Something else.

Possessive. Protective.

And that gift itself. Not just pretty tokens. They were rare. Beautiful. And she didn’t think he would’ve given them to just anyone. Her cheeks burned as she leaned back in her chair, pressing her palms against them.

Great. Now she was a weirdo fantasizing about a tentacled man.

Then again... from his side, she was the strange one. The one with “too much missing,” as he’d once put it. Fragile. Loud. And yet he looked at her like she was something worth seeing.

----

He floated low in the deepest pool of his cave, with his arms slack at his sides, and the tentacles splayed and heavy beneath him, curling faintly with each rise and fall of the water. His stomach was full, he’d hunted well earlier, a large fish, but the satisfaction hadn’t lasted.

Because his hunger wasn’t the kind that food could satiate.

Touching her had been a mistake. He’d known it would be. Knew it from the first second her hand brushed his skin, from the moment her voice dipped soft and coaxing with trust. And yet he had reached for her anyway.

Now he was paying for it.

He gritted his teeth and let his head loll against the cave wall, fluttering his eyes shut as he worked himself with rough, efficient strokes below the surface. Just enough pressure to drag the ache out of his body. Just enough friction to keep her scent alive in his mind.

She was still on him.

Her texture, her warmth. Her sweet skin that made his suckers twitch with craving. The ghost of her waist under his limb, the pulse he’d felt just beneath her surface. That delicate sound she made -half laugh, half gasp- when he grazed her with his cups. The noise hadn’t left his ears since.

It shouldn’t be like this. Not with a human.

Never in all his years -before the captivity or after- had he even thought to crave one. He used to mock Steve for it. Mocked the others who dared to chase that kind of soft, forbidden bond with land-walkers. Foolish, he’d thought. Dangerous. Weak.

Now look at him. Hiding in a pool like a feral pup, panting into the dark and rutting into his own palm over a human woman.

His hand moved faster, almost angry.

He hissed low through his teeth as the heat pooled in his gut. She’d be so small under him. So warm. And her softness -stars, her softness- he could maneuver her like nothing, press her down or hold her still while he tasted every inch of her body.

She’d feel everything.

So tight around him, trying to take it.

Body clenching-

The groan that escaped him was low and guttural, muffled by the water as his body seized with release. Muscles clenched, tentacles recoiled, and for a moment he felt as though the world narrowed to that one blinding pulse of pleasure.

Then-

Shame followed, sharp and immediate. He curled tighter, with one arm thrown across his eyes, and his chest rising and falling unevenly.

What the hell was he doing? He looked at the evidence of his actions swirling in the water and scowled, dragging himself to another pool. The tide will take care of it later.

----

Days came and went, carried by tides and wind. He stayed away from the cave mouth longer and sank deeper into the depths after each visit with her. And yet, no matter how far he retreated, she remained. In his thoughts. In his skin. In the taste that memory alone couldn’t erase from his mind.

She still came to the shore. Not every day, but often enough. As the weather cooled, she stopped bringing her yarn and projects, no longer setting up camp near the rocks with her bag and her tools. She simply came to sit, to chat, to exist beside him. She never asked why he didn’t touch her with his limbs again. Spoke gently. Stayed within reach, but never crossed that invisible line he’d drawn.

He kept his distance. Not in presence -he still came to her when he could, especially when the sea turned rough and rains swept over the coast- but in touch. No more curling tentacles. No more suckers on her skin. Only his hands now, brief and careful and human. Safer.

It should have dulled his hunger. But somehow, it made it worse.

In her little home, he learned things he never knew he wanted to know. She showed him movies, flickering light and color and drama on a screen that made his eyes narrow and his questions pile up. She told him stories, short ones, with simple morals or whimsical endings. And then asked about his.

So he told her. The old ones. The dark ones. The ones with blood and hunger and truths too heavy for children.

When he took his human form, he let himself get closer. Sat beside her on the couch, sometimes so close their knees bumped and neither moved. He helped her with little tasks and always, always ended up brushing against her. A shoulder. A back. Fingers grazing as they reached for the same thing.

She never pulled away.

One afternoon, sleepier than he meant to be after eating a questionable amount of food, he let himself sink down beside her on the couch. She was warm and soft and calm in that way that made him forget he didn’t belong in places like this. When she gently offered her lap, patting it, he hesitated only a moment before curling in, resting his head just above her knees.

He breathed her familiar scent deeply and exhaled slowly against her thighs.

Her fingers found his hair, warm and soothing. She threaded them slowly through his locks like she had all the time in the world just to touch him. And he let her. Closed his eyes. Let the tension bleed from his limbs. He hadn’t realized how starved he was for that kind of contact, not just closeness, but care.

It was his undoing.

Because after that day, every time he visited, he found himself looking for reasons to be near her. To help with something, to lean in, to shift close enough that the offer might come again. And it did. Again and again, until there was no need for excuses. No more tentative asks. He would simply wait for her to sit, and then fit himself into the space she made for him, laying his head in her lap, letting the warmth of her body cradle him, and her fingers work through the strands of his hair until everything else faded.

But then spring came.

And his visits thinned.

They met on the beach again, like they had before, with the wide sky above them and the sound of waves between them. But something had shifted. With the change in season came back the distance, the restraint. He didn’t rest his head on her anymore. He didn’t reach for her unless it was necessary. As though winter had never happened.

She wasn’t foolish, she noticed the change immediately. The absence of contact, and the silences that stretched just a little too long. And it hurt. She debated bringing it up, asking outright what had changed. But the fear of making him retreat further kept the words sealed behind her lips.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @thatesqcrush @lonelyghosts-stuff @x-press-it @the-voice-beckons-below @angelilacsworld @dollface-xoxo @mcira @lazyneonrabbitt @vxllys @namjoohnie @sebastians-love @misspendragonsworld @thewriters64 @escapefromrealitylol @hi172826 @wintrsoldrluvr @reddesires @ruexj283 @buckvoidsyy @littlesuniee @kimberly-stocks @pandaxnienke @ladypncl @homiesexuallaj @kulteule @awesompawsum @killerwendigo @princessgriffin1998 @helen-2003 @nynxtea @alagalaska

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Five

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, jealousy, manipulation, brief mentions of sex

Word Count: 4k

At breakfast, an unfamiliar soldier comes to apologize. Ghost’s jealousy rears its head.

Chapter Four // Chapter Six

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

It’s the noise that hits you first. A visceral gut punch of sound that sends you reeling toward homesickness. The dining hall is packed with people. They sit at long tables and round ones, talking and eating and talking. Living their lives. Simply existing.

But the realization of where you are is far stronger than any yearning for home and community. There are no children chasing each other, their joyful cries echoing off the walls. There is no lazy strumming of a guitar from the corner. No cheerful faces eager to greet you, to invite you to the table, to break bread and ask about your day.

The room is full of soldiers. Blood-drenched creatures. Unknown faces. Male gazes.

A sweaty staleness hangs in the air, mixing with the salty bite of bacon on the griddle. This space is a gnarling twist of enemy territory and diner. A submergence in a warped reality of the past. There is something hauntingly nostalgic about the wood walls and metal ceiling, as if you’re child again at summer camp.

When it rains, do the droplets ring against the metal? Do they sing soft pings to the soldiers as they eat?

“Two legs,” growls Ghost from behind you, the fabric of the balaclava a teasing scratch against the curve of your ear. “And yet you refuse to walk.”

Asshole. Fucking asshole.

And you allowed this man to tongue your pussy? To slide his cum-coated thumb into your mouth? It doesn’t matter how good he made you feel, or how, for a fraction of a moment, the reality of your situation melted away, leaving you only with lust. Survival cradled you, and delivered you into Ghost’s arms because it’s all you know.

Foolish.

Reeling Lieutenant Riley in didn’t have to involve you spreading your legs for him. A kiss or two would have suffice. But loneliness is a fickle disconnect of melancholy, leading you quickly toward a mistake that could have upended everything. You don’t know Soap, but you silently thank him for knocking on the door and dissolving whatever haze invaded your senses when Ghost had you under him.

The easy thing would be to snap at Lieutenant Riley. It’s what you want to do. But this is not the place to tell him off or cause a scene even if he deserves a bit of lip. You are surrounded—caged in by people who’d have his back before yours. There are no friends here. Not even Ghost.

You glance over your shoulder, that whiskey gaze of his biting back with a hint of a spark.

Ghost. Lieutenant Riley.

Your sentinel. Guardian. Protector. Captor.

Best to be the quiet doe here and bow before the stag.

“I don’t know this place,” you reply softly, lowering your gaze in submission.

Ghost’s head tilts slightly, assessing. “No,” he agrees. “You don’t.”

Timidness is the key to his gentleness as much as your dagger tongue. It’s a bit debilitating—nearly a whiplash. Navigating Lieutenant Riley is a windstorm. But like any storm, it will pass. You need only weather him.

Ghost’s gaze turns outward into the dining hall, eyes narrowing. “Stay close to me,” he murmurs, and the tenderness in his voice makes you pause.

Like the gunshots that seemed never-ending, Ghost spoke to you in the same tone, covering your ears, coaxing you to look only at him. These fleeting moments of kindness and affection make no sense. It’s like he wants to possess you and yet smack you down with equal measure.

You sense a phantom hand on your lower back, simply hovering, a breath away from touching. Ghost doesn’t need to touch you to herd you where he wants. A few steps, unbidden, and you move forward into the communal dining hall. No longer hiding just inside the door, you’re out in the open now, on display.

Soldiers at tables nearest you glance in your direction. Their voices become murmured whispers or fizzle out entirely. Here, you are an oddity. Perhaps an apparition. This is not a place for civilians, and the way some of the men leer is a clear indication that if Ghost weren’t standing next to you, they’d approach. The very threat of it forces you to take a step closer to him.

Whether Ghost notices your nervousness or not is an entirely different matter. Lieutenant Riley walks with heavy confidence, his head held high as if he’s proud that you’re at his side, and the men staring at you means nothing. For you, it takes more effort to act like him, to pretend that this isn’t a curling nightmare.

You want to go home. You want your bed and your books and your archive.

Ghost’s footsteps are easy to follow. One. Two. One. Two. With his phantom hand at the small of your back, Lieutenant Riley keeps you at his side and just to the front of him, urging you closer to the front of the communal dining hall where a massive buffet lines the wall. Soldiers move along the queue at different intervals, filling their plates with the morning fare. Unlike Lieutenant Riley and the rest of his team, not everyone is in all black. There are plenty in green fatigues, even dark blue that remind you of sailors. A few are clad in tactical gear like they’re trying to shovel some food down before taking off. There are others that are completely dressed down, more casual but still in uniform.

A whiff of cooking food drifts toward you, stirring your stomach to rumbling.

Ghost’s hand finally connects, purposefully steering you to an open spot in line. A small spike of anxiety flares. It’s just a goddamn food line but you don’t know the order of things, and you’re surrounded by strangers.

But the worry is silly, because you don’t even lift a finger.

Ghost brings you to an open spot and promptly grabs a black tray, placing it in front of you. A plate appears, followed by a few napkins and silverware. You stare; a bit surprised by how he handled it so calmly. You didn’t have to think about anything. Not a single neuron fired.

Ghost nods toward the immense line of food. “Eat whatever you want.”

Whatever you want? Truly?

Briefly glancing over the long buffet line, you turn back to Lieutenant Riley, a hint of disbelief in your tone. “I can do that? Put whatever I want onto my plate?”

Ghost inclines his head. “You’re under my protection.”

As if that answers your fucking question. Sometimes he’s so damn cryptic.

“And what about you?” you ask. “Are you eating?”

Eating in this room with all these eyes on you is daunting. Eating alone sounds worse.

“Already ate,” replies Ghost with a husky drawl.

Images of Lieutenant Riley’s naked body invade, reminding you of your lusty mistake, and how nice he looked when his lips and chin were glossy with your arousal.

“You hardly finished,” you mumble, quickly glancing away in embarrassment.

Ghost makes a humph sound, and though you can only see his eyes, the curling pinch of lines in the corners tells you enough. This man is fucking smirking.

He starts to lean in, and your heartrate quickens. The intimacy is akin to a shared secret.

“Lieutenant Riley!”

Both of you turn abruptly. Ghost pushes off from the metal rail, his shoulders straightening, demeanor changing completely due to whoever’s just addressed him. You scan the unfamiliar faces, only for an older man to appear through the crowd. It’s clear from his uniform that he’s above Ghost in rank, but you wouldn’t be able to say how. Military ranks and the hierarchy of authority isn’t clear to you. And this isn’t the “Price” you met last night. It’s someone else. Someone you don’t know.

“Grab what you want, love. Find an empty seat. I’ll come to you,” says Ghost, not even looking at you as he says it.

Then he’s gone. Poof. Like cigarette smoke drifting into the air.

The large communal dining hall suddenly shrinks, becoming insufferable and stuffy.

Run. Run.

Run. But where to? Where the fuck can you go on a goddamn military base? If you bolt out of here, Ghost would chase you, knock you down and shove his boot into your back. Or maybe he’d take you back to the private barracks, toss you onto the bed, and deal out a bit of punishment. Either would be fucking embarrassing, and no matter how much the animal in you wants to flee, you remain firmly in line, staring at the food as you breathe in through your nostrils and out through your mouth.

Calm. Calm calm calm. Zen. Deep breaths.

You’re fine. Everything is fine. You’re safe.

Saliva pools in your mouth, and the fresh aroma of baked bread creeps up your nostrils. Food. You can focus on that. You can feed yourself and then take the next step after, whatever the fuck that might be. Before you are a plethora of options. Back home, breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all set affairs. Everyone eats the same unless someone has a dietary restriction for medical reasons. There is no display. No bounty. No cornucopia of a feast.

After the world fractured, this amount of food was unimaginable.

Fluffy pancakes. Greasy bacon. Scrambled eggs. Potato hash loaded with vegetables. There are bowls full of color fruit. Oatmeal with different toppings. Grits. These are American classics, but they aren’t the only options. There are fried eggs over rice and even a stuffed flatbread that smells faintly of cumin. It’s made to accommodate many tastes. Options for everyone. Beyond that, you glimpse baskets piled high with fresh bread, and next to that, condiments. You even spy a bottle of hot sauce and a container holding kimchi.

For a moment, it feels like before, as if you were waking up in a hotel and down in the lobby standing before a continental breakfast.

Is this normal? Do the people who live in the safe zones always feast like this? Or is this simply reserved for those willing to pick up a gun for the sake of humanity? Are they fed well to keep them happy?

There’s no use in worrying over what you don’t know. Eventually you’ll find out. Lieutenant Riley intends to take you to the safe zone after all, and once there, you’ll get your answers.

Grabbing the scoop for the scrambled eggs, you dig in, lifting up a heaping amount to place onto your plate.

“I’d avoid that.”

The masculine voice nearly makes you jump right out of your skin. You drop the scoop, the egg returning to the chaffer with a splat. Little specks of egg go flying, landing on the surrounding metal.

“You’ll be in the latrine the rest of the day.”

Jesus.

“Thank you,” you murmur, unsure of the sudden newcomer.

He’s a bit shorter than Lieutenant Riley, perhaps by a few inches, and he wears a similar uniform of all black fatigues. On his upper bicep is the flag of the United Nations and the United States.

He shrugs. Inclines his head. “Or you’ll be fine. Bit of a hit or miss. Depending on the day.”

There’s a slightly southern lilt in his voice. Not Deep South like Mississippi or Louisiana. It’s too neutral. Perhaps northern Arkansas. Maybe even southern Missouri.

But it’s not like you’d ask. In fact, you’re fucking annoyed. There’s already one annoying man in your life. You don’t need two.

“Which is it?” you ask, feigning a smile.

The stranger gazes over the glass, gaze narrowing slightly. Finding whatever he’s looking for, he nods in affirmation. “It’s a good batch.”

How long do you have to amuse him before he’ll move on?

“How can you tell?” you ask, adding some of the eggs to your plate.

He runs his fingers through his dusty brown hair. “It’s who’s at the griddle.” You open your mouth, a reply on your tongue, but this stranger trudges on. Continues talking. “If Four Fingers is on the griddle, you’re good. Always cleans between whatever he’s cooking.”

No. No. This is fucking weird.

“I’m sorry,” you say, holding up your hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Please get the fuck away from me.

And where the fuck is Ghost?

“Sergeant Noah Fields.” He extends his hand in a warm greeting. Reluctantly, you take it. The shake is firm but not overly domineering. “I was with Lieutenant Riley’s group,” he says when you drop your hand.

Not really helpful, and you don’t hesitate to say so. “You were all wearing balaclavas,” you reply, taking a step forward to indicate that you’re leaving the conversation. “Can’t say I recognize you.”

Sergeant Fields doesn’t take the hint.

“No, ma’am,” he laughs, some of that southern drawl making a quick appearance. “Suppose you wouldn’t.” he shrugs, walking beside you. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Everything compounds, pushing you back into a place you don’t want to return to. Running for your life. The whizz of bullets flying through the air. A gun at your temple. It wasn’t only Lieutenant Riley that you met. There were others. Three for sure that touched you. Many more looking on.

And which one is he?

You take another step, skipping what looks to be eggs baked into a tomato sauce. A whiff of spice drifts up, and your nose twitches.

“Listen,” continues Sergeant Fields, tone sheepish. “I ow you an apology.” You pause at the hash, briefly glancing at him but saying nothing as you scoop some onto your plate next to the eggs. “A big one.”

“Do you?” you muse, returning the scoop to its cradle.

Where is Ghost? He’d put an end to this conversation. For that, you’d be grateful.

“It’s why I’m interrupting your breakfast.”

That’s obvious.

“And what are you apologizing for?” you prod, entertaining him for the sake of it.

While part of you would enjoy blatantly ignoring him, you also know that you’re not in any position of leverage. Ghost has stepped away. There is no brooding buffer to chase off Sergeant Fields.

He grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck in apparent agitation. A little red flag waves in your head. It’s clear that he’s working up to something, but you don’t know him. They all wore balaclavas. This man is a complete stranger.

“Look,” you say, starting to lift your tray. “Whatever it is—”

“No,” he interrupts. “No. You deserve an apology.”

You go to step around him, but Sergeant Fields backs up, forcing you back to the buffet rail. “Stop. Just—stop. Did Lieutenant Riley put you up to this?”

“Did—” He blinks. Startled. “No.” He rubs at his chest. “I’ve been wanting to apologize since we’ve arrived at base. Heard from the others that you’d been cleared. That you’re being taken back to the safe zone.”

“Per the mandate,” you say slowly.

Sergeant Fields disregards this, moving on. “I treated you poorly. Called you…”

A coldness creeps in, turning your bones and blood to ice. Only three people talked to your directly. And only one called you a name that made you snarl.

These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.

“Breeder,” you finish for him. “You called me a breeder.”

This motherfucker. Ghost might be a bastard, but this asshole is a fucking villain. He didn’t just call you a “breeder.” He did much worse—insinuated worse.

Sergeant Fields flushes slightly. “I did,” he affirms like a kicked dog.

Time to dig in. To show a bit of fang while you have the upper hand. “And you stuck your fingers in my mouth to look at my teeth.” The venom in your voice is lethal.

The sadness on his face deepens. “I did,” he confirms, denying nothing. “And I’ve come to apologize. To ask forgiveness.” Sergeant Fields sighs. Licks his lips. “I thought you were with—fuck.” He pauses. Starts over. “I judged you. Treated you poorly. That was wrong. Even if you were with them, I know how they treat their women. I should have been kinder with you. And I wasn’t.”

You don’t know this man, but you may not see him again after this. Perhaps you’re about to stroke his ego, but there is nothing on the surface that indicates nefarious intent. Sergeant Fields doesn’t leer, and he doesn’t glance away to stare at your body. He looked you in the face as he gave you his apology.

“I accept, Sergeant,” you sigh.

His solemn demeanor changes, a grin spreading across his face. “Noah. Please.”

“Noah,” you repeat.

“Well, ma’am.” He points to the chaffer next to you. “I’d recommend the pancakes. The grits aren’t too bad. Just add some honey and butter. Or if you’re of the savory kind, a fried egg with a dash of hot sauce.”

“Noted,” you smile, because this is much better conversation, even if you’re ready for Ghost to come rescue you. “Is this standard? The variety?”

Noah takes a step back, allowing you plenty of space to slide your tray down the line. “A few things rotate. Depending on availability. All the safe zones trade with each other.”

So, there are more? But how many?

“Sometimes, the safe zones south of us send citrus. It’s always a rush to the line when lemons and oranges make it here. Bananas, too. But we see those maybe once a year.” Noah snags a bowl of colorful fruit, placing it on your tray. “You can imagine the mayhem when they send us avocados.”

As you open your mouth to answer, a large shadow falls across the two of you. Noah’s charming smile melts like a vaporized ice cream cone. Straightening, Noah becomes stiff and stoic, staring just off to the right of your shoulder.

You turn slowly and find your masked kidnapper hovering there, arms crossed over his chest, the middle of his brow a sharpened v.

“Sergeant Fields,” growls Ghost.

Oh. This is interesting. There’s something here. Something you might be able to manipulate.

“Lieutenant,” you greet with a sunny smile. “You’re back.”

You’re far too cheery, and Ghost knows it. When his gaze slowly slides in your direction, his irritation with Noah turns into a silent “really?”

“Noah was helping me.” You turn toward Sergeant Fields. “Isn’t that right?”

He visibly swallows. “That’s right, Lieutenant.”

Ghost is unwavering. That whiskey-brown gaze of his locks onto Noah like bloodied daggers. “I can take it from here, Sergeant.”

“Course, sir,” nods Noah. He briefly turns toward you. “Glad we can start over.”

As he walks away from you and Ghost, you start sliding your tray down the line. Ghost grabs the edge, halting all forward movement. You don’t even entertain him with an answer. Instead, you attempt to shove your tray into his hand.

“What did he say to you?”

You narrow your gaze. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“What,” says Ghost slowly. “Did he say?”

Fucking hell, this man is insufferable sometimes.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “We made small talk.” You jerk the tray again, but Ghost keeps his hand firmly in place. “Is there an issue, Lieutenant?”

“First names. Fresh starts,” he lists. “A flirt.”

“Let go of my tray.”

“What did he say to you?” repeats Ghost.

“You know, Lieutenant,” you sigh heavily. “I think you’re jealous.”

It’s a flicker. An ember that flares then cools. Ghost’s pupils dilate slightly then retract. It’s unnerving the way he’s staring at you.

“Stay away from him,” he breathes, the command smoke-laced.

In this, he wants you to obey—to submit to his authority. The commonality here is that Ghost can take orders as well as give them. But unlike Sergeant Fields, you won’t allow Ghost to push you around. Not all the time.

“Look at you, Lieutenant. Didn’t even deny it.”

The tease is a poke. Like a needle under the nail.

“Like I said. Stay away from him.”

“Why?”

“He’s untrustworthy.”

“Wow,” you exclaim. “That is super helpful. Thank you so much for explaining. I totally understand now.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” replies Ghost, releasing the tray.

The release in pressure nearly sends you stumbling. With a huff, you brush by Ghost, purposefully catching his arm with your shoulder. Keeping your focus on the trays of food, you add more to your plate. Some of the options are foods you haven’t seen in over six years. It’s all sitting there in front of you, begging you to take it.

“Do you know him?”

Ghost’s question startles you.

“Do I know him?” you ask, a bit baffled.

“Glad we can start over?” he prompts, repeating what Noah said just minutes ago.

You roll your eyes. “Fucking ridiculous,” you mutter. Lifting your tray off the rail, you walk around Ghost, heading for the baked bread.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

You grab the tongs and pick out a few pieces still steaming from the oven. “Am I allowed to eat my breakfast in peace?”

“No.”

“Wonderful,” you muse flatly, moving over to the beverages. “Aren’t you going to eat?” you ask, changing the subject.

“Told you,” replies Ghost. “I already did.”

“I don’t count.”

Ghost leans against the counter, his back to the carafes of coffee, his front facing the dining hall. There’s movement in your peripheral. Someone approaching. You don’t even have the chance to see who because Ghost growls at them like a dog giving a warning.

“Really?” you side-eye, grabbing a glass of water.

“He was staring at your arse.”

Placing the glass on your tray, you turn toward Simon, one hand resting against the counter. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”

“Sergeant Fields.”

“Oh, please,” you guffaw.

“Noah. Since the two of you are on first names.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Ghost grabs your water glass and moves it. “Balance is off. Tray will tip when you lift it.”

“Can we just have a normal morning?” you ask. It’s a simple request. “Without—” You gesture between the two of you. “Whatever the fuck this is.”

Ghost’s upper body shifts in your direction, but you suddenly realize that you’re not finished. That you’re not actually wanting an answer.

“Also. How the fuck would you even know that? He was standing directly in front of me. When did he even have the time?”

Ghost inclines his head, speaks casually. “I caught him staring before he came up to you.”

“You’re making shit up.”

“I don’t lie.”

You lift your tray off the counter, deciding it’s best to go find a seat and leave Ghost behind. This conversation is exhausting. And your eggs are going cold. But before you even take a step, Ghost is right there, grabbing the tray out of your hands and putting it back on the counter.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

Ghost moves in. Dangerously so. “I. Don’t. Lie.”

“Do keep stroking your own ego.”

His voice lowers, becomes that soft croon when he spoke sweetly to you. Promised you things. Promised you protection. “Please,” and you realize he’s begging. “Stay away from him.”

This is beyond ridiculous. It borders on possession. Ghost may have ripped you from your life only to thrust you into a new one, but he’s not anything to you. He’s simply an instrument. Something you can wield so that you make it out the other side alive.

You take a step forward, leaning into him in the same way you offered yourself. “I was willing this morning,” you whisper. “I…wanted you.” Your confession is sin-drenched, and it pulls the reaction you want. The middle of Ghost’s brow softens, and then there is nothing but pure longing. “In a way,” you continue. “I think I still do.”

It’s not untrue. It felt good to be beneath him, for his hands to roam and touch, to taste and consume.

But this confessional is not to please him.

You withdraw the allure. Find the devil in you.

“And now you’re fucking hurt because another man spoke to me.”

Even the balaclava cannot hide his sharp inhale. “Sergeant Fields is a fucking snake.”

You say it slowly, each word like the prick of a dagger tip. “Choke on my dick, Lieutenant.”

It starts a soft, musing chuckle. Then a laugh. All that fire within you extinguishes, put out by the flood that is Ghost.

“Oh, dove,” he purrs. “You’ll look bloody gorgeous choking on mine.”

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[phossiii]

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter five

synopsis: the crew fights for nina's lunch. and phosphorus learns some new things about mahalat.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, short chapter

"Ah, so glad to be back home to the sweet smell of... What is this today? Hyena vomit?" Phosphorus sighed, glancing down at his tray of slop.

"Not likely," you scoffed, grimacing at the green-ish grey mash that was supposed to be part of your vegetarian meal plan. "To be vomit, it'd have to have been edible in the first place."

"What, are we all supposed to be buddies now?" the Bride cocked a brow, glancing at you both with a side eye.

"Hardly."

"I think so."

Turning to each other, you rolled your eyes, Phosphorus giving you a playful nudge with his elbow.

God, you weren't even supposed to be here...

After arriving back at Belle Reve, you expected to be airlifted back to Arkham, where a nice, padded cell sat waiting for your return.

But your clearance had been denied, Waller's reasoning being "accessibility".

You scoffed, incredulously, as you thought back on it.

"Convenience" was more like it...

'Let's see how convenient I am a month off my anti-psychotics with a ravenous demon to keep at bay.'

Though, medication or not, you were on your own.

This being a government matter, you doubted Batman could help you out, but still clung to the hope that he could call in a favor or two and get you out of this mess.

For the safety of everyone present.

"Look, creature from the black buffoon, I'm just sayin', this ain't enough for me, is it?" a large, gorilla-looking idiot taunted in Nina's face, snatching her tray. "I'm a big boy."

The bat-like woman next to him laughed, forcing Nina to further shrink into herself.

"I'm hungry..." she mumbled, hugging herself. "I've been on a long flight."

Ignoring her, he shoved the now empty tray back into her arms, walking off with an obnoxious laugh and double the servings.

Your brows furrowed, grip tightening on your tray.

'Bastard...'

But the Bride already had it covered, stepping in front of the gorilla just as he and the bat-woman tried to get past.

"What you lookin' at, Manic Panic?" he spat, sharply.

"Give her back her food," the Bride ordered, eyes narrowing.

Lowly, the man growled, getting right into her face and calling the attention of the entire chow hall.

You and Phosphorus glanced at each other, sharing a silent conversation that came to the conclusion of—

'She's got this.'

With a nasally huff, the man pulled back, stepping around the Bride in an attempt to walk off.

Crucial mistake.

Whipping around, she bashed him in the head with her tray, slamming his head into the wall and getting slop on his fur before dropping him to the ground.

Quickly rolling over, he let out a roar, but she used that as an opportunity to jam her tray in his mouth and pin him to the ground, knocking out a tooth.

Climbing on top of him, she repeatedly struck him, splattering blood all over the floor and all over herself as she turned his mouth to mush.

That is... until he fell unconscious.

Panting, she finally lowered her tray, tossing it to the side as she glared at his sleeping form.

'Serves him right.'

Just then, Weasel came sniffing around your food, and you greeted him with a smile, scratching the back of his ears before using your finger to flick a chunk of slop into the air.

Happily, he caught it in his mouth, letting out giddy squeaks as you gave him congratulatory head pats.

Standing up, the Bride glanced at Nina, who stared at the scene with a mix of shock and confusion.

"Hey there, give me that," Phosphorus interjected, taking the tray out of the bat-woman's hands as she stood horrified, handing it off to Nina. "There you go. Now everyone's happy, right?"

He turned to the bat-woman.

"Except for you. Because you no longer have food... and you're ugly."

He turned to the gorilla on the floor.

"And this one because he no longer has a jaw. He also might be dead."

"Bride," a round, red-headed man hobbled over, two COs trailing behind him.

"Right, I know. Back into the hole," she sighed, holding out her wrists in surrender.

"No. You're leading the team back to Pokolistan," he corrected. "Nina, Phosphorus, (y/n), Weasel, get ready to leave."

Confused, your brow raised, and you once again found yourself turning to Phosphorus, who offered an equally clueless shrug.

'Is the shit Waller wanted me here for?'

"So... Mahalat... is that the name of one of your personalities or somethin'?" Phosphorus asked, turning to you.

"Are we really doing this?" you sighed, arms crossed over your chest. "We go on one mission together and now you wanna have circle time?"

"I'm curious," he shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "One minute you're biting chunks outta people, the next you can't remember where you are. If we're in this for the long haul, which it looks like we are, I think that's a valid question to have."

Scooching closer, he leaned into your ear, using his hand to shield his mouth.

"Besides, whether you like it or not, doll face, I've been inside you. Don't you think you should get to know the guy that was rearranging your guts a few days ago?"

Eyes widening, your face burned with embarrassment, forcing you whip around and smack him in the arm.

"Phos!" you whisper-yelled.

"What? They can't hear me," he scoffed, nodding to the Bride and Nina, who were having their own conversation.

"If I tell you, will you never mention our... incident... again?"

"Why? You embarrassed?"

"Of you? Yes."

"How rude. I wasn't embarrassed of you... You were adorable. Yes, Phos! Harder, Phos! Right there, Phos! Oh, my God!"

"I will move to the other side of this helicopter."

"Actually, it's an osprey."

"Moving..."

"Alright, alright," he sighed, rolling his eyes as he tugged you back into your seat. "Don't get your tail in a twist."

With a roll of your eyes, you sighed, crossing one leg over the other as you settled back in.

From what you cold see, there was no harm in telling him the truth.

...Or at least a fraction of it.

"Let's get one thing straight... Mahalat is not some being made from my psyche, and I don't have that multiple personality or whatever it's called disorder," you quickly established, getting the main point out the way. "That's just something the quacks at Arkham stuck me with because demonism is not an ideology based off of science."

Intrigued, Phosphorus raised a brow, nodding for you to go on.

"Mahalat is a demon. An actual, fire and brimstone, biblically proportionate demon. And she's been using my body as a vessel for her bullshit for as long as I can remember."

"Wait," he paused a moment. "You mean... even as a kid?"

Suddenly, you clammed up, looking down at your lap as some of the more unpleasant memories began rolling back.

The voices.

The blood.

The hunger.

Phosphorus picked up on it instantly, and quickly switched topics to keep you from shutting him out.

"Touchy?"

You nodded.

"Alright, well then, where does she go when you're you? She floating around like a ghost or something?"

"Her spirit remains within me," you answered, igniting a small fire at your fingertip. "That's why I have access to a small part of her powers, and why I can hear her voice in my head."

"Is it hot?"

Your brows flattened, unamused by his crude question.

"If you had flesh to eat, she would devour you in a heartbeat."

"Well... if she's inside you... and if we're being technical here... I kinda devoured her first."

"I'm not doing this with you."

"Wait, keep going. I wanna know more."

"Nope. You've filled our sex-joke quota of the day."

"Oh, we've got a quota now?"

"Yup."

"I think that means you know me a little bit better."

"It is actually the farthest thing from that."

"In fact, I think you're starting to enjoy these little chats we have. You haven't even cussed me out yet."

"I'm takin' a nap."

"Flickin' down your shades isn't gonna hide you from the truth."

"Fuck off."

"There she is."

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 12 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 8k

A/N: HELLO WORLD!! PHEW. It's been a while. I know I'm posting it at a random hour but I needed to get this chapter off my chest. I explained on tumblr why it took me so long to update. To be honest my cat is still in a bad shape and I'm still absurdly worried about her… but oh well, I needed to post this chapter to think of something else for a while, at least. So it'd be very kind of you to leave a comment to help me not freak out about my cat :)

⤕  Masterlist  ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

You’re tired of fighting.

Your limbs are heavy, your throat burns, bruises cover your skin. Still, you try to run.

It’s useless. The two women dragging you inside the tomb are way stronger – unnaturally stronger than a human being should be. You growl like an animal, you kick and try to punch and claw anything on your reach. It’s still useless. The piece of cloth tightly wrapped around your mouth prevents you from speaking anything coherent.

The corridor opens to a big hall. The place is ancient, it is brightly illuminated by many torches. Strange paintings cover the walls and tall columns. There is a platform and something that looks like an altar ahead of you. On their sides, there are tall ceramic vases, five on each side. Sitting at the right side of the altar, there is a statue: the body of a female, the head of a lion, wielding a spear.

There is a woman standing on top of the platform.

A violent shiver runs down your spine. You know that woman… she was the first thing you saw when you woke up. If she didn’t exude cruelty and malice, maybe you would’ve thought she is beautiful: her tall stature, her long curly dark brown hair, her full lips and pink irises… but you know better. There is nothing good about that woman except her appearance.

She wears a similar white tunic as the other women in the hall, but is the only one wearing a golden headpiece, a thick necklace and many bracelets. Her expression isn’t cruel and mocking at the moment like you’ve seen her before. She just looks serious.

And there’s that other thing on the altar, too.

It… it resembles a woman, but you’re not sure: as pale as a cadaver, contrasting with the warmer skin tones of all the other women inside the tomb; its hair is long, straight and red, resembling a lion’s mane. The creature is… strangely tall, its arms and legs are disproportional to the rest of the body. It’s completely naked – you see the rags of what probably was its clothes scattered around the altar.

And it looks sick.

It’s way too skinny. Its ribs are very clearly outlined on the skin. Its cheeks are profound; its red eyes have heavy dark circles around them. Its whole body is trembling, its breathing is irregular. It drools like a sick dog.

And they are pulling you towards it.

After the initial shock, you begin to kick and scream again, but it’s still useless. You don’t want to be anywhere near that thing. It smells awful, it’s uncanny and scary and violently unnatural…

The other woman – who appears to be some sort of leader – grips you by the arm and drags you closer to that creature. She is even stronger than the other two who held you previously. She says something in a language you don’t understand.

You scream again. You try to pull your arm back, you try to claw her–

She squeezes your arm.

An agonizing yell erupts from your throat. Tears well up your eyes. Your legs fail.

You could hear the sound of your bones cracking under her grip.

That creature holds you this time. It pants like an animal. Even through the pain, you try to push it away – but it is useless.

Its long fingers entangle around the hair at the back of your head; it pushes it, forcing your head back and exposing your neck. It open its mouth wide, its horrible fangs approaching…

When it bites your neck, you can’t scream anymore; its jaws completely block your trachea. You gag, your eyes pop wide. There’s a suction noise… it is sucking your blood, you realize with horror. Your good hand still tries to pull its hair, but once again, it is useless… extreme weakness roams your body. The world twirls as every bit of strength disappears. Your head hurts as if someone had just hammered it.

Finally, it lets you go. You fall flat on the floor.

Your vision is blurred and darkening. You can’t move anymore. Your arm and your neck hurt so, so bad. And yet, you have time to see something before completely blacking out.

The creature doesn’t look like a creature anymore… its cheeks are not hollow, its limbs are no longer disproportional, body fat and muscles are visible again.

It is indeed a woman, not a thing.

She sighs contently and stretches her arms.

The world fades away.

Notre Dame’s high vaulted ceiling was indeed impressive.

How long did it take to build such a magnificent structure? How many workers were necessary? Who must’ve planned the building? How did they know that something so big wouldn’t crumble? Who must’ve crafted the beautiful stained glasses that colored the walls as sunshine touched them?

You had no idea.

You didn’t know why you were staring at it, either.

Your senses came back rather slowly. Voices… steps… everything echoed within the cathedral. The place you were laid at was uncomfortable… a wooden bench. One of the many you’d seen previously. Now that the place was properly lit by sunlight, it didn’t look as eerie as before.

Finally, you decided to sit up.

The great hall was full. The benches weren’t perfectly lined as before, which made you remember that Jules and the monks had used them to barricade the doors. You quickly realized that the injured in battle were brought inside the cathedral, where women priestesses wearing black tunics that covered their heads helped them (you heard two distinctive words: sister and nun. Was that the name of their position?). You saw them running from side to side, holding bloody pieces of cloth and water basins. Other civilian women were helping with medical aid as well.

No known face in sight.

Immediate nervousness set in your guts. Where was everybody? Why were you laying there?

This nervousness vanished in two seconds, however, when a familiar voice called.

You turned your head to see Charles, Jules and Henri rushing to where you were. You almost sighed in relief; Jules didn’t look seriously injured and Henri’s right shoulder was properly bandaged, though he still looked way too pale and tired. All of them looked worn out, in fact, with their uniforms ragged in some spots and blood stains here and there.

“Mademoiselle! You’re–“

“You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

“I’ll call for help! Sister! Please–“

You immediately raised your palm in Charle’s direction. “No, please. I am fine. I don’t need medical aid, thank you.”

The three boys sat down. They silently battled to see who would take their place by your side – Henri ended up winning. The other two sat on the bench in front of you, frowning at the ginger boy.

“What happened? Where is Alucard?” You asked.

“You passed out, Miss Ruby.” Charles explained. Jules elbowed him and angry whispered don’t call her by her name, you’re not her close friend!. “Mr. Alucard brought you down. After he checked that you weren’t hurt, he let you rest and left to care for the troops… he told us to take care of you–“

“He told me to take care of you.” Jules hissed again.

“He didn’t address you, we were all present at that moment…”

But their incessant arguing didn’t catch your attention, because you remembered someone and it immediately made your heart race.

“Mizrak!” You looked around, searching for his familiar face between the injured. “Where is Mizrak?!”

They eyed each other hesitantly.

“The monk, isn’t it?” Jules asked. You nodded. “He… he disappeared, Mademoiselle. He just weren’t there when we opened the doors again.”

“He might’ve crawled somewhere else,” Charles tried to calm you down. “There are other points in the city were the injured are being taken care of.”

“He’s a strong man, isn’t he? I-I’m sure he’s alright, somewhere…” Henri didn’t sound confident at all, however.

You instinctively gripped the fabric of your skirt. How could he just have disappeared? No one simply disappears. His wound was beyond serious, it needed immediate medical assistance. What if a vampire had dragged him away, fed from his corpse? What if he died because of you?

Which made you remember something else, for some reason. Your eyes popped wide once again.

“My scepter? Where is it?” Once again, you looked at your sides.

“My” scepter. Why did you claim it as yours so instinctively?

It just… felt right to do so.

“It’s under the bench, mademoiselle,” Henri pointed. You rushed to grab it, almost sighing in relief. Something so shiny would definitely attract thieves if you weren’t careful.

The three boys were engaged in some conversation. They were asking you questions, in fact, about what happened exactly at the top of the bell tower, where did that light come from, but you weren’t paying attention, focusing your eyes on the golden artifact instead.

You had already noticed it before – but the staff had a very subtle cone format. It got a bit thinner on the other end.

You brushed your fingers around it. The scepter… it didn’t look that unfamiliar anymore.

There was a small spot on the base of it, near the sun symbol. You pressed your thumb over it.

And then – the staff retracted.

It emitted a soft metallic sound as the entire length of the staff fit into itself. Now, you just held a disk – the sun symbol – that was a little larger than your hand, with ninety percent of the staff reduced to a small handle.

The four of you went immediately silent in shock.

“Wow.” Jules exclaimed. “How did you do this?”

“I don’t know.”

“It retracted perfectly,” Henri said in awe. “It’s an engineering masterpiece!”

They began to discuss between themselves again, and as much as you didn’t really mind their company, they were starting to bring you headaches. They reminded you a bit of a pack of turkeys – if one made a noise, all the others repeated.

“Gentlemen,” your voice immediately stopped their incessant talking. They looked at your with attention. You held the sun disk with both hands and rested them over your lap. “I didn’t have the opportunity to properly thank you all yet. Without your efforts, I would’ve never arrived here… and I don’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t. All of you saved uncountable lives today.” You managed to open a small smile while passing your eyes by each of the three. “Thank you so much.”

They got speechless for once.

You watched as their lips curved up into grins. Jules massaged the back of his neck sheepishly, Charles stuffed his chest like a bird, Henri got redder than a tomato. It was funny how these three were only big in size; in your eyes, they weren’t much far from the other three little boys you met in Paris.

You were also a bit surprised at your own speech. A week ago, you would’ve never even imagined yourself speaking with quiet confidence like that… you didn’t stutter once, which honestly felt great.

Finally, you stood up, being followed by them.

“Do you know where Alucard and the others are?”

Of course they knew. Of course they wouldn’t let you make your way there on your own.

The three guided you outside of the cathedral once again talking incessantly. You resigned yourself to replying with short sentences anytime a question was asked, way too focused on analyzing the destruction of the city. There was blood everywhere. The area around Notre Dame specifically was full of night creature carcasses; volunteers worked on grabbing them to throw them in a bonfire nearby. The streets were crowded as citizens helped clean the city, bring down the rubble barricades, measure the damage, or simply went back to their homes and establishments.

It was strange to see everything under the sunshine… and to think that just one or two hours ago, you were running around these streets, trying to survive vampire attacks, feeling the deepest fear you’ve ever felt – and trying to brush it aside. You had managed to, somehow… something unthinkable for the person you were a week ago.

...Had you really changed this much in a few days, or you were simply allowed to be yourself for the first time in your life?

“...What I’m trying to say, Mademoiselle,” Henri’s nervous voice caught your attention for the first time. He sent an angry glance towards the other two before looking at you with expectation. “D-Do you have a house in Paris?”

“No.”

“Great! I-I mean–“ he cleaned his throat and put his hand over his chest. “If you need a place to stay – to spend the night, perhaps – you are more than welcome in my house. It’s not far from here. We have enough rooms and food for you. A-And Mr. Alucard, of course,” he giggled nervously.

You half expected the other two to offer their homes as well, but they didn’t, to your surprise. They just looked at him with what looked like jealousy.

Before you could answer, you arrived at a great square – and you forgot about the three.

“Excuse me,” you said before rushing towards Annette.

The square had many people walking from here to there, dragging rubble or just watching – but you didn’t care. Annette is alive! More than that, she looked fine. The dark haired girl spotted you as well and rushed, meeting you halfway.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Where is Richter?” You blurted out, immediately searching for injuries with your eyes. Annette chuckled and held your arms delicately.

“I’m fine. We’re both fine. What about you?” She quirked one eyebrow up. “I heard you unleashed some terrifying magic.”

She lowered her eyes to the sun disk you held. You immediately avoided her gaze, feeling sheepish. “Well, I… I don’t really know how to explain what happened.”

Annette shrugged. “Neither do I.”

“Where’s Richter?” You repeated and started to turn around. Annette, for some reason, widened her eyes and was about to hold you back again…

“Wait–“

She tried, but it was already too late.

The first thing you saw was Alucard, standing at a good distance.

He was eyeing you intently. Juste Belmont was by his side – how and when did he arrive in Paris? – wearing an elegant long red coat.

When your eyes crossed his, your entire body froze.

What happened at the bell tower…

It felt as if your entire face was on fire. Heavens, you hugged him – you actually hugged him, you entangled your arms around his neck and cried like a child. You certainly were not in your right mind to do something so… so… so…!

But then, you looked at something else – the thing Annette was worried that you’d see – and all the other thoughts ceased.

Your stomach dropped.

A big bonfire was being formed by civilians bringing rubble; it was more than two meters tall, perhaps. In between the pieces of wood, there were corpses – the vampires that didn’t turn to ashes during the flash of sunlight.

And the biggest corpse of them all…

You instinctively stepped back.

Erzsebet Bathory.

She didn’t look like herself anymore. She was even taller than what you remembered, her red hair longer, her face distorted in animalistic traits… one arm had been chopped off. She had many bruises and injuries. Her cheeks were hollow, her mouth wide open in a perpetual expression of shock and pain.

Erzsebet Bathory was dead.

No mistakes this time, Alucard had said.

The sight of her destroyed, lifeless corpse made your stomach twirl. And once again, you hated the effect this woman had upon you even in death, even with you looking at her in that state. It felt like she would suddenly screech and launch herself at you like so many times before. You could almost feel her claws gnawing your skin, her fangs sinking in your neck…

She is dead. She is dead. She can’t hurt me anymore. She is dead.

Annette’s soft touch on your shoulder brought you back to reality. She looked at you with worry.

“Do you remember what I told you?” She asked quietly.

And when we defeat Erzsebet, justice will be done.

You closed your eyes for a moment and sighed.

“Yes. I’ll… I’ll be fine.” You reassured her. You weren’t fine at that moment, but you would be.

Finally, you spotted Richter walking towards you both. He looked very injured – he had multiple burns on both arms, the sleeves of his blue jacket had been ripped. He was limping and looked very tired, yet still managed to open a small smile to you.

He carried a long piece of wood. The tip had been draped with pieces of cloth.

His small smile vanished. He looked down at you with solemnity.

“You arrived at the right time, Ruby.” Richter looked down at the wood he held. “We believe… you deserve to be the one to do it.”

You finally understood.

That was a torch.

You gulped, your body got tense. Even so, you nodded accordingly. You wouldn’t be able to speak even if you tried.

Richter summoned a ball of blue fire in his hand and ignited the torch. You shoved the sun disk inside your vest and held the torch with both hands.

You took a deep breath before approaching the pyre.

The square stopped to watch the scene.

Erzsebet’s corpse was horrendous, disgusting. You decided to not avoid your gaze from it. You bent slightly, making the tip of the torch touch the wood at the base of the pyre. The fire spread rapidly.

You stepped away and watched.

The people at the square cheered at the sight of the so-called Vampire Messiah burning. Your world, however, was quiet. All you could hear were the sounds of the wood cackling, the flames increasing and consuming everything in the pyre. You watched with attention as the fire consumed Erzsebet’s corpse; it burned her skin, her hair, muscles and bones. And a part of you was grateful to be left alone – Alucard, Annette, Richter and the three boys decided to stand away.

Erzsebet was dead. Definitely.

She used to be your world merely a week ago. Everything revolved around her: your fear, your hopelessness, your hatred, your self-loathing, your confusion. You were just a shadow of a person, an empty fragile shell on the verge of breaking apart. She was your world – and your world was dark, cold, bloody and lonely.

Things were slowly changing now.

You learned that the real world also had place for colors. For kindness, friendship, perseverance and freedom. The real world was not a perfect place, but it was vast; and its vastness for sure should have a place for you somewhere – a place were you wouldn’t be hurt anymore.

At that moment, you decided that you would never cry for her again.

You had already cried enough. She had forced you to dedicate your entire existence for her. You knew that your wounds were way too deep to be forgotten, you knew that the scars that would come from them would be ugly and impossible to ignore. You knew that it wouldn’t be fast and easy to overcome your fears and all the disgusting memories she dug into your soul.

But even so, you decided not to cry.

She had taken enough from you.

When her skeleton was visible, you turned your back to the pyre.

Richter was leaning on Annette for support, his arm resting over her shoulders while she hugged him from the side. You approached them hesitantly.

Annette still looked worried.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

You looked down at your bloody sleeve.

“Disgusting. I need a bath.” Finally, you lifted your gaze again. “A friend of mine can help us out.”

You quickly found out why the other two boys didn’t offer their houses as well.

Henri was the son of a judge, who was apparently intimately tied to the leaderships of the Revolutionaries. His house was far from being as luxurious as the chateau in Machecoul (you figured that if Henri’s father had a house like that, he’d be next in the guillotine line), but it was still bigger and more comfortable than the average home anyway, located at the heart of Paris.

Henri had offered you (and Alucard as an afterthought) a shelter… but you figured he wouldn’t mind if you brought other visitors as well.

Right?

Well, his father certainly didn’t mind. The middle-aged man thanked Alucard over a hundred times, his eyes gleaming as if he stood in front of a golden statue, babbling how he was thankful for his help. Alucard listened patiently, but you were around him for long enough to start noticing his very subtle expression changes.

You remembered his opinion about the leaders of the Revolutionaries…

Well.

The rest of the group was more than happy to have a place to stay for a while, so there wasn’t really what to argue here.

“Stay for as long as you like!” Henri’s father repeated for the hundredth time while guiding everyone inside. “We have enough bedrooms, enough food… well, perhaps not enough clothes, but I’ll figure it out in no time! Tell me whatever you need and I’ll have it ready. All I have to offer is little compared to what you did to save our nation today!”

Alucard resigned himself to offer him a nod.

Before the white-haired vampire could focus on you, you immediately accepted a maid’s offer to get upstairs and have a bath.

...You didn’t know why you were avoiding him. Not exactly. Perhaps embarrassment? You’d never been deliberately touchy with anyone like that before. Well, you weren’t in your right mind at that moment for whatever reason. Maybe you crossed a boundary? Maybe you went too far? Alucard didn’t push you away, however – but he wasn’t one to be rude anyway… at the same time, it’s not like Alucard wasn’t someone that didn’t know how to establish boundaries. The fact that he didn’t push you away had to mean something, right?

He hugged you back, in fact.

He rested his face on your shoulder and didn’t move.

You felt his hot breath on your neck and his large hand softly caressing your back.

For the second time, he held you until you fell asleep.

Your face was burning hot.

Suddenly, for unknown reasons, you felt as if you were exposed again, as if there was a crowd watching you with scrutiny even though there was no one else besides the maid in the room. You felt burning embarrassment crawl over your skin and it burnt almost as much as the strange magic of the scepter. For the first time in your life, you dismissed a maid’s offer to help you bathe and decided to do it yourself.

And then you were alone in the bedroom, but you still felt strange and exposed and oh heavens you were disgusting. Sweaty, dried blood covered your skin. You got rid of those layers of clothes and sat inside the wooden bathtub – it was smaller than what you were used to, the water wasn’t as warm, there weren’t bath salts, only a bar of soap.

Erzsebet chose the bath salts you’d bathe in. She liked flowery fragrances.

And then you remembered that you still smelled of her, that her disgustingly sweet smell was mixed with the smell of blood and sweat, and then you were scrubbing yourself with the sponge and soap vehemently.

You scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, watching the foam spread over your skin. You scrubbed your arms and chest and legs and stomach and feet. But the smell wouldn’t go away, so you scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. You scrubbed until your skin started to hurt. That pain made you remember the sight of Erzsebet burning in the pyre, the sight of her skin boiling and melting from her bones – which, for some reason, made you scrub harder. You weren’t planning to, but you ended up untying your hair and washing it too, scratching your scalp with soap in frenetic movements because that bad smell was probably in your hair, too.

You scrubbed your own body until you were tired, until the water became actually cold, until your arms hurt from the repetitive movements. You stood inside the tub with water on your knees, the naked upper part of your body shaking in cold, and watched as blood dripped from the scratches you had inflicted on your own thighs. Perhaps… perhaps too much scrubbing. How did that even happen?

You sniffed your hair. Your skin. It didn’t smell of flowers anymore.

Just soap.

So you finally got out of the tub and wrapped yourself in a towel.

When the maid entered the bedroom with a fresh change of clothes, you avoided eye contact with her. She explained that the dress was Henri’s sister’s and perhaps it wouldn’t fit, but she already had a box of threads and needles to make adjustments. It wasn’t an intricate ball gown, but it wasn’t a simple dress either. It had cream and light green tones with pink flowers peppered around the corset and skirt. The dress was light and comfortable. It didn’t require many adjustments.

The maid offered herself to brush and style your hair, to which you politely declined. She probably wouldn’t be aggressive the way you were used to, but… no. Not right now.

When the maid left, you sat in front of the dressing table… and stayed there for a while. Disheveled damp hair fell over your shoulders. It was probably wetting the back of the dress. You didn’t care.

You stared at your own reflection for the first time in days.

The morning Alucard appeared in your life, you were doing just that – watching your reflection. Scrutinizing yourself. You didn’t look different. But, at the same time, there was something different about you – and you couldn’t tell exactly what.

You still had no past or family or name… but you weren’t just a bird in a cage anymore either, nor a lamb obediently walking to its slaughter night after night.

You were free.

It was scary.

What were you going to do from now on? You were actually alone. You owned nothing, and it was pretty clear that in order to survive in this world, you’d need some gold or coins or… whatever the currency was. You couldn’t assume Henri would let you live under his shelter forever and you weren’t innocent enough to not understand what it meant to stay.

You were nobody.

The others? They accepted you because you were a link to Erzsebet’s powers, an upper hand. Now their enemies were dead. They had no responsibility over you… you shouldn’t assume that they would take care of you like you were a child.

As humiliating as it might be, you felt like a child.

What would be your place in this world? Was something expected of you? Would they expect you to get married and have children? Should you find some sort of work? Should you perform some sort of role?

The reflection in the mirror frowned back at you slowly.

A… role?

...

You learned that your blood was valuable to her.

...

“But I am no vampire.”

“No. However, you heal like one. And Erzsebet drank from your blood for a long time, apparently.”

Annette looked at Alucard. “Do you think this was also somehow empowering her?”

The vampire took some moments to answer. “Maybe. We can’t be sure.”

…

That creature doesn’t look like a creature anymore… its cheeks are not hollow, its limbs are no longer disproportional, body fat and muscles are visible again.

It is indeed a woman, not a thing.

…

It took you a long time to realize that there was someone knocking on the door. You got up in a jump and rushed towards it with your thoughts rushing faster than the currents of a river.

It was Henri. He had also taken a proper bath, changed his clothes, and blushed furiously when his eyes fell on your figure. Maybe because your hair was damp and not presentable? Not very lady-like. Perhaps inappropriate. But you didn’t care, the same way you didn’t really pay attention to anything he was saying; his words seemed muffled and distant within the cacophony of your own thoughts.

The bandages on his left shoulder were peeking from under his blouse.

“Henri, would you do something for me?” you interrupted whatever he was babbling before. “But you have to trust me.”

His eyes widened. “O-Of course! Anything for you, Mademoiselle.”

You opened the door wide and stepped aside, pointing towards the bed. “Please, have a seat.”

His face got even redder, if that was possible.

“B-B-But Mademoiselle– it would be inappropriate to enter your room like that, when we’re alone–“

“Please.”

“Of course!”

He rushed in awkwardly as if that wasn’t his own house. You didn’t bother to close the door again – if the idea of being alone with you made him so uncomfortable, it was best to leave it open. Henri sat on the edge of the bed while blinking rapidly for some reason. His breathing also looked irregular. Was he feeling unwell?

“Can you show me your wound?” You asked. Henri widened his eyes again.

“Mademoiselle… hm…”

“Trust me.” You were running impatient.

Henri hesitated, but ended up taking off his coat and pushing his blouse to expose the bandages. You turned around to take something from the dressing table. When you turned around holding a pair of scissors, Henri got pale.

He was a bit of a chameleon.

Henri was about to protest again, but the look you sent him made him gulp and go quiet. You stood in front of him to carefully cut the bandages away and expose the gashes on his shoulder. They were properly cleaned and stitched up, but even so you could still see how horribly that vampire hurt him. If Henri’s head was centimeters closer to the vampire’s claws… he wouldn’t be here right now to change colors anymore.

Henri gasped when you brought the blade of the scissors and cut your own palm.

“Mademoiselle–!”

“Shh.”

He swallowed his words.

You hoped to be right. That had to work.

Carefully, you pressed your bleeding palm over his wounds.

Henri hissed. Your hand moved slowly to spread the blood over the entire surface of the gashes. The sight was unpleasant, to say the least… but it was less disgusting than making him drink your blood.

Please, work. Please, work.

Nothing changed at first.

But then, Henri gasped – and you gasped, too.

Your palm pressed over his wounds – your blood started to glow faintly. It took a strange golden color, as if it became melted gold.

Both of you watched in awe as Henri’s wounds started to heal right in front of your eyes.

He seemed out of breath. He frowned and hissed and you knew he was probably hurting because you knew that feeling. You stood upright and stepped away from him in slight shock.

The threads that were used to stitch the gashes fell over his lap.

Henri touched his own shoulder hesitantly. He pressed his fingers over it, massaged it. There was no sign that it was previously hurt… not even a scar.

You learned that your blood was valuable to her.

Why keep you around? Why keep you locked with guards holding you at all times? Why drag you along anywhere she went?

That was the answer to one of the questions that plagued your existence.

Henri was healed.

Finally, he rose his amazed eyes towards you.

“Miss Ruby… h-how did…?”

Then, he looked at something behind you and got pale again.

You turned around.

Alucard stood by the door, watching the scene with an astonished expression.

You locked eyes. With that simple gaze, you saw that he understood the situation completely.

One piece of the puzzle that hid your mysterious past was solved.

“...Why is he talking funny?” You whispered in Annette’s ear.

She quirked one eyebrow up and looked towards Juste, who stood not far from where you were sitting.

A smirk crept up her lips. “He’s drunk.”

Juste Belmont, Richter’s grandfather who you only saw briefly at his destroyed cottage, swayed slightly as if he stood on water, though the ground at the sides of the Seinne were clearly cobblestones. His eyes were half lidded, his speech slower and a bit difficult to understand. He held a wooden cup full of beer and talked to some unknown men who seemed to be in a similar state as him.

At your obvious confusion, Annette frowned. “Have you never been drunk?”

“I don’t know what that is, I’m afraid.”

Annette looked more confused than you. She eyed the bottle of the (not very good) wine you’d been sharing for the past hour or so. “Well, I’m surprised… given how much you’ve been drinking. You don’t feel anything strange at all? A certain dizziness? A sudden happiness?”

You put your hand over your own stomach and frowned. “No. Was I supposed to?”

She rested her face on her palm. “A normal person would be supposed to… but I guess your healing ability doesn’t even let you get drunk.” A small chuckle went past her lips. “It’s what happens when someone drinks too much of an alcoholic beverage. They lose their senses, get dizzy, sometimes end up saying or doing things they wouldn’t do when they’re sane…”

“Oh.” Funnily enough, you knew how that felt – but it didn’t have anything to do with alcohol… just extreme levels of “sun magic”, apparently. “I didn’t know wine has alcohol. It doesn’t feel much different than juice to me.” You quirked one eyebrow up. “Does juice have alcohol?”

“No. Hopefully no.” She shook her head. It seemed that Annette thought your confusion over some things amused her, much like Alucard. She looked ahead again. “Getting drunk is not always bad, you know. Sometimes it helps you lift your spirits.”

You looked ahead too, back to where Juste and his new friends laughed at the top of their lungs at something you didn’t hear, and silently wished you could get drunk if it’d make you laugh like that.

It was… strange, to say the least, how the night in Paris was so lively. Streets were crowded and well lit, laughter and music filled the air as citizens celebrated. Men, women, young or old – the entire city decided to go outside and have a huge party. It didn’t even seem that a literal war broke out only a few hours ago. Most of the rubble hadn’t even been collected.

It was like no one cared. Which, in your opinion, was a bit heartless, given how many lives were lost. But it seems they were just happy that the person who threatened their freedom was dead.

Well. You should be happy too. More than anyone.

Why weren’t you celebrating with them?

You craved freedom for as long as you could remember. More than that… you craved relief. But turns out, deep down, you never thought that day would actually come, and now that it did, you just didn’t know how to react. So your body and feelings just decided to freeze in this strange state.

The others seemed happy – well, maybe except for Maria, the blonde girl in pink. She talked a bit with Annette and Juste, but resigned herself to be quiet most of the time with perpetual melancholy over her features. From what you knew, Maria had lost her mother the day you met Alucard, so her actions were understandable.

Richter bounced back between talking to Juste and Annette. The black haired girl still seemed a bit apprehensive about something, but other than that, she was much more relaxed than what you’d known of her. And Alucard… he was somewhere. He left the house with everyone, but quickly got caught up in conversation with some generals you’d seen before.

So there you were. Sitting on a bench with Annette by your side, watching Paris celebrate the death of the Vampire Messiah, while you felt that you couldn’t even move.

It was overwhelming. And a bit uncomfortable.

Turns out you hadn’t really gotten used to crowds… it seems it’s not something that would change over just a few days. Many men you met the day before came to greet you with wide smiles in their faces (now that Annette had explained, you figured most of them were probably drunk too). Of course, you were happy anytime you recognized a face – one more soldier that hadn’t fallen. But at at some point… you didn’t want to talk anymore, or force smiles, or try to pay attention to whatever they were trying to say.

So you decided to sit with Annette for a while in this somehow hidden spot. It seemed she didn’t want to mix with the people as well. You wondered if it had anything to do with what Alucard explained about her past and her homeland…

Which made you remember something else – something you’d been hesitating to ask.

You straightened your back and cleaned your throat. “Hm, Annette… can I ask you something?” She looked at you and nodded. “Do you remember what you said or did while… well… while Sekhmet possessed you?”

She narrowed her eyes and looked down, touching her temples with her fingertips. “Not exactly. I remember what happened while I was in the spirit world… but even these memories are a bit vague in some parts. Like the memories of a dream.” She rested her hand back over her lap. “It’s always like that when I wander there.”

“So you weren’t really here while Sekhmet had your body?” Annette shook her head. Your shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Oh. I understand.”

She tilted her head. “Why you ask?”

“Sekhmet said something strange about me.” You avoided her eyes. Although they shared the same face, Annette had nothing to do with Sekhmet and the feral glare she sent you at that moment. “She said I should not be close to her.”

“What? Why?”

“She didn’t explain. That’s why I hoped maybe you’d have a hint… since you shared a body.”

Annette held her chin in a pensive expression. “...I have no idea, I’m sorry. But if I remember something relevant from when I was in the spirit world, I’ll tell you right away.”

You thanked her quietly and looked ahead again. You couldn’t blame her. Annette had asked how that flash of sunlight happened, how the scepter worked – and similarly to her, you had no answers.

Richter was, once again, approaching with a smile on his face. Perhaps that was the little push you needed to move. Whenever he came around, you felt that you were… interrupting. It wasn’t the first time you felt like that around them, but the situation became a little bit more intense. Maybe you really were interrupting, maybe they wanted some time for themselves but didn’t want to be rude.

So you finally decided to get up.

“I’m tired... I’ll head back now.”

Annette seemed a bit worried. “Do you want me to walk back with you?”

Again, you couldn’t blame her for being worried, not after all she had seen of you – acting like a frightened little mouse all the time. You shook your head and managed to open a small (fake) smile. “No, thank you. The house is just two streets away… I promise to not get lost.”

Annette hesitated… but it seems she understood you wanted to be left alone.

“Okay. Take care.”

You nodded and turned around, not waiting to greet Richter. It also made you feel a bit like that frightened little mouse again, but there was another reason why you felt confident enough to walk these two streets alone. The red string around your right wrist. You decided to keep it there, the same way you decided to take the red disk – scepter – with you wherever you went. The idea of it being taken from you was enough to keep you on your toes at all times.

You walked past couples, families, friends, children – talking, drinking, dancing, running around. You wished you wouldn’t feel this disconnected from their reality. No… it was a bit more complicated than that. You wished you had a family, a real past, more good memories than bad ones. Perhaps if you had these things… you wouldn’t feel so distant or lost or empty.

As much as you’d been avoiding to sleep, you assumed that sleeping right now would ease your feelings a bit.

That was when something very subtle tingled on your wrist.

You looked down in time to see the red string untying itself and falling.

Frowning, you crouched and took it from the floor again. Had you accidentally brushed on someone–?

If anything happens, anything at all, untie this string. Mine will untie, too, and I will rush to you.

Your eyes widened.

You looked around frantically.

Finally – you found him.

Alucard stood alone on one of the many bridges over the Seinne not very far from where you were. He was difficult to find at first, but as soon as your eyes locked on him, everyone else became blurred. He leaned both forearms over the stone railing in a relaxed position; his face held the serenity you were already used to. It’s like he was deep in thought. The soft night breeze played with his white hair. He looked down at the river.

His red string swayed with the wind, too. Untied. He held it between his fingers.

Your heart stopped beating for a second.

You stood there, unable to move, as if your body finally remembered how to feel something, how to not be distant. You gulped, gripped the sun disk a little tighter.

Mine will untie, too, and I will rush to you.

Alucard noticed you were avoiding him. Well, it was quite impossible not to notice. He didn’t make any attempts to approach you (you quite literally ran away from him earlier after the new discovery about your blood). But that… that was a very clear message.

A quiet invitation.

So you took a deep breath, trying to calm your stupid racing heart. Why were you scared? That was Alucard. You knew Alucard. He was never mean to you, never made you feel bad intentionally. You had faced a city full of vampires earlier that day… talking to him was nothing compared to that.

To be truly freed is to not be afraid.

You walked towards him.

You didn’t rush. You held the disk tightly, keeping it close to your stomach, the red string tangled around your palm. It seemed that your heart thundered louder on your ears with every step. It was like the world got blurrier and blurrier except for him.

After what seemed like an eternity, you stood by his side.

Two steps away. You looked down at the river, too.

Silence.

You weren’t brave enough to look at him. Alucard didn’t move, didn’t say anything. But… just like before, his quiet serenity enveloped you, made the celebration noises a bit distant.

It didn’t calm your raging heart this time.

It took you a while to understand that Alucard was waiting for you to speak up first. But he called me here. Doesn’t he have anything to say? Why should I be the one to speak first?!

To be truly freed is to not be afraid.

You gulped.

“I…” Your voice cracked a bit. You felt the urge to jump in the river and drown. “I don’t know how they have the energy to celebrate. It… doesn’t feel appropriate.”

Alucard sighed.

“The grieving families for sure aren’t out here.” Goosebumps roamed your skin when his calm husky voice reached your ears. “France is far from reaching real peace in the next few years… let them celebrate for now.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes glued to the river down there. It reflected the golden lights of the lanterns on the margins beautifully.

Come on, don’t be scared. Don’t be embarrassed. Come on. Come on. Come on.

You took what you had kept inside the sleeve of your dress hesitantly.

“A-Actually, I… I wanted to give you this.”

You turned to Alucard for the first time. He was already looking at you.

He looked down at the carefully folded handkerchief you offered him with both hands.

His expressions changed subtly. At first, confusion; then, surprise.

Then… a small smile.

You cleared your throat. “G-Give it back, actually. Since I ruined yours… I don’t know if it’s the same fabric, but it looks similar to the one you had.”

Alucard chuckled and took the handkerchief with care. When his fingers brushed yours, you felt more goosebumps.

“There was no need… but thank you. It is very thoughtful.”

You managed to smile, but turned to the river again before your face started burning.

With the corner of your eyes, you saw him put the handkerchief inside his coat and lean over the railing again. He was not wearing his cape. There was something different about him… perhaps because immediate danger wasn’t lurking anymore, Alucard felt comfortable enough to actually relax, and it reflected on his body and face.

You taped your pointer finger over the sun disk nervously. “How’s your wound?” You blurted out, desperate to not fall in an awkward silence.

Alucard instinctively touched his left shoulder. “Healed.” He looked at you again. “What about you?”

Oh fuck. He was addressing the elephant in the room – your strange state that made you weirder and braver than usual. Please do not mention the hug. Please please please please.

Once more, you avoided his gaze. “...Back to normal, I believe.” I hope is what you wanted to say, but perhaps it would’ve been a little rude.

“Do you have any idea of why that happened to you?”

You tightened your lips and frowned a bit.

You will burn from inside out.

It’s what the unknown female voice told you.

“I believe… I was doing something wrong at first.” You started hesitantly. “The magic. I was conjuring it in an incorrect way. I think my mistake harmed me. Burning me from inside out.”

Alucard hummed and held his chin.

“So it backfires. Magic so powerful should have its side effects.” Alucard seemed hesitant. “If it harms you… you should consider not doing it unless absolutely necessary.”

“No! It was just at first. I… figured it out later.” The thought made you tighten your grip around the sun disk by instinct. “Though, to be honest, I feel that that specific ritual shouldn’t be used in excess.”

Alucard’s eyes followed your grip. He quirked one eyebrow up slightly.

“I was meaning to ask you about this, too.” You handed him the sun disk right away, to which he took and raised to his eye level. “So the staff retracts. How did you figure it out?”

You shrugged. “It just felt right.”

Alucard grinned while handing it back to you. “It seems you’re remembering a lot of things.”

“...I’m not sure. It’s like I told you before… knowledge. Not memories.”

The white-haired vampire leaned on the railing again and looked into the distance. His expression got a bit more serious.

“I was thinking of what you told me. It reminded me of something.” Alucard seemed to hesitate. “...My parents were doctors. Both of them. My father, specifically, had a bit of a fascination for the mysteries of the human brain. He dedicated many studies and experiments to it. Wrote entire books.” Whenever Alucard mentioned anything about his father, it was like nothing else in the world mattered. You were completely focused. “From his many theses… he got to the conclusion that memories and abilities are stored in different areas of the brain. That could be why when someone suffers from memory loss, they still know how to speak, read, write… they know how to function.”

Your eyes widened at each word that left his mouth. “...Just like me.” Alucard nodded. You instinctively touched your own head. “So maybe this part of my brain is damaged?”

“Could be.”

“But why isn’t it healing back?”

Alucard hesitated.

“I believe we’ll figure it out soon.” You wanted to ask what the hell he meant by that, but Alucard decided to change topics drastically. “Talking about healing… did you tell anyone about what happened?”

Oh.

The absolute shocking news you discovered earlier that day, but that seemed pale at that moment in comparison with your nervousness to speak with him.

“No.” You shook your head. “But I was thinking… Richter’s burns are pretty bad. Maybe I could help him… or maybe if I knew where Mizrak is, I could save him...”

“Ruby.”

He put his hand over your shoulder – which made you swallow your words.

Quiet worry coated his features.

“I understand you want to help. But you should also understand that the properties of your blood are extremely rare and extremely valuable. It will put a target on your head again. So… the less people know about it, the better.” He dropped his hand from your shoulder. “Also… if in order to heal someone you end up getting hurt, I don’t see why you should do it.”

“But I always–“

“I know.” He interrupted you softly. “I know you do. That doesn’t mean you should hurt yourself willingly.” Alucard pressed his lips. “...Blood is life, Ruby. Don’t give your life away so easily.”

You sighed heavily and crossed your arms. “I guess you’re right. Henri knows about it, though.”

“He won’t tell anyone.” Alucard sounded way too certain about that.

It was your turn to lean on the stone railing, You looked down at the river. The pacific sound of the non-stopping flowing waters muffled the other noises – uncountable voices and music. You wondered if Alucard attracted you here on purpose… a place where you could focus on a single calming sound.

And perhaps that calmness gave you courage to ask the question you wanted to ask the most.

“What are you going to do now, Alucard?” Your voice was hesitant. Fragile, even… “Erzsebet and Drolta are dead. Your five year mission is over…”

Of course, you knew he and the others had no responsibility over you. You were well aware. And yet, the simple thought of being left alone frightened you. The idea that Alucard would wake up tomorrow and simply go away, and the others would go back to Machecoul, and Annette would cross the ocean back to Saint-Domingue… all of that was frightening.

You wanted to be free, not alone.

And the thought that you might never see Alucard again was even more frightening.

Should you have been attached to him so easily after just a few days? Was that correct or normal? You had no idea. What you knew was that Alucard was the first person to offer kindness and protection and understanding, and you didn’t want him out of your life so soon.

But that was not up to you.

So all you could do was ask.

Alucard leaned on the railing too. He was closer this time. Just one step away, not two.

“I think I should be making this question.” He said softly. “What are you going to do now that you’re free?”

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped past your lips. That wasn’t funny, however.

“I don’t have a family. Or a past, or a name. I don’t know where I came from or where should I go next. I don’t know why my blood heals, why I can read this language, where did this scepter come from… I don’t know anything.” You hated how fragile and bitter your voice sounded, but that couldn’t be helped. “...Is this even freedom at all?”

Alucard kept silent for long, respectful moments.

Then, he sighed deeply.

“There is only one place in the world where we could decode this language.” He pointed towards the sun disk.

You looked at him with a frown.

“There is only one place in the world where we might find out why you heal… and where does your strange magic comes from.”

Expectation bubbled within your chest.

“What place is it?”

Alucard closed his eyes for a moment. It was just a glimpse, but you had the impression that he didn’t really like what he was about to say.

But then, he opened his eyes to look at you – and his golden irises had nothing but kindness and quiet care, and the lanterns cast a soft glow over his features and white hair, and truly – he was so beautiful that it was almost painful to look at.

“My home.” He tilted his head to the sides. “...What used to be my home, at least.” Alucard straightened his back. “I’m making you an invitation, Ruby.”

Your heart raced. Your mouth got dry. Your eyes widened slowly.

“Do you want to… help me?” You, for some reason, sounded amazed. Why is it? Has anyone been more willing to help you than Alucard?

Alucard smiled and nodded – and, at that moment, with that simple motion, he seemed to ease all the worries of your soul.

“I do. I will. Let’s find out who you really are, Ruby.” Alucard rested his hand over yours… and once again, it didn’t burn.

It warmed.

“Let’s go to Dracula’s castle.”

[novemberheart]

{overview} you make a disturbing discovery while in John’s office

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, short chapter, slight angst

Chapter 23 <- Chapter 24 -> Chapter 25

While you had never been happier, a part of you was ready to return to base. You missed your friends and the routine that came along with it. You wouldn't miss your pack being sent to the odds and ends of the world, but you knew they were more than capable.

You and the betas drove back to base, while the alphas flew. Vernie didn't have all her shots to be able to fly. Luckily, the betas would never turn down a road trip.

“This is your new home,” you cheered softly. The familiar smell of the flat tickling your brain. The puppy decided to take great interest in the cords near the TV.

“Gonna have to puppy-proof,” Simon huffed, grabbing the squirming creature off the floor. You expected him to pass her to you, instead, he sat down on the couch placing her in his lap. You cleaned up around your room, dusting things and finishing the loads of laundry from vacation. “You’re happy,” Simon stated, looking over his shoulder at you.

“It’s nice to be back. Not going to be happy about any of you leaving though,” You mumbled the last part, flopping down on the couch next to him. Vernie crawled over to you.

“I’d hope not,” Simon grunted, causing you to roll your eyes.

There was hardly a day to get back into the swing of things. The boys being pulled for trainings and meetings. You quickly regretted saying you were happy to be back.

“Five more minutes,” you whined, Kyle’s phone alarm lighting up the room. The sun hadn't even started to come up yet.

“Alright,” Kyle agreed quickly. He put his phone on snooze, worming back under the covers with you. You both jolted awake ten minutes later to pounding at the door. “Fuck,” Kyle cursed stumbling out of bed. You giggled, the door opening to reveal a pissed-off John.

“How the hell are you supposed to train others when you can't even manage yourself?” He snapped. He pushed his way into the room, bumping into Kyle who was changing into his uniform. He bent down pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Good morning, pretty girl,” his voice was startlingly different- yet you had gotten used to that. You wrapped your arms around his neck, making sure to rub as much of your scent on him as you could.

“Good morning, alpha.”

In John’s eyes you were too sultry for your own good. “I’ll come back and get you for lunch,” he pressed another kiss against you, grabbing Kyle by the scruff, knowing if the beta had the opportunity to kiss you goodbye he would never get to training.

“God, I missed you!” Anais grinned wickedly, wrapping her arms tightly around you. Even Jane seemed happy to see you. Anais had signed all three of you up for badminton, which ended with all of you trying to get the badminton birdie out of Vernie’s mouth.

Regardless, it was fun.

“I’m hungry,” Anais sighed, even as she chewed on her bag of trail mix. “Lunch?” She questioned eyeing both of you.

“I can't. I have lunch with my alpha,” You explained stretching out on the grass.

“Oh, that's right. It’s Wednesday,” she sighed. “Need us to drop you off before we head out?” She asked, moving to a stand.

“That would be great,” you perked up. Vernie was exhausted at this point- not being the most high-energy pup in the first place. “Hey, they are having a movie night in the park Friday. We should do that,” You suggested, causing Anais to light up.

“Just as long as it’s not a scary movie this time,” Jane huffed, making the two of you chuckle. They dropped you off outside the office building, and you made quick work getting to John’s office. You couldn't be caught hanging around by yourself. You knocked at the door not hearing a response. You tugged out your key card, waiting for the small light to flicker green.

“This is John’s office,” you explained to Vernie. Even though she couldn't hear you, you could tell she liked it when you talked to her. You locked the door behind you, setting the pup down on the floor, making yourself at home on the leather couch. John’s office was classically handsome just like him. Well as nice as it could be with what he had to work with. You pulled out your phone, shooting him a text of your whereabouts. Vernie digging in the trash can caught your attention.

“Out of there Vern,” you scolded gently, grabbing her around her middle. She had a folder in her mouth she just wouldn't let go. “Vernie,” you chided again, pulling it out of her jaws as much as you could without hurting her. You finally succeeded, ready to throw it back into the trash when the label caught your eye.

OHH

You knew what that stood for. Omega Holding House. A wave of uneasiness crashed over you. You shook yourself out of your thoughts. It was probably just leftover paperwork from you. You tossed it back in the trash standing back on your feet, bringing you and Vernie back to the couch.

You couldn't relax. Those three letters remained even when you closed your eyes- taunting you. You stood up slowly, creeping back by the trash can, and pulling the folder back out. You pursed your lips trying to manage your breathing. You placed it on his desk, opening it like something would jump out at you.

Something did. A cover letter, typed and signed by Kate Laswell.

Possible Omegas for Task Force 141

It had been typed in bold, obnoxiously large letters like it was the greatest achievement one could have. ‘Possible’ the words pounded in your head repeatedly making it throb. You flipped to the next page. It was a profile of an omega, the first thing that caught your eye was the large red X through it. Must be John's writing. You flipped to the next page. Another profile- another X through it. You weren't quite sure why they had got rejected. Nothing in their biography seemed like a red flag and they were all pretty. The next page- another X.

You whined when you flipped to your page. The large red X staring up at you. It was rejection to the highest degree. Kate had even wrote a special note on yours.

Pay close attention to this one. She's a good girl.

John had written a note himself, addressing Laswell.

Not happening

You knew he probably didn't mean you specifically, and that he was referring to having an omega as a whole, but it hurt. The type of pain that made you sink to the floor. They type of pain that made your lungs feel like they were collapsing. The type of pain that comes from falling in love with someone only to have them shut the door in your face.

You flipped to the next page because what did you have to lose?

A lot apparently.

There was no red X. There was no marking on the page at all. You flipped to the next page- the last page- a red X. It was just her page without an X.

She was the one he had wanted. Who knows? Maybe all of them wanted her. You could practically see them in this office digging through each paper, judging every imperfection on each profile- including yours. She had no imperfections. She was beautiful, purebred, and came from a long line of military alphas. She was the shining star of her omega-holding house. Never once getting in trouble, always being an active participant, showing signs of being a strong, traditional omega, and her heat cycles were always regular. The opposite of you in nearly every way. The more you read the more hurt you got. You closed the file, trying to calm your sobs enough so you didn't pass out. Vernie was at your feet pawing up your ankle. You scooped her up into your arms, making your way back home.

People stared at you. You could only imagine the rumors. You were undoubtedly the most dramatic omega on base- at least the one that caused the most trouble. Your tears made people stay away from you and you were able to get all the way home without a hitch. You shut your bedroom door, throwing yourself on your bed sobbing. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You regretted everything. You regretted agreeing to come here, you regretted warming up to each of them so quickly, you regretted sleeping with John.

John.

The name made you sob harder.

It wasn’t fair.

Would you ever be someone's first choice?

I hated writing thisssssssss😩but we can't live in peace for too long! See you in two days for Chapter 25!!!

[lavandulawrites]

Astralis Desires

Chapter 3: Through His Eyes

Various HSR men x reader

It was rather fun writing the different POV’S. I can’t wait to share more chapters with y’all!

Chapter 1, chapter 2

Synopsis: Two Yanderes have already fallen head over heels for you.

Masterlist

Warnings: yandere, written in the POV of Dan Heng and Welt, Dan Heng is a simp

Word count: 1939

Dan Heng’s POV

Dan Heng had never been in love. He had found actresses, models and women he had met through his travels pretty, but he had never developed feelings for any of them. The idea of love was foreign and something he only allowed himself to think about when he dreamt about a faceless woman at night. He had been lonely since he crawled out of his egg and realised the world still hadn’t forgiven his past self misdeeds. When he had joined the Express Crew, he had gotten friends for the first time, but his loneliness still lingered like a dark shadow. It had him awake at night and it followed him whenever he went.

Dan Heng had read a fair amount of romance novels and mangas in secret and he was filled with longing. He wanted someone special in his life. Someone he could protect and love. He needed someone who could feel the void in his heart.

When he saw you almost gotten torn apart from a beast, he had flung his spear as hard as he could through the creature’s head. His frozen heart had finally started beating and the world colours finally became visible. A unfamiliar feeling filled his chest and overflowed his senses. His icy blue eyes followed your every movement and it felt as if he was going to die if he looked away from you. You were so beautiful it hurt.

“Are you alright?!” March rushed to your side and gave you a quick look over. He swore to himself that if you were hurt, if even so much as a tiny hair on your head had gotten damaged, he would hunt down every single one of the Antimatter Legion’s pets and kill them with his bare hands.

You nodded. “I’m fine” you forced a grateful smile “Thank you for saving me.”

Your voice was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard and he found himself wanting more.

“Oh, don’t thank me! It’s Dan Heng you should thank!” she gestured towards the black haired man. Dan Heng could only stare at you has his heart hammered against his ribs.

“Thank you, Dan Heng. I really owe you one” you said with earnest. God, he was going to die. Your lips uttering his name was the greatest blessing he had ever experienced and he found himself puzzled by his uncharacteristic behaviour.

He nodded with a short movement. “You’re welcome. I only did my job” he tried his best to give a nonchalant response, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“We should get moving!” March waved her hand at you to follow.

You gave them your name and Dan Heng couldn’t help but repeat your name in a mantra. Your name sounded like that of a goddess. One the way to safety, you encountered Arlan. He had gotten injured while fighting the monsters. Every time the boy talked to you, an icy anger formed inside Dan Heng and ran through his veins like poison. His draconic instinct to protect was loud as it tried to take over his mind.

The group of five stopped by a a control room in order to check the surveillance footage. As Dan Heng got past the firewall, he noticed a digital trace of an unwelcome guest. Someone had hacked the system an hour before. The researchers really should upgrade their security. It must have been the Stellaron Hunter that went by the name Silverwolf, he thought to himself. Worry crept over him at the thought of that guy. Surely he wouldn’t be at the space station? It wasn’t his style after all…

“Oh, I forgot to ask you [Name]. Did you see anything suspicious before we came and rescued you?” March asked you. He stilled his movements so he could hear your response.

“I did actually. I met a tall woman with dark pink hair. She was telling me to not get in her way.”

Kafka. Shit. “Sounds like a Stellaron Hunter” Dan Heng said as he resumed his typing.

“A Stellaron Hunter…” your voice was filled with concern.

“Sounds like you saw Kafka. So did Caelus” March replied.

The chair Dan Heng sat on suddenly scraped against the floor in a fast motion. His eyes found yours in a blink of an eye and he wanted to drown in them. “She didn’t do anything to you, right? She didn’t hurt you?” his voice was low as he tried suppress his anger. If the Hunter had harmed you, he would personally make sure she was arrested as soon as possible and punished for her sins.

You instantly shook your head. “No, she didn’t. She left as fast as she came.”

He could feel March eyes on him. He turned to her and was met with a small smirk. He abruptly turned back to the computer.

The sound of feet drumming against the makeshift bridge filled his ears as he ran towards the lift. A cloud of dark mist clouded his vision and a group of monsters appeared through it. The biggest of them reared like a horse and sat its sight in you. You froze beside Dan Heng as the monster lunged for you. Dan Heng’s body was quicker than his mind as he pulled you back by your collar, causing you to lose your footing. His spear blocked the arrow that was sent your way and saved you from your doom. His arms wrapped around you as they prevented your fall. They pulled you closer like a hungry boa and he allowed his nose to be filled with your lovely scent.

“Are you alright?” Dan Heng whispered against your ear. His usually stoic voice was breathy and brimming with a thick mixture of emotions. He could feel your heart beating against his arms. How adorable.

You nodded, your ears bright red. “Yeah, thank you” you whispered back.

He gazed at you for a second, one that felt as it stretched out for eternity, before he snapped back to the monsters.

A mechanical bussing shot down as a drone with razor-like propellers slashed through the beasts. Green blood splattered across the bridge and onto your face. In a blink of an eye he had dragged you across the bridge and into the elevator. As everyone mad e it inside you clutched your stomach. Your skin was pale and your forehead sweaty.

Caelus looked at you with a concerned expression. “Are you good? You look pal-“

He got interrupted by the sound of you spilling out all your lunch on the floor. You mumbled a “I’m so sorry” as you wiped your mouth. Dan Heng wanted to reach out and stroke your back in a comforting manner, but decided against it.

“Never mind hehe…” Caelus scratched neck awkwardly.

March rushed to your side and handed you a mint. “Thanks” you muttered weakly.

The group met up with Himeko and they introduced you and Caelus to her. Dan Heng could tell that she had taken a liking to you and the fact made him happy. As he and the others talked with Asta, he made sure to keep you as close to him as possible. Hopefully you had realised how dangerous the world could be. The good thing was that he could protect you from it, if you let him.

March and Caelus left to talk to the researchers while Dan Zheng and you remained. Himeko and Asta were busy talking to evacuate other’s and left you and him to your own devices you had taken a seat at a Ben h and were twiddling your thumbs as you waited. The action was cute. He had been staring at you for multiple minutes, it he did not care.

“So… Have you guys had any similar experiences?” you broke the silence.

His eyes lit up for a millisecond, before he composed himself. “Yes. Though every journey is different” his word may be few, but his voice was soft.

You nodded “I can imagine. Must be both exciting and scary.”

“Perhaps, though you get used to it” he shrugged. He was silent for a few seconds before he spoke up. “Are you alright? No injuries or something? Even if they’re small you should tell me” a slash of worry distorted his features. If everything were to happen to you he did not know what he might do.

“Im alright” you shook your head. As if you had noticed his raised brow, you added: “No really. I’m fine.”

He left it at that and adverted his gaze to the rest of the space station. Relief flooded his senses and he let out a breath he didn’t know he had held. He decided to ask Himeko if you could join the Express over text. It was obvious to everyone that you weren’t happy working at the space station. If you became a Crew member, he wove able to keep a close eye on you. No harm would ever fall upon you.

Welt Yang’s POV

Welt had lived a long life. He had a lot of different experiences in various areas. He had had a few girlfriends throughout the years and he had loved them. Though he had craved a different type of love, a love that was deep er and more raw. That was not something they could provide to him. He knew love was something that would happen when one least expected it, but he couldn’t help but fantasise about it like a teenager would. It was almost embarrassing how he would longingly look at couples when he was out and about.

When he first saw you hiding behind a vending machine as he neutralised Caelus’s power, a warm fuzzy feeling bloomed in his chest and he knew then and there that he had to make you his.

Welt was standing beside the Express when you and Dan Heng found him. His face lot up at the sight of you and he smiled. “I’m Welt Yang. It’s nice to meet you” he reached out his hand.

“I’m [Name]. It’s nice to met you as well” you shook his hand. Your hand was soft and small compared to his big hand. He didn’t want to let go, but it would be rude to hold your hand any longer.

“I have spoken with Himeko and she invited you to stay on the Express. If you want to, naturally” Dan Heng had asked Himeko if you could stay on the Express, but that was a detail you didn’t need to know. He glanced at Dan Heng as the black haired man nodded in gratitude.

Your eyes widened at his words. “Oh wow.. I hadn’t expected that. Well- I would need to resign from my job and all that. And I would need to bring my stuff- if that’s okay of course” you rambled.

Welt bit his tongue in order to silence his laugh. Your rambling was rather cute. “We can help you” he suggested.

“I would appreciate that” you smiled and his heart skipped a beat. You were like a burning star that brightened up his life.

“Alright, then. I would like to join the Express” you said determined after a short while of silence.

Welt looked at Dan Heng as the two men seemed to come to a silent understanding. From a Yandere to another, it was easy for them to see th effect you had on them. Welt had never imagined to share a Darling, but he didn’t mind sharing you with Dan Heng. Two Yanderes made the chance of any harm happening to you smaller.

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.2.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 4,6K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: one saucy Freaktor, smut in d/s dynamics, very slight barely-there miss-it-if-you-blink degradation, no crazy stuff yet just plain old sex, subspace/domspace, two people in utter delulu about feeling like that about each other after one night. So, kids shoo!

author’s note: Ok, this is us, eating the veggie meatballs. My knee is jumping because I really want to go look at the organization containers to sort out my storage room. So, for me this is sort of a filler episode :v Also, I made a playlist, if you want to listen. I think Sundays will be my days to publish this, if you like consistency.

Special thanks as usual to @rennethen for proof reading. Artist is @petitesieste ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Oh, how he hates gatherings. Every second is so precious to him. Every single moment wasted on indulgence is one that could’ve brought him closer to whatever goal he was working toward with Jayce. But even Viktor is only human. So, after hundreds of whiny please and tons of pleading eyes from Jayce, he finally caved.

He begged Jayce for five more minutes, then another five, before relenting when his partner came at him with the intention of dragging him out of the lab by force—by the ears, or worse, by throwing him over his shoulder like a damsel.

He complained all the way in the cab, telling Jayce that he needed to vent before putting on his social face. He spent the first half an hour sipping his drink, unamused by all the conversations about superficial science and culture, forcing himself not to roll his eyes at Salo.

Until Mel’s eyes lit up with that familiar excited glint when she waved at you stepping through the door. Viktor stole a glance, then lingered despite himself, only turning away when your eyes began to roam the table. He couldn’t help but notice the one too-low undone button of your shirt, the crease in it, and your freshly applied red lipstick, making your mouth stand out the most. Pretty, Viktor thought, and immediately regretted not taking Jayce up on the offer of meeting you earlier.

But Viktor knew better than this. He knew better than to step his foot into the crack of a door that should remain closed. A man married to his work, he occasionally engaged in affairs to quiet the storm in his mind when it became unbearable. But here, dealing with a common friend and a potential disaster of what his usual practices might entail, he was, after a moment of thought, grateful that he hadn’t met you earlier.

And he worried momentarily that you would notice, or rather, feel the way his eyes burned into your throat every time you spoke. Or that you would notice the special attention he gave each time you cracked your fingers with a loud pop. When you rolled your spine against the back of the chair, he nearly sighed, but managed to swallow it down. Your frazzled demeanour and the way you spoke about your work had him both hypnotised and impressed—not only because every word spilled from your red mouth, but because he welcomed the thought of reducing this sharp, self-possessed creature to a whimpering mess at his feet faster than he could blink.

A theory formed in his head quicker than he would like to admit, based on loose evidence that made him think he might be wishing it into existence. Only one way to check. A perfect opportunity presented itself when your carefully held facade slipped through the overlapping voices of a tiresome conversation.

When he leaned in and rested his hand on your thigh, he thought nothing of it. When his nose brushed under your ear and he inhaled your scent, he still thought nothing of it. Even when you froze at the feeling of his arm crowding you, there still wasn’t a thought of conclusion clattering through his head. Yet once the command was served and you slipped back into laser focus, his cock knew before he did. It twitched insistently at the ghost of your fingertips passing him the bottle and at the sight of your parted mouth and hooded eyes as you ogled his throat.

And he had to hold himself back so dearly from yanking his hand higher, from gathering the damp evidence between your legs—before deciding, just this once, to leave it to faith instead of peering through the looking glass.

His own stoic veneer began to crack once when he learned where you lived, and then again when you agreed to share a cab with him. It felt as if he were asking whether you’d like him to fuck you stupid, and your answer sounded as if you were telling him that you’d like it very much—please, thank you. He watched your lips wrap around the question of when, not if, he wanted to go, and he said the first thing that tore through his throat faster than any other could. Now. Now. Let’s go now.

Immediately, desire followed the glance you gave him, and Viktor hoped pleasure would quickly follow desire. He knew soon enough—when he had you undoing his buttons, pushing your hands to his bare stomach like a greedy little thing. He had to stop you right there with a witty remark, hoping you wouldn’t take note of the sanctimonious edge to his tone.

Now, with you pressed against the elevator door, Viktor still profoundly believes that he is never wrong—except for the one to ten times he refused to meet you under the excuse of being buried under an avalanche of tasks. He is almost glad it’s only happening now, because you will be a massive distraction for his hard-working brain.

A perfect mirror of his desires, where you give everything he wants and take everything he gives. He doesn’t have to worry when his mouth lays waste to the remnants of your red lipstick, because you push yourself against him as if you’d rather exchange it for a tattoo of permanent bruise. He needn’t worry about his hands raking your thighs a bit too roughly, because your tights are already torn. In this moment, when you whine out his name after every tease he throws at you, he worries about absolutely nothing.

With his cane wedged under his armpit, he holds you tight by the ass, rutting into your hips, pretending it’s only to keep you from toppling out with a loud thump once the elevator pings open. A dozen ideas crash through his head the moment it does—from fucking you against the hallway wall (was his leg going to be this gracious today?) to yanking you down onto your knees and fucking your throat instead, smearing the last traces of red from your lips all over his cock, aching and straining in his pants. Holding your hair tight and praising you for each gag.

“Wait,” he tells you firmly when you leech onto his neck while he fumbles with the keys. You obey—not without a pout—but you stop, your arms falling loosely around his stomach. The moment the door cracks open, he sweeps you inside, locks it blindly, and walks you to the nearest soft seating—the bedroom is too far.

Greedy hands tremble as you yank the belt from the loops at his waist. Viktor chuckles, bewildered by your eagerness, but decides it feels nice to be wanted so openly.

His trousers slide down to his thighs as he sinks onto the sofa, guiding your hips to glue onto his. He groans at the lovely pressure of your weight resting against his cock—hard and leaking—and runs a flat palm up your legs, rolling your skirt higher. His fingers find the growing eyelet in your tights, thread through, and pull. The sound of tearing makes you gasp and giggle. It doesn’t stop there—three fingers hook into your underwear, sliding it to the side as he drags them through your folds.

A breathy hum escapes him. “So fucking wet. What a lovely slut you are.”

And you know damn well you are anything but. Sensible in your choices, reason always outshining need—where a sloppy one-night stand never seems worth the next-day headache or the risk of running late for work, which you love and cherish above all else. But from his mouth, it sounds like the highest of praises, sparking a searing greed that courses through your veins and drops between your legs as you grind against his cock, begging for more.

“Say it again.”

“Ask me nicely,” he murmurs with a smirk, moving his fingers into your hair and tugging at the nape, fixing you in place.

“Please, say it again,” you plead, your hands trailing tenderly along his face, catching at his lips before sliding lower to his neck as you tickle behind his ear.

Viktor memorises the shape of your mouth when you say please—yet still, he wishes to see it in the flesh more. He brings your head close, rubs his nose against your cheek, and inhales, eyes fluttering shut.

“My gorgeous little slut. Oh, you look so fucking pretty,” he breathes against your lips before sinking his tongue between them. The connection he feels is instant, almost uncanny. He explores your mouth freely, licking at the roof, nipping at your tender flesh through hums and chuckles when your hips roll over his. A torturous drag along his clothed cock where your dampness seeps into the fabric, mixing into one.

Your fingers drop lower, tugging at the waistband of his briefs. You break the kiss and ask needily, “Do you want to—?” Take these off and give me your cock. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, shaking his head—a promise of something else exciting you stupidly. “Be a good girl and make yourself cum like this first.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Utterly possessed by the sight of him beneath you, you wrap your arms around his neck, bring your face close enough for him to feel the way your brows scrunch in focus, and rut your cunt into his lap. An embarrassing amount of slick leaks from you, drenching his underwear, adding to the delicious friction you’re chasing until your core is swollen, twitching, clenching around nothing—as if you could pull his cock inside by sheer force of will.

Viktor watches, transfixed, eyes wide with admiration, hoping he can hold out until he’s truly buried deep within you. Each time he mutters a lewd remark, you feel an invisible fist closing around the muscles of your lower abdomen, sending a nearly painful pang through you, making your hips jolt and stutter.

“I knew I had to fuck you the minute I saw you,” he murmurs, brushing your damp hair back—his touch light, its kindness contradicting anything that falls from his lips. Your eyes roll in a full circle, each word choking spasms out of your core.

“It’s hard to be in charge all the time, isn’t it?” His voice is smooth, full of temptation, dripping sugar straight into your ears. It’s within reach, a release of all your worries for you to grasp as he holds it out to you on an open palm. Indulgence you realise you need so dearly to stay sane. You feel like you’ve found a missing piece of a puzzle, something that will make you whole by taking something else away.

His fingers slip beneath the torn fabric of your tights, kneading the flesh of your ass as he guides you over his lap, grinding, rolling—each movement pressing your swollen clit against the hard ridge of his cock. You whimper in response, clutching at his neck, nails biting through the skin leaving crescent dents.

“Do you want me to fuck you stupid?” His breath ghosts over your cheek, hot and unrelenting, each word a hook that tugs something deep in your belly.

You nod, frantic, but it’s not enough for him. His grip tightens, forcing you to slow, to drag yourself over him with purpose, until each pulse of pleasure is unbearably sharp.

“Use your words,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you need,” Viktor says with a raw and honest intention. He means every word.

You moan, lips parted, head falling back. “Yes—yes, I want it. Please.”

He groans, full and pleased, drinking in the sight of you becoming undone above him. He loves this—the feeling of being alive and kicking as control seeps from someone to him. His hands squeeze greedily at your flesh, guiding you down harder, and he smiles when you shudder from the pressure.

“It’s alright, you don’t need to worry about anything,” he soothes, voice dipping into something dangerously gentle. “Just cum for me.”

A helpless little cry breaks from you, your movements turning more and more jerky. Each filthy drag against him sets you hot, your body writhing, helpless in his hands.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, voice drenched in satisfaction, watching the pleasure ripple through you, your thighs clenching and tightening around his. When you come—wrecked, panting against his mouth, clinging to his neck—Viktor feels it like a gift. Precious. Just for him, given willingly and gratefully. He keeps it close and doesn’t show to anyone.

It’s nearly enough for him to have you settle and cool down, slumped against his chest, looking an absolute mess—hair still damp, coat ruffled, skirt twisted around your waist, shirt full of creases, tights torn, makeup smeared across your face. A perfect picture to summarize his work.

As you blink, your eyelashes tickle his neck, and Viktor noses into your forehead, urging you to look up at him. “All good?” he asks when you do, his grin is loose, toothless, completely at ease.

Slowly, you blink again and nod, painfully aware of how hard his cock still is beneath you.

“Can you get up?” Viktor murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear. With another quick nod, you scramble from his lap, and he groans at the loss of contact.

A pleading hand reaches for you, and you take it, helping him up. He sweeps his cane from where it lies abandoned on the floor. A wave of self-consciousness floods you as you glance at him—at both of you—realising that neither of you had undressed, not even slightly. Clothes wrinkled, hair messy. Viktor pulls up his trousers and fastens the buttons, uncaring, just enough to manage a safe walk to the bedroom. He doesn’t comment on how wet his briefs are. Only in his head.

Taking your hand again, he leads you through the apartment in silence. Were you not so utterly fucked-out, you might have tried to steal glances, to memorise every detail of his space, let it tell you things about him he might not say aloud. But the short walk passes in a haze, and you doubt you’d be able to find your way back on your own.

When you reach the bedroom, he motions toward the adjacent bathroom. And when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, your hand flies up to clasp over your mouth.

Dark streaks run down your cheeks—whether from rain or tears, you can’t remember. A stain of pink smudges past the border of your lips, spreading to your cheeks and chin. Your neck is marked with his lips and teeth, blooming in angry colours.

Abruptly, you wash your face as best you can, grabbing a random towel to dry off. A brief concern flits through your mind—that this might be his ass towel—but the thought is quickly followed by another: you don’t care.

You peel off your tights and, for whatever reason, roll them into a ball and shove them into your coat pocket. Only now do you notice the undone button of your shirt, revealing the bridge of your bra.

One deep breath. You shake off your coat, drape it over your arm, and step out from the bathroom, shoes in your other hand.

Viktor is sitting on the bed, waiting. He’s taken his coat off too, and when he looks up at you, you catch sight of the mark you left on his neck. Much less impressive than the ones you’re sporting.

“Come.” He beckons you forward, and you abandon your belongings right where you are, tossing them onto a nearby chair before closing the distance in a few short steps, as if he’s coaxing you by a leash.

Once you’re within reach, he seizes your hips, pulls you close, and breathes against your stomach. “Do you wish to stop or continue?” he asks, hands sliding back to cup your ass.

He already knows the answer, but hearing you say it makes it better. He can see you sinking into the space he wants you in, and the sight grants him a sense of fulfilment—different from the satisfaction of cracking open some nagging problem in the lab with Jayce. Incomparable. Not better or worse, but this—this feels close to best.

He’s certain the alcohol burned off somewhere between the cab ride and you writhing on his lap, but he still feels faintly drunk. Just on something else. And when his eyes meet yours—dazed and dark with want—and your lips mutter a shy, “Please, continue,” he has to supress a dumb smile and possibly a triumphant yes slipping from his mouth.

“Good,” he says instead, unzipping your skirt. It falls to pool around your feet. Next goes your underwear.

You just stand there, letting him undress you, heart hammering in your chest. Your breath hitches as his hands brush over your belly, undoing the remaining buttons of your shirt. Then, he slides his palms flat up your sides, reaching for the back of your bra. With a single twitch of his fingers, it unclasps, and all you have to do is shake everything off to be completely bare.

You stare at him expectantly when he mutters, “Sit,” and pats the space beside him. Thoughtlessly, you obey, eyes never leaving his. “Undress me,” he commands, though the words come out too breathy to be firm.

It’s all so easy. Completely violating your usual paradigm and you wonder if that’s exactly why the momentary exit of this recursion tastes so sweet. It’s heavy on your tongue when you swallow, blink slowly and naturally give yourself into every gentle order. It coats your insides with warmth as you truly feel like there is nothing you need to worry about and whatever Viktor says is the law.

Calmly, you bring your hands to his buttons, undoing them one by one, exposing his chest. His sternum juts out between flat pectorals, the skin dipping above his clavicle. As you slide his shirt off his back, your fingers trace over those hollows, lingering.

Viktor hums in appreciation, then stands, stepping between your legs. His hands settle on your shoulders as you fumble with the buttons of his trousers—then pause, distracted by the bruises marking his lower abdomen.

One is faint, yellow and brown blooming across his pale skin. The other is fresh—an angry smear of red and purple beneath the porcelain layer.

You brush tentative fingers over it, your mouth already forming a question, but Viktor takes your hands and guides them back to his crotch. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, brows still knitted, before sliding his trousers down along with his underwear, revealing his cock for the first time. Viktor doesn’t say a word—just threads his fingers through your hair, cradling the back of your head, and gently guides you forward. He doesn’t force, doesn’t push. Just holds.

Your cheek presses against him, the warmth of his half-hard length seeping into your skin. He’s hot beneath you, smooth, and when you exhale, the shift of your breath makes him twitch.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into it, hands coming up to grip his hips. His ribs expand with a slow inhale, fingers stroking lazily at your scalp. Not urging, almost longing. The weight of him against your face makes something in your stomach swell—desire-adjacent, but warmer, gentler. Intimate in a way you hadn’t expected back in the cab.

Viktor purrs, deep and satisfied, as if you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. His head tilts back, eyes slipping shut as he breathes into the ceiling, holding onto you and wondering how he’s found something like this at the world’s fucking end. He might still be drunk after all.

He grows fully hard just from the warmth of your skin. With a long sigh, he tilts your head up so that your chin rests against his stomach. “Lie down for me,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek, eyes molten.

You crawl back onto the mattress on your hands and knees, feeling oddly exposed. This doesn’t feel like just any one-night stand, and a small worry appears—that the mistake you were so willing to make might not be so easy to shake off. Viktor follows, moving more gracefully than you expect, and only now do you notice the brace hugging his knee. He catches the shift in your expression and repeats, “Don’t worry about that one either, hmm?”

Leaning over, he pulls open the bedside drawer and retrieves a condom—a mundane little gesture that has your eyes tracking the movement of his hands. You prop yourself on your elbows and watch as he rolls it on, then shiver when his palms slide from your thighs to your sides. He braces himself against you as his head dips in, settling between your legs. His eyes flick up to yours, a smile curving his lips, before he lets a slow stream of spit drip onto your cunt.

You watch, wide-eyed, until you feel it hitting your skin, slipping snugly into your slit. Your mouth falls open when he drags his fingers through the mess, spreading it over your folds. An occasional fingertip dips inside, shallow and teasing, just enough to make you gasp. Each time it does, your muscles contract, trying to keep him in.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy.” It’s meant as a tease, but his voice holds too much wonder.

He leans back, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock, dragging the head through the slick he’s worked into you. The touch has you trembling, thighs twitching when he presses forward just enough to catch at your entrance before pulling away again.

“Do you really want me so much?” His lips curl, tone bordering on mocking, but his thumb strokes your hip as if in apology. You nod, resisting the urge to shift your hips down and take him in yourself. “So desperate… squeezing around nothing.” He tsks, shaking his head.

And then, finally, he pushes inside.

It burns from all the work you’ve done on yourself, grinding against his underwear. He stretches you inch by inch, even though you can feel how much he wants to just slam deep inside—leave you breathless, fill every empty space inside you.

Once hilted, Viktor sighs, deep and shuddering, and strokes your stomach before pressing your torsos together. His forehead rests against yours for just a moment before he shifts, hooking one of your legs over his good hip. He considers how to fuck you—how to test the waters without messing you up too much. So far, everything he’s said has had you writhing for him, mussing his hair and leaving wanting open-mouthed kisses everywhere, which is why he decides to tread a path he’s already mapped out for himself.

“Perfect fit,” he whispers, almost reverent, before drawing back and sinking in again, and it’s so achingly slow. His elbows rest on either side of your head, caging you in, and when your neck arches, his hand comes to cradle your nape. A thumb strokes there, soothing as he rocks into you, eyes locked onto your face, memorizing every reaction.

“You’re doing so well,” he praises, voice thick, his hips rolling deeper. “You don’t need to worry about anything.” Hot breath sears across your throat before his teeth sink in, deepening the colour palette there.

“Only about being a good slut, yes?”

The words make you clench around him, and you grasp his hair, pulling his mouth close to yours, just as he expects. You breathe countless yeses against his lips, the panic of being so close to someone bleeding into the tremendous pleasure of being seen.

The more you squeeze him, the more Viktor groans, pressing closer, his weight pinning you down. He takes his time, thrusting deep and sluggish, grinding his groin against your clit. It’s a sweet torture that builds in your lower belly, spreading through your body in rays, buzzing beneath your skin, curling at the tips of your fingers and toes.

You are convinced your brain has turned to mush when all that leaves your mouth is a blabbering mess. Please and fuck and yes make the occasional appearance, but most of it is just senseless mewling, intermingling with the wet, squelching sounds of his cock pumping into you.

Viktor chuckles—breathless and hoarse. “So far gone already? Is this all it takes?” His words are laced with teasing, but there’s an edge to them, a tremor beneath the mockery. He’s losing himself, too.

His hips roll with a strain, and you jerk beneath him, body seizing, jaw slacking in a soundless cry before you gasp in the air he’s stolen from you.

“Good girl,” he rasps, watching your expression twist between desperation and bliss. His hand at your neck tightens, enough to coax a bruise and enough to keep you where he wants you. His other hand slips between your bodies, fingers seeking out your swollen clit. “Come on, almost there.”

The pressure tips you over the edge, white heat flooding through you in an orgasm so intense it borders on painful. Your back arches, nails raking down his spine, and a strangled moan tears from your throat as you convulse around him, gripping him in a vacuous trap. The squeeze wrenches a ragged noise from Viktor’s throat, and makes his hips stutter.

He had meant to pull out, to spill onto your stomach or your tits in a final act of marking, but the way you tighten around him wrecks that plan entirely. A guttural curse breaks from his lips, and he buries himself to the hilt, spilling into the condom with a shuddering groan.

For a moment, he stays like that—pressed flush against you, panting into your ear, his lips catching your earlobe with each breath. His fingers loosen around neck, sweat-slicked hair plasters to your cheek. He seems as far gone as you are.

Then, slowly, he gathers himself, pressing his lips to your throat—soft kisses, tender. His tongue flicks out, tracing the marks his teeth have left, soothing them with lazy strokes.

“How are you?” he murmurs at last, voice spent.

But you are falling, deep and fast. Lodged into a space you don’t know. The world around you feels distant, sounds muffled like they’re coming through water. Your limbs are heavy, yet weightless all at once. There’s warmth—his body, the sheets, the lingering pulse of pleasure still rolling through you—but it feels separate, like it belongs to someone else.

Breathing feels slow, difficult. You need to put effort in it. You blink sluggishly up at him, trying to gather words, but they slip through your fingers, elusive. Nothing hurts. Nothing feels. There’s a quiet in your mind, vast and still, as if you’re floating untethered.

Viktor watches you closely, his brows knitting together. His fingers trace your cheek, then down your arm, grounding and gentle. “Still with me?” he asks, softer this time, concern weaving through the exhaustion in his voice. “Water? Bathroom?” His offers come one after another, and you nod to each without really knowing what it is you need.

Without knowing if this should be happening at all, you let him help you up, his hands steady at your waist as he guides you toward the bathroom. But the moment you reach the door, panic claws up your throat. You press a hand to his chest, stopping him before he can follow.

When he protests, brows furrowing, you manage to breathe out, “Please,” and he hesitates. There’s reluctance in the way he steps back, but he lets you go. He waits, slumping onto the bed, his chin resting in his palm as his knee bounces. It’s a please he doesn’t like.

Inside, you turn on the tap and brace yourself against the sink, staring into the mirror. Your lips are kissed red, your neck outright bruised, dark blotches blooming against your skin. The sight should make your mouth fall open, but your muscles won’t move.

You wash your face again, use the same towel, caring about its purpose even less than before. You feel nothing and everything at once. It’s terrifying and lonely and you have no idea what to do with it. Instinct—the real, honest one—tells you to run back to him and cuddle into his lap. Rest your cheek on his knee and let him pet you until your lids get heavy. But there is another, learned and unnatural that keeps you here, in the bathroom, calculating and worrying about how needy you are about to come off as.

When you step outside, the vacuum begins to suck you inward, hollowing you out. With the wrong instinct at hands, you reach for your coat and shoes. You need to leave.

Viktor shoots you a questioning look. He stands up, limps toward you, fingers curling gently around your arm beckoning you to pause. “I can’t let you go home now,” he says in a calm voice, as if there is something he knows that you don’t.

“I—” The excuses pile on your tongue, desperate and clumsy. “I should get back. I have… work, and—”

“I’ll wake you,” he says simply. “But you should stay.”

“I… I don’t have any clothes,” you grasp, even as you clutch your coat tighter.

“We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

"Viktor, I—" Your voice wavers as fear grips you, tight and suffocating. “I don’t have time for… I’m so busy, I can barely—” You cut yourself off, frustration spilling into frantic gestures. You can’t even articulate it—this sense that you’ve made a mistake, that none of this should have happened, that you shouldn’t have come to Mel’s party in the first place, because this… this is way too frightening.

Something flickers across Viktor’s face, subtle but unmistakable. Something that sinks, just slightly, despite the euphoria he’d felt only moments ago. It’s swept away with the wave of your hands, and he curses himself for letting you alone into that bathroom.

He forces out a chuckle, but when he speaks your name, it’s firm. “I am not asking you to marry me. I am busy too.”

The words land sharper than he intends. Regardless of everything that has happened tonight, this one little remark you give him is enough to slam his defences back into place. So instead of just asking you to stay, he adjusts, laying out another path. An emergency escape.

“This… doesn’t have to go anywhere,” he says, voice quieter, careful. “But trust me when I tell you, you will be very sad if you go home alone now.” His thumb strokes absentmindedly over your wrist. “Stay. I promise I will wake you. Francis Crick is close to South Bank—”

“Okay.” It slips from your lips before you can stop it, before your mind can twist itself into another reason to leave.

Viktor exhales and nods, taking the coat away from you and hanging it around the chair. Then he takes your hand and leads you to the bed and you feel momentarily guilty that he had to walk this distance without the cane.

He lets you in first and you push yourself all the way to the edge, feeling like you are invading his space in a way that is too much. This sudden neediness, this sensation of dependency—it’s a perfect stranger. Making you fragile in a way that you haven’t felt in the longest time. End even though it carries a warmth with it, it comes unbidden, and you want to deal with it on your own, as you always do.

But Viktor doesn’t let you. He enters your space as if he knows you are too confused to ask. He slides himself clumsily next to you, squeezes his arm under your neck to cradle your head under his chin. Wraps another over your waist and traps you, hooking his leg over your hip. Then hums, knowing, all balmy against your skin and you feel like crying.

The sound of your name, spoken with patience, reaches you through the fog. It drifts through the quiet, settling beside you like a warm weight. He says it again, and again, until you shift and finally look at him. Your noses brush as he tilts his head, voice soft.

“You can tell me how you feel, you know that?”

“I don’t,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I barely know anything about you.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, his fingers coming to brush at your temple. “Well,” he muses, “my name is Viktor.” His knuckles trace lightly down the side of your face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m a scientist. Jayce’s friend and colleague.” His lips quirk, his voice low and steady. “I like documentaries and books.”

The way he speaks has your eyes rolling dismissively, but deep down you know what he’s doing. Each piece of himself he offers, no matter how obvious, grounds you back into reality.

“And I know exactly what is happening to you,” he murmurs. “And it’s alright. It’s supposed to happen.”

You swallow. “How do you know that?”

Viktor yawns, entirely unfitting to the scene, but he can’t help it. Lazily, as if it’s a fact known to all humanity, he offers you the biggest piece so far. “Because I’m feeling the exact opposite.”

You consider for a moment and furrow your brows. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing.” His fingers slip into your hair, absentmindedly playing with the strands. “Just feel it. It’s… nice. You are safe.” His voice drops lower, like a secret meant only for you. “It’s nice to be empty of everything for a bit.”

Your breath shakes as a question propelled by a child-like logic follows. “Does this mean you feel full?”

“Eh, something like that.” There’s a pause. Viktor’s fingers continue their slow movements in your hair, a soothing touch. Then, his voice lifts again, gentler still. “Does anything hurt?” You shake your head.

“Anything you didn’t like?” He hesitates, then curses himself for asking. He tells himself it’s ego-driven, or maybe just his scientific mind searching for data, for some answer he shouldn’t be seeking in the first place. This was meant to be a single night, wasn’t it? Again, you shake your head.

Encouraged—by what, he’s not sure, his brain or his heart—Viktor presses on. His thumb skims the edge of your jaw. “Did it feel… right?” The question so timid, yet falls with a loud thump, pulled by gravity equal to that inside a black hole, because he has no idea what he’s tempering with.

Yes, you imagine yourself saying without hesitation. Yes, your body screams as you nuzzle into him, making yourself small, trying to crawl into his chest. Yes, say your arms wrapping around his waist and your feet pressing to his calves. “Yes,” you whisper shyly into his neck and it’s enough. Nothing follows, only Viktor’s pulse, loud and heavy in your ear. Sleep takes you with a few long exhales and you can make out his arm leaving you once to reach to his bed stand, setting the alarm. Then nothing, as you float, tethered.

[mrabubu]

Commission for @wannareadstuff

“…Are you shitting me!?” He didn’t hesitate, desperately wading through the heaps of trash and hurling the overstuffed bags out of the dumpster. One, two, -five bags thrown, the blubbering becoming louder and louder - until finally; there it was. He still couldn’t believe it, seeing this living, breathing creature atop of trash, like it was some discarded toy - and subsequently, the babe could hardly believe its own eyes, crying ceased as it beheld its savior. His adrenaline was still high as he scooped the baby up - small enough to be held in one of his hands. Its heartbeat trembled into his palm, Leatherhead gently taking a finger to part the grimy blanket it had been wrapped in. He managed to free its face fully; revealing a lizard newborn, a gecko, if he was recalling species correctly. It was still staring at him as Leatherhead freed an arm next, and as it naturally felt led to do, grasped onto him with the little strength it had. Leatherhead felt his heart skip a beat - breath hitched in his throat as time stopped. The new, unknown feeling blossoming in his chest went beyond lending aid in the moment, denial forsaken as Leatherhead realized what it all meant. There was no way he could possibly make this work, but as the babe coughed, and coughed again, did desperation set in and reason flee. He needed a hospital - Immediately!

THE CHAPTER THE FIC

[worth-the-chaos]

Adventures in Babysitting Masterlist (ongoing)

Series Summary: As Dustin’s babysitter, you encounter the perils of the Upside Down as you try desperately to rid Hawkins of the evil lurking just below the surface. However, you’re not alone; you have the gaggle of kids as well as the one and only Steve Harrington by your side as you risk your lives attempting to solve the mysteries of your once quiet rural town | steve harrington x fem!reader (message me to be added to the taglist!)

Chapter summaries and links below the cut!

SEASON 1

Part 1 - You haven’t been babysitting Dustin for very long. Underestimating his tendencies for rebellious behavior, you realize too late that he’s snuck out, with your dire search for the boy leading you to the last place you wanted to be: Steve Harrington’s house. | Word Count: 6.5k

SEASON 2

Part 2 - With the events of last fall in the past, you attempt to move on, still working on your academics and babysitting Dustin. You and Steve have drifted since your encounter with the otherworldly, but he begins to make more active efforts to talk to you, making sure you have an invite to Tina’s big Halloween party. | Word Count: 6.3k

Part 3 - Billy is still hitting on you, Steve’s still mad, and Dustin’s still a pain in the ass to babysit. When he tells you and Steve that there’s a massive problem of upside down proportions, the two of you have no choice but to drop everything to help the boy, reprising your roles as badasses who eradicate the supernatural in Hawkins. | Word Count: 7.0k

Part 4 - Looking for Dart isn’t easy, but it gives you and Steve a lot of time to have a heart to heart, as you slowly start to realize your feelings for one another. | Word Count: 6.5k

Part 5 - The situation with the demogorgons gets increasingly more dire, leading you to the Byers’ house to wrangle four kids that can’t listen to save their lives (literally) while everyone tries desperately to save Will and the world. | Word Count: 8.9k

SEASON 3

Part 6 - It’s summer, and you and Steve are working at Scoops Ahoy so that you can make money while Dustin is at summer camp. The lines between friends and something more continue to blur as your relationship with Steve gets more intimate, allowing doubt to creep in…and the Russians are invading Hawkins. | Word Count: 6.4k

Part 7 - You continue attempting to translate the code, commencing your operation to determine the nature of Russian involvement in Hawkins. Robin and Dustin continue their attempts to push the two of you together, tired of the mutual pining…oh and Erica has enough sass to probably take out an entire Russian army. | Word Count: 5.9k

Part 8 - Well, the five of you do get in that secret room, but the problem is you can’t quite find a way out. Tensions rise as you realize the gravity of the situation, the forced proximity revealing hard feelings between you and Steve. | Word Count: 7.2k

Part 9 - Held captive by the Russians, tensions rise and as you and Steve attempt to navigate communicating in a drugged up haze, your feelings for each other become even more apparent. | Word Count: 7.4k

Part 10 - The Russian invasion and the upside down begin to merge as you meet up with the rest of the crew. You are in the fight of your lives as you scramble to try to stop the monstrous creature from the upside down before it destroys you. | Word Count: 5.8k

SEASON 4

Part 11 - Steve and you are finally officially dating, the kids are finally in high school and no longer need any sort of official babysitting, and life is overall pretty damn good. You try to push aside the unease settling in your chest, but how long can you ignore it before it manifests into something much worse than you could possibly imagine? | Word Count: 6.7k

Part 12 - The evil that you thought you had gotten rid of is still very much lurking within Hawkins. You, your boyfriend, and your friends race against time to try and find Eddie before it’s too late. | Word Count: 6.5k

Part 13 - As you all attempt to connect the dots of the gruesome murders occurring around your small but sinister town, secrets start to spill when Steve realizes you’ve been keeping things from him. | Word Count: 7.2k

Part 14 - Nancy and Robin take a shot in the dark and Steve tries to protect you from the supernatural. When the darkness comes to get you, will his love be enough to protect you? | Word Count: 6.0k

Part 15 - Racing against the clock, you and your friends desperately attempt to connect the dots before it’s too late. Your efforts bring both progress and peril as you and your boyfriend dive headfirst into life-threatening scenarios in order to save each other. | Word Count: 8.8k

Part 16 - For all your encounters with the Upside Down you hadn’t had to deal with it directly. Now, in a fight in foreign territory, you and your friends must struggle to find your way back to the Hawkins that you are familiar with. | Word Count: 9.7k

Part 17 - After finding out more information about Vecna, you and your friends prepare for the worst, and tensions rise as you mentally prepare for the possibility of a future without you in it. | Word Count: 7.7k

Part 18 - You venture into the Upside Down once again in an attempt to find Vecna and stop him in his tracks before he can bring about the end of the world as you know it. With Steve and your friends by your side, you fight against time to get to Vecna before he can get to you. | Word Count: 7.2k

SEASON 5

Coming soon!

BLURBS

Steve takes care of your injuries | Word Count: 2.2k

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Two: cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers

tw: alcohol, intoxication

It’s always sweltering in this damn restaurant. 

Countless patrons pack themselves tightly into booths and tables throughout the building. Their hands palm at sparkling tabletops as their wine glasses stay full and their food comes out hot, steam wafting behind plates like the smoke plume of a train. You’re unsure how they can smile through the heat that radiates off of their bodies as they stuff their mouths full and chuckle with friends. Suffocating, you wipe the sweat from your brow. It clings to every inch of your body, soaking you as if you’re a drowned cat. 

Despite your discomfort, you perform your job to the best of your ability. Weaving between tables, you lead guests to their seats before racing back to the kitchen to package to-go orders, and you’ve only gotten yelled at once tonight by the waitstaff for incorrectly seating a family of five. 

(And the fight that ensued from Bianca—or, Bee—defending you was only mildly uncomfortable. You still feel the gaze of every patron staring at you as if you’re some poor creature to be doted on.)

Really, tonight is no different from any other night that you work. Things are always semi-chaotic at a restaurant as successful as Sapori—a controlled chaos, as Bruce would remind you—but your pay as hostess is manageable. And they usually turn a blind eye when your hours start to brush close to the fifty mark within a week. You’re glad Bruce pays you under the table for that time. It’s not entirely legal—making money without reporting it to the government—but it helps you when you desperately need it.  

A blind eye—it’s always better this way when you don’t have someone trying to look out for you. 

Except, someone is always looking out for you, which is why you shouldn’t be surprised to find Aelin strutting through the entrance with an obnoxious foam pirate hat on her head. It’s poorly made, and the Jolly Roger design is beginning to peel. Your first instinct is to grab one of the menus and hide your face, but she’s much too perceptive for you to slip away without consequence. You manage to hide away most of your grimace with a smile as she approaches your counter. 

“Ahoy, matey!” she exclaims, though she uses only half of the enthusiasm you know she can muster. 

“I don’t think Jack Sparrow ever said that throughout any of the movies,” you deadpan. 

“Captain Jack Sparrow, mind,” Aelin corrects as she points to her hat. Made for a child, it sits too small on her head and knocked slightly to the side. 

“Right, of course.” 

“I thought you would’ve remembered that better after you oh so ceremoniously dubbed me Sparrow yourself, after him,” she eggs.

“Row,” you correct, “and it was well deserved.” Playfully, Aelin sticks her tongue out at you while she fiddles with the foam hat on her head. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to pick you up,” she responds as if you should already know the answer. 

Just as you open your mouth to question her further, the answer smacks you. Halloween. No wonder why she’s wearing that stupid hat. It all comes back to you—the car ride, your promise to attend the party at Terminus with her; everything. You had agreed to it, and then promptly forgotten about it, which is why you’re nearing hour eleven of your eight hour shift. Had you remembered about your previous promises, you would have gone home a long time ago to recharge before spending the remainder of your exhausting night in a packed nightclub during a holiday. 

“You’re off soon, aren’t you?” Aelin asks as your silence starts to stretch. 

“Uhm, yeah,” you answer as your eyes flicker to the clock on your left. Five to ten. “Just… give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to go.” 

In reality, no amount of preparation can ever truly ready you for any sort of intense social outing, and you dread arriving at the club the entire ride there. As you sit in the passenger’s seat of her car, you find the palms of your hand slick with sweat. No matter how many times you try to wipe it off on your pants, it only seems to be immediately replaced with more perspiration. You’ve been to Terminus a few other times before this, all by request of Aelin, and still it’s not enough to become comfortably familiar. Everything is always too loud, too much, too close. 

But this is Aelin—you’d do anything for her. 

So when you find yourself in the private parking lot outside of the building, you try your best not to complain. It stands several stories tall, a hulking baronial beast that looks like an old storage building turned partyhouse. Foggy windows allow you to catch a glimpse of the sanguine lights flashing within, and you swear you see the panes shake with the beat of the music that bleeds through the stone.

A deep throb begins to gnaw at the soles of your feet and you feel a tension headache bloom by your temples as Aelin leads you to the VIP entrance. The outside area is well maintained with clean stone and well illuminated lights. There are several signs that state overall rules and regulations drilled into walls on either side of the entrance. Still, it’s not enough to hide the half-smoked butts of cigarettes and spilled liquor. In an attempt to quell your nerves, you suck in a deep breath of the cool night air as you remind yourself it can’t get much worse than this. 

Except it does—because it always does. 

You almost don’t recognize the large figure that stands outside of the entrance, but once those dark eyes land on you and you feel that pang rip through your stomach, you know it can’t be anyone other than Simon Riley. His gaze meanders back and forth between you and Aelin. Soft, inquisitive even. He lingers on you for a beat too long as if questioning your appearance like he can’t comprehend why you’re here in a place like this. As if he knows you don’t belong here. 

“Evenin’ ladies,” he casually greets. 

Even if you hadn’t recognized him visually—which would have been an odd feat, considering the sheer size of him—his voice would have been more than enough to jog your memory. You can still feel the way his breath tickled your ear the other night while playing pool. His timbre holds a delicious baritone that you swear can haunt your dreams. 

“Stuck on guard duty tonight, Riley?” Aelin teases. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Simon humors. 

“Shame. Well, Chip and I—” she continues as she tosses an arm around your shoulder to bring you close, “—are going to get wasted.” 

A slight smirk pulls at Simon’s lips. “That so?” he asks playfully. He says it as if he’s tempted to challenge her, but he steps to the side after a beat while gesturing to the open door behind him. “Cheers.” 

There isn’t any time to mutter a thanks before Aelin’s pressing onward, dragging you along with her. 

Walking into Terminus is what you imagine walking into hell feels like. Aptly named, thick air threatens to singe your hair, and you feel your diaphragm screaming as it attempts to suck a breath into your lungs. Countless patrons dance beneath florid lights, and it seems as if Aelin isn’t the only festive one tonight. Many of them wear masks, cheap costumes, or unabashed lingerie. The cheering from the dance floor forces your eardrums to pulse as if you’re listening to the screams of the damned. You swallow as you paw at your left ear—it aches already. 

Aelin yells something at you that isn’t strong enough to cut through the chatting of the crowd. Grimacing, you shake your head. Pointing her finger upwards, you’re vaguely able to read her lips. 

Up top. More room. 

Though the VIP section is usually reserved for smaller groups of people, the second floor is just as suffocating as the bottom. There is slight reprieve to be found in the fresher air and more restricted population, but not much. Aelin makes a beeline to the first bartop she sees, leaving you no choice but to follow along behind her. The bartender glistens beneath purple-toned lights that dance off her body glitter in a hypnotizing way like she’s a fairy lost in some concrete prison. Mirrors line the ceiling above her, so when you look up you’re really looking back down at yourself. Wide eyes, clammy skin, and an aura of exhaustion reflects back at you perfectly.

Once your drinks are filled, Aelin leads you to a private table in the far corner of the floor. It skirts close to the railing of an overhanging balcony that overlooks the dance floor below. Somehow it’s quieter. The speakers are positioned to blast their music toward the bottom floor rather than right in your face, giving you room to breathe through the discordance of the club. Swallowing, you toy with the rim of your cup, running the pad of your finger along the edge while trying to fight off the fatigue that yanks at your legs. 

“Well?” Aelin speaks up expectantly. She poses the word as if she had given you a question to answer, but it’s the first thing that’s been said between the two of you since you took your seats. “How have you been? How have you really been? We weren’t really able to talk the other night with all the other distractions, but I’ve been missing you.” 

“Oh. Well, you know…” you start only for the words to die in your throat. 

It’s never easy answering a question like this—not without lying. How are you supposed to twist your life into something interesting when you’re anything but? All you’ve done for the last few months—no, years—is work. Work, pick up extra shifts, and sleep with whatever free time you manage to scrounge up. Every pence you earn goes towards bills. You’re nothing but a cog in a machine. 

No, the only things worth telling Aelin are the things you can’t speak. You’re not sure your tongue would know how to form the words, but it’s not like this is anything new. You’ve gotten used to dodging the invasive questions. You’ve gotten good at lying. Sometimes you can almost convince yourself that you’re just a very imaginative storyteller rather than the rotten deceiver you truly are.  

Almost. 

“Fine. I’ve been fine. Just… working, mostly,” you excuse. 

“Oh, come on,” Aelin groans. She takes a quick sip of her drink—rum, as she had made sure to point out earlier—before overdramatically leaning back in her chair. Her hat slides to the side of her head, and she fixes it with a huff. “You always say that. It really is just work with you, huh? No redecorating the apartment again or getting excited over new cutlery? No getting out to talk to people?” 

Scoffing, your fingers tap against the table. “I think we both know that getting out is more your thing than mine. As is the excitement over cutlery,” you tease. 

“It could be your thing too if you didn’t ditch me half the time I invite you somewhere,” Aelin counters. As if tasting her own venom, she sighs as she leans forward, face softening like wet porcelain. “I meant what I said the other night. You are worrying me. More than just a little.” 

In order to give yourself some time to think, you raise your cup to your lips. Face contorting into a grimace, your vodka cranberry seems to be nine parts vodka and one part juice, and the brash alcohol tastes worse than cough medicine on your tongue. 

“What’s there to worry about?” you ask while trying to hide your cough. 

Raising an eyebrow, Aelin tosses a few strands of her hair back over her shoulder. “What isn’t there to worry about? I mean, you’re working yourself half to death, I feel like I hardly get to see you anymore—hell, I don’t even think you’ve ever managed to score a boyfriend!”

“I think I’m doing just fine without a partner,” you interject. 

“My point is,” she continues, “I just… I’m… terrified you’re still trying to punish yourself.” 

It’s difficult to believe that a place so full of life can fall so silent. Everything fades to black, leaving you with just a sharp ringing bell and an underwater fuzziness. Normal, the doctors had said. Typical for someone who went through what you did. Absolutely plaguing. There’s nothing you can say in response. Her words stun you because—unlike usual—she sees right through you. Like you’re nothing but the cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers. 

Putting you out of your misery, she continues talking so that you don’t have to. 

“Look, I… I know we’re not really family. It’s not my place to say stuff like this, but it’s… fuck.” Aelin cuts herself off with a slight shake of her head as a nervous chuckle expels past her lips. “I know I never got the chance to know you before… everything. But I look at the way you were back when you lived with John and I, and I look at you now and… it’s, I dunno. And I know that you’ve always been a little quiet, and you like your alone time but this just feels different, you know? Like you’re… pulling away from everyone. I just don’t want you to blame yourself for surviving.” 

It must be the alcohol. Surely. Aelin never talks about the accident, and neither do you. A silent rule settled between the two of you one day where you just stopped talking about it. You’d utter nothing about it when the anniversary came around, or when the events plague your sleep. You tell yourself that you’re quiet about it for her sake but really—you don’t talk about it because you’re certain the contrition will choke you on its way out of your throat. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Aelin continues softly. “For surviving it.” 

You swallow.

“I know.” 

She raises an eyebrow at you incredulously, forcing you to quickly give her a smile before she can chastise you for your sloppy deception. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever not feel guilty about it, Row,” you continue, a bit more truthfully. “It’s something that just… stays with you. I know it’s not my fault, and I’m not trying to self-sabotage or anything but it’s- like- just, some days are harder than others.” 

A bittersweet smile crosses her face as she nods. “Yeah I… I get that. Just remember that you’re not alone, okay? You’ll always have me and John. No matter what.” 

An awkward silence falls after you mutter a rigid thanks, yet everything continues to pulse around you. The music that vibrates the very molecules in the air, the patrons who jump and dance below you like a heaving pile of flesh; it all continues. 

The only thing that changes is the stale scent in the air. 

“Wow, what a way to ruin the fun,” Aelin chuckles. She shakes her head as if she’s physically removing the bad thoughts from her brain as she shakes her cup. “No more sappy talk for the night, I promise. I’m just about empty. Wanna come with me for a refill?” 

Just like Aelin had promised earlier that night, she spends the rest of the evening getting wasted, and it doesn’t take her long to get there. In a matter of hours her speech begins to blend into the mess of noise around you with fits of giggles and heavy slurring. Each step she takes is unsteady. She can hardly hold herself upright as she drags you to a pool table for what she swears will be a quick game. Her inebriation becomes so concerning that you forget all about your discomfort of being trapped in this club. You’re more focused on making sure Aelin doesn’t fall over. 

You consider it a blessing in disguise that you now have something else to focus on other than the prying eyes around you. Aelin seems completely immune to any outside forces as she sloppily leans over the pool table with her stick in hand. Each time she attempts to line up a shot, her hands seem to sway away from the cue as if its weight is suddenly too heavy to carry. This game has gone on for what you swear has been for the last hour; half in part due to you missing your shots, and half in part due to Aelin not being able to stay quiet long enough to focus on hitting anything properly. 

“Stop kicking the table,” she groans. 

“I’m not kicking anything,” you assure. 

“Why’s it vibrating?”

“That would be the music.” 

“The music?” she repeats. 

“Yeah. You know… the bass?” 

Nodding like she’s understood what you’ve said, Aelin makes her shot only to royally flub it, sending the cue ball ricocheting across the far side, nearly pocketing one of your balls instead of hers. You chuckle as she straightens herself up. Surprisingly pleased with herself, she adjusts the crooked pirate hat on her head as she grins at you. 

“Too bad Riley isn’t here to give us some pointers,” she teases. 

There’s something familiar in the tone of her voice that sends a jolt shooting throughout your spine. That familiar, yet confusing heat courses through your veins as you think back to dinner at Aelin’s house. Suddenly, you’re back in that garage. You feel everything; the felt of the pool table against the palm of your hand, Simon’s fingers brushing against yours, his voice rattling your ruined eardrum for all it’s worth…

“He seems busy with work,” you excuse. 

“Yeah?” she taunts. Her grin slowly melts into something hazier at your comment. It’s not quite malicious, yet there’s something oddly devious about it. Like she knows something you don’t. “Shame. You two seemed awfully comfy the other night.” 

You open your mouth to respond just for it to snap back shut. Of course she brings that up. Aelin can be worse than a mother teasing her school aged children about silly crushes, and you’re mortified that she’s doing this in her drunken stupor. Really, there was nothing special at all about what happened that night. Except for maybe the fact that it was the first time in quite some time that a man touched you and it didn’t make your skin crawl. 

“You’re reading too much into it,” you excuse while waving your hand. “He was just being helpful.” 

“You know, you should just date him,” Aelin says as if you had never spoken in the first place. 

For a moment, all you can do is stand there and blink. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

“No, I’m being serious,” she slurs. “He’s a good guy, really. Quiet, too. Sure you gathered that from the other night. Bit of a smart arse sometimes, but I think you two get on well. He’s like… roughened. Girls like that, yeah? That’s sexy.”

“Row, I don’t think-” 

“And you need someone to look out for you at home, too. Those apartments? Those ones you got for dirt fucking cheap? They’re falling apart at the seams. I wanna kidnap you sometimes and just, like, bring you home. You’re gonna get robbed one of these days.” 

“Really, it’s-” 

“Besides… he seems to be having a much better time following me around now that you’re here,” she huffs. “He never seems this interested when it’s just me.” 

You freeze. There’s nothing but shards of ice in your veins. Your mouth grows sere as you attempt to shake the frost off your shoulders—you’re in too much disbelief to attempt to look around the area for him. Simon—following you? How could you have missed such a thing when he towers over nearly every head in the building? 

“What?” Aelin teases, nodding her head to the area behind you. “You mean you haven’t noticed your little shadow?” 

It’s only then that you brave a glance over your shoulder. Your throat grows tight at the sight of him. He sits at a small gossip table in a chair that’s dwarfed by his size; you’re surprised the wood hasn’t given way beneath him. Long legs stretch out to the side so they’re not awkwardly bent, and he slouches against the back of the chair as if to make himself appear smaller. Luckily, his attention seems to be absorbed by his phone. The screen casts a dull glow on his face, vaguely illuminating the rosy scars that faintly line the bridge of his nose and the corner of his lip. 

You don’t think you could’ve handled it if you had looked back at him just to see him already staring. 

“John likes to send him as a guard dog whenever I come here. Things got a little crazy one time and now he’s gone all scorched earth thinking I’m gonna get assaulted or something,” Aelin explains flippantly. It seems as if she’s given up on your game of pool as her hands playfully bat the balls around like she’s a cat with a roll of yarn. “I promise he’s not being a weirdo. Not on purpose, anyway.” 

Things only start to get worse. Her teasing, her insisting that you try to talk to Simon, her drinking—they only increase. Aelin’s words and insinuations make your mind spin more than the small sips of alcohol you’ve allowed in your system. You stare at her with her glazed eyes and frizzy blonde hair, and your stomach twists like you’ve been stuck with a knife. 

Your only saving grace is John Price. He crawls out of some room a little past one in the morning in an attempt to wrangle his wife in. It’s impossible to talk any sense into her, it seems. Hands on her hips, John tries to prevent her from swaying too much as she giggles. You awkwardly watch from the sidelines as she pulls at his shirt in an attempt to kiss him—you’re jealous at her ability to ignore the crowd around her. Always confident, she acts as if she owns the place. 

In a way—you suppose—she does. 

“Wanna get some fresh air?” 

You don’t realize Simon’s even approached you until his fingertips rest on the pool table in front of you. Blinking, you follow the line of his arm. The wideness of his hand sits like a riverbed for the veins that dance beneath the thin skin. It ends abruptly at the long sleeved shirt he somehow manages to wear despite the stuffy air in the club, and still you continue up along his thick shoulders until you meet his dark eyes. 

Pulling at your left ear, you grimace when the pressure changes. “Huh?” you ask while you twist your right ear toward him to hear better. 

“Some fresh air? Wanna head outside on the terrace?” he asks before chuckling. “Thought we could give the lovebirds over here some alone time.” 

Blinking, you quickly glance back at John and Aelin before answering. They’re still standing there in each other’s arms, swaying and talking to one another. Aelin’s smile is bright as she looks up at him, and John can’t help but grin at her crooked pirate hat. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Outside sounds nice.” 

Simon brings you to the back of the VIP section where a door littered with heavy sharpie graffiti leads you to a terrace. The noise level instantly changes the moment the door shuts behind you. Plenty of patrons mingle about in the cool, fresh air, but their chatter is nothing but a whisper compared to the rush of the music trapped inside. Cold autumn air chills your feverish skin as he guides you beneath a canopy of lights. 

At the end of the terrace lies a thick, metal railing. The cold iron bites through your palm as you grip it and look down at the alleyway below. Just on the other side of the railing, where the ledge juts out against the building, there are pots of flowers. They’re small, waifish little things, but their attar cuts through the dull night air all the same. 

“You smoke?” Simon asks as he shoves a hand into the pocket of his jeans. 

He’s on your left again. Sighing, you watch him carefully take out a pack of cigarettes where he beats the bottom of the carton against the palm of his hand. Shaking your head, you turn around so that your back is against the railing, putting Simon on your right side. 

“No,” you say bluntly. 

“Good,” he hums. “Don’t start.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to light the thing and start puffing away. The scent of it cuts through the air, smothering the redolence of the flowers behind you, but you don’t mind. Each time he exhales, he makes sure to turn his head away, blowing the smoke well out of your way. 

“So, Mrs. Price is a pirate. What’re you dressed as?” he asks. 

Chuckling, you stare down at your work uniform. It’s nothing special. Just a plain black dress shirt with the pants to match. There’s a small stain of ranch that haunts the hem of your shirt, but you try not to bring any attention to it as you cross your arms. 

“Oh, uh, a Sapori hostess,” you answer humorously. “Didn’t really have time to change before getting dragged out here.” 

“Sapori,” Simon hums. “Heard that place is pretty fancy.” 

“It’s up there, yeah,” you concur. 

“They pay well?” 

“Thirteen fifty.” 

“Not great.”

You shrug. “It’s enough.” 

A sharp breath cuts through the air as Simon inhales another long drag from his cigarette. The embers at the end dance to life in a bright orange before going cold when he exhales. You feel your head go light as a feather as you watch the smoke swirl and dissipate in the air. 

“What about you?” you ask. “I know you work for John, but like… you know…”

“Security mostly. Makin’ sure people don’t get too rowdy. And whatever odd job he assigns,” he answers. “Usually end up workin’ nights. Same as you, I reckon.” 

“Yeah, though I’m usually off around midnight most nights,” you chuckle, then sigh. “I’d be in bed by now if it wasn’t for Row.” 

“Row?” Simon repeats. 

“Oh, uhm, Aelin.” 

“What’d she do to earn a nickname like that?” 

Your teeth dig into your lip as you smile. “I could tell you, but I think I’d have to kill you afterwards.” 

“Ah, one of those stories,” Simon chuckles. There’s a short pause in the conversation as he finishes off the rest of his cigarette before tossing it to the cement at his feet. He stomps out the embers with the sole of his work boots. “Alright, what about your name then, Chip?” 

A sharp, awkward scoff escapes your lips as you stare at your feet. Reliving the story of your nickname is something you haven’t had to do in a long while, and it feels wrong saying it. Like you need to keep every little thing about yourself hidden, lest someone see how truly pathetic you are. 

“You promise not to make fun of me?” you question. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he says facetiously as he leans his elbows on the railing. 

“A while back, Aelin’s grandma invited us over for tea. The cup she gave me was broken on the rim. Like, a perfect slice just missing from it. I was too… I dunno. Nervous, I guess? I couldn’t bring myself to ask for another cup, so I drank out of the broken one the entire time. When Aelin realized, she just laughed at me. Said it was like that little teacup. You know, from Beauty and the Beast? Chip? She’s called me that ever since.” 

A quiet chuckle rattles through Simon’s chest as he turns to face you. It’s deep. Canorous. Without the cigarette between his fingers to distract him, he’s able to give you his undivided attention. His gaze ignites your intestines. Burns your offals until they feel too warm within your skin. You swallow as he blinks at you. 

“Cute,” he murmurs. 

“Riley!” 

Both you and Simon turn at the calling of his name, and it doesn’t take long for either of you to find the source. John marches across the terrace with Aelin stumbling behind him. She’s somehow managed to lose her hat since you last saw her, though she doesn’t seem too heartbroken about it as she throws her arms around you the moment you’re within her reach. 

“You vanished,” she slurs, spiced rum heavy on her breath. 

“I was only gone for a few minutes,” you chuckle. 

“Too long.” 

“Riley,” John repeats again, quieter this time. “Would you take the girls home for me? Don’t want them trying to head home when she’s this… well… Just take her car, since I’m sure you took your bike here, yeah?” 

He hands off a set of keys to Simon, who shakes them around a bit like he enjoys the sound of the jingle. “I’ll take good care of ‘em.” 

Getting Aelin into the car is a difficult task. Swaying worse than a drunken sailor, she nearly sends you tumbling into the back seat after her as she plops her entire body weight while tugging on your arm. Eventually you both are able to settle just in time to watch Simon struggle to get into the driver’s seat. The poor man proves himself to be significantly taller than Aelin, and he somehow manages to bash the side of his head on the roof of the car with a grunt. After some quiet cursing from him—and plenty of merciless giggles from Aelin—he moves the seat back far enough so that he’s not completely scrunched over. 

The moment he ensures both you and Aelin are buckled in the back seat, he takes off through London. 

“This is what you get for being so tall,” she teases. “I mean, really. There’s no reason for anyone to be this tall. What did your mum feed you as a kid?” 

“You know, your husband is only a bit shorter than me,” Simon retorts. His eyes find yours in the review mirror for a split moment before his attention is back on the road. 

“Yeah, but John puts his inches somewhere a bit more important than height,” Aelin teases, low enough for only you to hear. 

Aelin manages to sober up some by the time Simon pulls into the driveway, but only slightly. Rum still taints her breath as she gives you a tight hug and thanks you for coming with her tonight, and she’s unsteady on her feet as she climbs out of the car. Simon keeps his hands up like he’s watching a toddler who can collapse at any moment. Once she’s set, she turns around to look at you where she points a finger in warning. 

“Stay,” she orders as if speaking to a dog. 

Confused, you glance awkwardly at Simon. “Uh… aye aye, captain.” 

After your confirmation, Aelin slams the door shut behind her before allowing Simon to lead her inside the house. It takes her three failed attempts to get the keys into the lock, each punctuated by an array of colorful words. The entryway is shrouded in a thick numbra that disperses when she flicks the lights on, and she confidently struts toward the living room. 

“Simon,” she says, motioning for him to follow her inside. 

Dumbfounded, he listens. Aelin makes it all the way to the living room where she slowly lowers herself onto the sofa with a huff. “Yeah?” 

“I want you to keep an eye on Chip for me,” she hums. 

Simon stiffly crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course.” 

“No,” Aelin whines, “I don’t just mean tonight. Like, after tonight. Keep tabs on her, or something. You’re good at that stuff, aren’t you?” 

Confused, Simon quickly glances over his shoulder as if he expects to find you standing in the entryway. “Is she in trouble?” he asks. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Leaning her head back, Aelin rubs at her eyes as if she can remove the drunken haze that clogs her vision. “It’s difficult to tell with her. She’s really good at keeping things hidden, but I just know something’s wrong. I’d just feel a lot better if you helped keep an eye on her. Especially in that fucking apartment. Simon, I swear, I’m surprised that place hasn’t collapsed yet.” 

“So, you just want me to be her friend?” Simon confirms. 

“Well obviously don’t be a fucking creep about it, but yes. I suppose,” Aelin nods. “And don’t tell her about this, either. And obviously not about… anything else. You know. The business and everything. I know John is strict about that but you really can’t share that with Chip. She just… needs someone in her corner.” 

Nodding, Simon mulls over her request. There are certain things that are expected out of organized syndicates—protection is one of them. When you own the streets, there’s a duty required of that mafia to serve the people who live within the community. He’s lost track of how many heads he’s knocked together in the pursuit of making sure people know the rules. Watching over you would be no different. After all, there’s really only one thing Simon Riley is good at:

Fighting.

“Consider it done.” 

The drive to your apartment is quiet. There’s nothing but the sputtering hum of the engine and the cracks in the road to fill the silence between you and Simon. Every now and then you mutter directions for him to take, but otherwise you’re thankful that he doesn’t spark up any real conversation. With it nearing two in the morning, you doubt you’ll be able to say anything coherent anyway. Instead, he turns up the radio and lets whatever station Aelin last had it on fill the dead air between you two. 

The next thing you know, the car is parked in front of your apartment complex, and Simon is opening the door for you with his hand outstretched. Blinking the weary fatigue from your eyes, you take his hand and allow him to help you out of your seat. He’s so incredibly gentle despite the fact you’re certain he could crush your fingers with a simple squeeze. He shuts the door behind you as you pat your pockets down for your keys. 

“Thank you so much for the ride, Simon,” you say once you have them in hand. 

“No problem,” he replies with a nod. Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheeks as you wait for him to leave, except he doesn’t. It’s not until he glances at the ancient building behind you that you realize he intends to walk you to your door. “Which floor do you live on?” 

Each step that stretches between you and the third floor is grueling in a cruel way. If the lift was fixed, you would have taken it but it’s been out of order for the last two months, no thanks to your less than helpful landlord. Your feet are screaming by the time you make it to your door, and you feel the earth begin to tilt. Your keys slide into the lock with ease, and it takes nothing more thana simple turn of the knob for the door to swing open and reveal your studio apartment. 

It’s nothing special. Peeling wallpaper adorns the walls like crunchy autumn leaves, and its yellow tint is brought out by the lone lamp that sits on the nightstand next to your bed. Messy sheets adorn your mattress where it sits shoved into the corner of the room closest to a lone window, and there’s a single door slightly ajar on the far side of the room revealing a claustrophobic bathroom. The entire apartment is small enough to be a coffin, but the rent is cheap enough to not leave you bankrupt every month. 

Ready to dismiss Simon for the night so you can get some well deserved sleep, you turn to face him only to see his attention has been consumed by your door. Everything in this building is near ancient, but your front door and window are probably the worst. Chipped paint and rusting brass plague the hinges, but he seems more intrigued in the plating on the frame. 

“Find something interesting?” you ask stiffly. 

“More concernin’ than anythin’ else,” he mutters. Thick fingers brush against the old metal plating where he scrapes at the screws holding it in place. “How long ago were these replaced?” 

You shrug. “I have no idea.” 

“I’ll get you new hardware,” he hums, straightening himself up. “Someone could sneeze on the damn thing and it would fall over.” 

A million excuses flood your mind on why he doesn’t need to do that, and you’re certain they would’ve left your mouth if you weren’t so exhausted. Instead of trying to deny his offer, you yawn as your heavy eyes glance towards your bed. 

“Get some rest, yeah?” Simon prompts as he places his hand on the doorknob. 

You turn to face him with a quiet smile, and for a moment you find yourself at a loss for words. The ivory light of the hallway casts a dark shadow on his face, but it’s not enough to smother the soft concern in his eyes. 

“I will. Goodnight, Simon,” you say as a gruff vocal fry seeps into your words. 

Despite his size—tall enough to nearly brush his head against the doorframe and almost just as wide—you don’t feel any fear as you witness him. There’s nothing insidious about him, especially not with the small smile that manages to tug at his lips as he shuts the door. 

“Sweet dreams, love.”

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[die-auster]

Urzai week 2024, day 5

Prompt "poison"; @urzaiweekblog

Two the most venomous creatures fighting each other to create the deadliest poison.

The reason the poison is gold; Ozai holds a spidersnake and Ursa holds a scorpio-centipede as a sort of a reference to the concept of "five poisonous creatures" (four of them) and the "gu poison". Spidersnake is a canon animal mentioned in "Zuko Alone" and "The Rise of Kyoshi" (chapter "The Iceberg").

Id in ALT

[angelpuns]

“ GET BACK!” Leo gripped his katanas tightly, backing into the corner. The lumbering, spiky creature before him grimaced, holding his claws out like Leo was some sort of spoiler animal. 

“ Leo, hey, what's goin' on, buddy?” The creature asked, voice softer than expected. It made Leo hesitant, if only for a second. 

But it must have been a ploy. A trick to trap him and-and do god knows what! 

“ I'M NOT YOUR BUDDY,” Leo hissed, keeping his eyes open for any movement from the hulking creature. If there was an opening, he'd have to take it, otherwise he'd have to portal away. It didn't feel right to leave this creature in his room, though, so that would be a last resort, “TELL ME WHO- WHAT YOU ARE! NOW!” 

The creature blinked in mock surprise and took a step back. Good. Maybe Leo could stun it and then go out the back way to his room. It wasn't a great plan, but it was all he had right now. Hell, maybe he could scare the thing all the way out the door and fight it in the lobby. Sure, it was a lot bigger than him, but he had two swords and it has nothing. 

“Wh- it's me! It's Raph!” The creature raised its voice a little, then immediately softened it again, “it’s- you're safe, Leo, its just me. You're in the lair. We're all safe…”

It was holding its hands out again and took two steps forward. Leo backed further into the corner and cursed under his breath. This was the opposite of what he wanted. 

“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME!? WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM!?” He bit out, cycling through several more half-baked plans where he didn't have to portal and didn't mess up his room. He didn't want to leave this guy here to mess it up either if he could. 

“ We're- we're brothers, remember? We explained it yesterday…. You were cursed by a witch and-”

Leo scoffed, “ that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! You've got 3 seconds to leave before I cut you to pieces!”

He’d always been more of a playful banter guy than a ‘threaten to literally kill you’ guy, but this was dire. There was literally a random, dangerous looking creature-guy in his home. He wasn't gonna rake any chances to be funny, not right now. 

“Okay, okay. Let's just calm down, Leo….I really need you to take a deep breath and-and uh…name five things you see?” the guy - Raph, he'd said - was speaking even quieter, and getting even closer. 

He took another step forward and Leo couldn't think- there was nowhere to run, he was trapped. 

The creature reached forward slowly, mimicking slow breathing and Leo lashed out with his sword, barely nicking the guy’s arm with it. He either had tough scales or Leo was still too far to do any damage. 

He hissed in pain, and Leo saw a bit of red there, but he couldn't wait to find out if he'd finally pissed this guy off. 

He cut a portal beneath him and fell into it, heartbeat pounding his ears and electricity thrumming through his body. He heard a cut off “ LEO, WAIT-” before the portal closed and all he heard was the sounds if the city below him. 

 When he landed he was on a rooftop, somewhere far from his room and far from the creature. The sun was peeking above the horizon, a sudden chill making him shiver. Of course he couldn't have thought to put on a hoodie. Then again, he had been unexpectedly ambushed. 

At least he'd gotten away without a scrape. 

And not a moment too soon, because for a split second he'd seen two more guys in his doorway, each with shocked and then angry expressions. If he'd stayed even a second he'd be a goner, he just knew it. 

For now, he was safe. Now to think of a plan. 

----

Here's a blurb of that idea! I've written a chapter outline but writing has been hard lately, so I'm just gonna keep it in my docs for now. It might become a fic and it might become a comic, who knows. For now thus is what I've got. I just really wanted to write this bit :)

Part 1 | Part 3

[slimybeth69]

Touch

Summary: The Mandalorian is quite interested in what you've been doodling. What happens when he finds out?

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags- eventual angst, slow burn, graphic depictions of wounds and violence, eventual non-con, eventual therapy speak, Grogu, Mando takes off his helmet, so much shit happens in this story.

This was very much inspired by the legendary Rough Day. It's such an incredible story and so well written. Don't have as high hopes for this, it's mostly just me being horny for Din Djarin.

unbeta'd, probably not proof-read because of my ADHD.

SORRY EVERYBODY ELSE

Chapter 2 ->

“What are you doing?” He asked raspily through the voice modulator. You roll your eyes. It’s the second or third time he’s asked you that since you guys found a place to let the child run around and play. Eat a creature or two. 

“Nothing.” You said it for the second or third time. He says nothing in response but you can feel him looking at you. Maybe. You’re never sure with the helmet. That stupid helmet that makes you look right back at your stupid face every time he says something stupid to you.

Okay. That’s a little harsh, per se, but he’s been harsh on you for everything lately. Little messy in the ship? On you about it. The child crying? On you. Something that you had absolutely no control whatsoever over happening inside, around or to the ship? He was fucking on you.

It was exhausting honestly. If it hadn’t been for the credits and honestly, the cute ass kid you might not have stuck around. But you were so desperate to get away. Apparently so desperate you asked him for a ride out of the Canto Casino. No, you begged.

And for whatever reason– it's clear to you now it’s because he needed someone to be mean to– he said yes. And then offered you seventy-five credits a week for as long as you stayed and watched after the kid and cleaned up after both of them. You drew the line at cooking anything because you experienced a burn first hand once, and will never do that again. Not even after he offered three extra credits a week. Not happening, Mando. No way.

Especially not for him . Being so mean all the time. 

You could see Mando out of the corner of your eye shift and try to see what you were doing in your notebook but you dropped your shoulder over it and pulled it tightly into your chest. 

“What’re you doing?” You turn your head to look at him. 

“Trying to see what you’re doing.” He said simply. It was so frank, yeah, that’s what he’s doing. Obviously . “What are you doing?” The little inflection in his words made your heart race for a second. As if he might actually be interested and not just bored of watching the child run around in the grass after small creatures to devour. 

The first time you saw the child eat something, it horrified you, but it grew to be just a little endearing the way he’d chase after it, jump and pounce on it a few times and then snatch it up for a lil’ snack. Just a quick one; the way he’d swallow it hole. You lost track of how long it’d been since then but it wasn’t a long time. Just long enough for you to forget to keep track anymore. 

“Why are you so interested?” You ask him, keeping the notebook tightly to your chest. Mando sits back and looks forwards.

“I don’t know.” He garbles through the modulator.

“Then you don’t get to see.” You tease but you wonder if he even knows what that is. Teasing . 

He’s never even once cracked one little joke with you in all this time. So probably not. Either that or he thinks you’re incredibly unfunny. Which is a possibility. You did try very very hard to impress him with whatever weird homemaker skills he expected you to have. You had literally none so he was very thoroughly unimpressed , to say the least. 

The dirty clothes and dishes around the ship were one thing, but it was the child's incessant crying that really made him ‘ raise his tone’ with you. Not really but he did say in a few very colorful words that you needed to do better. 

But really you just needed to bond with the little green sucker. Mando had thrown you into this ship with that thing? Baby? You really didn’t know or care, but he threw you in there and then shut the door and went on his merry way. For four days. Without even so much as an introduction. 

The kid was scared shitless of you for the entire time Mando was gone. It took the child almost two weeks to warm up to you. You didn’t know where anything was, or what to do, and were left to fend for yourself. It took you exactly thirty minutes of crying to figure out that the child wanted to be outside and the kid didn’t have any kind of harness or tether. Which was terrifying because what if you lost it? You had been so scared the child was going to run away but the kid didn’t. Well... did at first and then you tired it out; chasing for what felt like two hours. 

Then only once did the child have it's fill of an entire ecosystem of poor unfortunate creatures smaller than your foot, did he go back and lay himself down in that floating bassinet in the ship.

You had to lay down on the floor beside him after shutting the ship up, just to rest your eyes for a minute because that kinda cute little thing– asleep in that floating orb– had tired you out. And you didn’t wake up until that cute little thing had pried your eyelids open to show you the mess he had made. Pulled out everything that he could get his six little grubby fingers on

That had been day one . Things had gotten a little better since then. A little .

Every time you turned your back to clean up one mess, the little cutie would just run in the opposite direction and make a different mess somewhere else. This was the hardest job you’ve ever had. Easily. The child was a handful. There was something about the way he snuggled into when it was time for bed though, and it stole the heart right out of your chest. The way he’d bring you different colored rocks and bugs and show you them in wonder and amazement before he tried to eat them. When Mando was gone, it was just you two so you had plenty of time to bond, the Mandalorian was busy. Very busy indeed. 

Busy informing you that you didn’t put things away correctly, didn’t wash things the way he liked and needed to figure it out. You had to explain to him that people normally get at least a couple hours of training. Maybe a tour around, to show them where things are and where things go . He didn’t seem to understand that the reason you weren't doing a great job straight away was partially his fault. Or he just didn’t care. 

It’s . fine .

It’s almost like he’s a bounty hunter who has no patience for anything besides the child. 

And he’s got barely any for the green baby, so, it’s been a very pleasant time so far.

Maker. Okay. You’d also have very little patience for anything if you had to wear that beskar all the time. He was always in that suit, always. You hadn’t even caught a glimps of a wrist or his neck. Nothing. Not even an ankle. You knew the Mandalorians couldn’t let anyone see their faces, like ever , so you understood but, sheesh. It was always on. You didn’t even know what he did at night because you were usually asleep with the child before him. And he was always up before you.

 You told him once you’d blindfold yourself just so he could breathe if he wanted to. He’s never taken you up on the offer, surprisingly. 

So now in the present, still sour with him for being mean and because he’d never answered your question about what color his hair is, you doodled what he might look like in your little notebook you always had on you. Mostly pictures of the child because he was slowly winning you over with those eyes. And because he’s all you seen for however long you’ve been out here. But Mando had been back for a couple days. Longer than normal. You’d been spending a lot of time together, the three of you.

So for the last couple days you had been compelled to doodle Mando. What he might look like under that helmet and in some of your more explicit doodles– maybe what he looked like under that suit too.

The beskar protected him well. 

Too well.  

Maker. 

Okay, no. The beskar saved his life, protected him. Absolutely. But like, it left everything to the imagination. Which was frustrating. Because as much as you wanted to leave where you had been living, you had imagined seeing another person besides the child and Mando at least once. Maybe get a night off and talk to someone about something other than the kid, the ship and the bounty he’s currently after. 

Alas no, you’ve been stuck on the ship and now the primal desires inside of you are starting to flicker like a little flame. Tiny. Unnoticed by you, even. The doodling really was mindless at first, but your mindlessness was what Mando’s lower stomach looked like.

The notebook was still pressed against your chest. 

“So I can’t see?” He asked, looking at the child playing in the field. 

“Nope. Sure can’t.” Even if he had told you why he wanted to look at your notebook, you wouldn’t have let him. He would have had to pry it from your cold dead hands, and then you’d have been fighting him from whatever afterlife there could be. Fighting for the last shred of dignity you have. 

“I could take it from you.” He said like he had been inside your fucking head. Your heart is beating inside your throat and you unintentionally grip it tighter against you.

“I know.” You say. Your whole body frozen in fear. Like, was it a threat? An observation he had just made in his head? “ Why would you do that?” 

It was a weird thing for him to say. You’re leering at him over your shoulder, watching to see if he makes any sudden movements towards you so you can toss your notebook in the small fire he’s made. You might do it anyway because what is he even talking about? Taking it from you?

“Because.” Emotionless rasp from the modulator. “I’d like to see.” No inflection. Nothing. Just staring at the kid who was jumping off the ground slightly trying to catch a small flying bug. He couldn’t get it. 

But it had been said nicer than the other times. You couldn’t put your finger on it because it had sounded exactly the same, honestly, but there was just something behind the words he chose. 

I’d like to see.

Like he was some little kid who just wanted to look at what you were looking at. So innocent. Like he wasn’t a bounty hunter who had killed so many people in just the short time you had known him. And he wanted to look in your notebook. 

And now you had to tell him no again. Because what the shit? You can’t show him the very detailed drawing you’ve done of his pants pulled down to just the base of him and his curly patch of pubic hair that rents space there. You have no idea what the base of him looks like, it’s all made in your head. 

But the doodles are there. Sure are. In the notebook. That’s not imagined. No. The notebook and doodles are there. The notebook happens to be opened up to a page that has the deep indentation of muscles on both sides, a v of just pure rock hard strength and power that lead down to where you’ve been thinking about touching him lately. The little trail of hair that leads from his belly button; where you would oh so love to place your tongue, all the way down to where that v meets right–

Okay stop it right now, this is too much, you’re getting distracted from the point. You very carefully flip back multiple pages of the notebook so that there’s no chance that he could see what you’ve been working on as of late. But now, you peek down and check to see– the drawings of the child, okay. Phew. 

You hold up the notebook. You have to pull it back a couple inches when he tries to take it. He tilts his head down at you for just a moment when you do that and then looks back to the page you’re showing him. He studies it for so long that you wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Your arm is starting to ache. You've been holding it for so long. 

“You’ve captured his greeness quite well, somehow, without color.” He says, still emotionless but… did he just try and exchange banter with you? 

“We can hang it in the ship, right above his bassinet.” You tease. He’s so damn particular with his ship. Not wanting you to change anything . So there’s no way that he’d let you hang up a doodle of anything.

“That’d be fitting.” 

Oh my Maker. Please give me strength to deal with this- this- whatever this is. Because what he happens to be, is impossible. Impossible to read. Impossible to predict. Nothing about him is like anyone you’ve ever met.

“What was on the other page?” His modulator voice scares you, laying there silently on your stomach with your eyes closed. If you had a free hand you would have pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose in slight annoyance. But you didn’t. You were laying on the free one and still holding the notebook. But when he said that , you pulled it back into your chest.

“What other page?” You snap. You can feel the heat rushing to your face. 

“The one you’re hiding from me.” 

Okay , Maker. Real nice. Real real funny. Give him some emotion now .

This is the first time you ever wished Mando would stop talking. Except for when he was mad at you. But now, he’s chatting you up and you wish he’d shut up. Just leave you alone.

Very funny, Maker. 

“I’m not hiding anything.” You say it so matter of factly like you’re willing it to be true. 

“I saw you.” 

“You didn’t see anything. I’m surprised you can see anything behind that helmet.” You flutter the notebook back at him in dismissal. 

Mando is silent for a long time.

“It actually helps me see-” 

“ Oh Maker . It was a joke . Do you know what a joke is?” You exclaim. “I know the helmet allows you to see better. I know that. I was making a joke.” You’re so frustrated now that you actually move your hand from under your chest and put your two fingers on the bridge of your nose and sigh. 

“You’re-” He pauses for a long time. “-annoyed with me?” 

You’re not expecting him to say that.

“I’m not exactly pleased , no. But I’m not annoyed. No.” You explain to him.

“So can I see the other page, then?” 

You throw the notebook in your bag quickly and snap it shut. 

“I think you should see if you can us food to eat, maybe? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” You think for a second, “I’ve never seen you eat, actually, so, maybe you're not. I don’t know.” You speak nervously, the words continue to come out even though you wish you’d just shut up. “I know the kid is probably full off whatever thriving colony of small things he’s decimated. So, I’ll put him to bed while you see if you can find dinner or something.” You get up, take your bag with you and go grab the child from whatever life threatening way he’s found to entertain himself and bring him into the ship with you.

You set everything down on the floor behind the cockpit– your makeshift bedroom– and give the child a quick wipe down with a damp cloth, making sure he doesn’t have any crud or muck in any of his little fold or behind his comically large ears. And then you rock him to sleep. It takes ages– so long– for him to finally settle down and relax. He closes his big eyes while you rock him for more ages until you’re sure that he won't wake up when you lay him down. 

Which is annoying , because he can put himself down for a nap no problem, little thing tires itself out murdering small animals and just lays himself down when he’s tired, passes out within minutes. The minute the sun goes down? Nocturnal. The child has no idea what you mean when you say it’s time for bed. 

You tried to let him put himself to sleep once and Mando told you that he’d cut your credits in half if the kid ever cried like that again. It was worse than crying. It was wailing and screaming unlike anything you’ve heard in your life. The child must be rocked to sleep at night. That was an every night routine.  You deal with the child.  When Mando was around, he’d get you food during that time.

Once you were back outside, a meal had been caught and cooked for you. You assume that in your absence he fed himself, comfortably knowing you’d be gone for the next several eternities putting the child to sleep. 

“Thank you.” You’re hungry. Starving actually. You hadn’t realized how hungry you actually were. All your time and energy has been focused on keeping that little green baby alive that you have sometimes forgotten to take care of yourself. You keep yourself clean, yes. Easy to do when you have to clean the child every day. Eating and all the other stuff? Eh. Forgotten about now that the kid’s around chasing bugs and feeding himself. 

It’s fine. You’re thankful regardless because traveling around the galaxy, seeing things you’ve only ever heard about in stories . Even if you haven’t spoken to a singular other person besides Mando and the child. You have seen such incredible things and for that, you are thankful for Mando.

Very thankful.

Okay! Okay. You’ve gotta be in heat or something. Something! Because why is the way he’s looking at you is making between your legs throb? Okay now you know something is really wrong with you because what the stars, he’s got a helmet on. He could be looking over your shoulder or just over the horizon behind you but he’s got his gaze turned right to you. It’s like you can feel his eyes on you. You wonder what color they could be. Blue? Brown? Green?

“Pretty good.” You say, holding up whatever he caught and killed for you. You stopped asking what it was because you didn’t always like the answer, but it was always… edible. 

“So. That page?” 

You roll your eyes at him. Why oh why is he bringing it up again, the sun has gone down now and it’s been so long since that conversation. It’s old. Dead. Buried. 

“You’ve never taken an interest in anything I do, unless I’m doing it wrong, and then you scold me for it. Now, I’ve got one thing that’s mine and you’re trying to-” You’re huffing at him, actually annoyed now.

“A secret ?” He’s curious. An emotion. 

“It’s not a secret, it's just not– it’s not something I want other people to see.” You say very truthfully. “I don’t think.” You add to soften the statement. He’s actually talking to you about something besides the usual things.

“Why?” 

Maker, with the questions?

“Because.” It’s a simple response but it’s all you’ve got. 

“It would make me upset?” You look over at him and he’s positioned in exactly the same way he was when you looked away from him. Staring at you. You think. At least now he’s talking to you. 

But how do you answer that? 

Because yes, it would make him upset. It would make him very upset. It’d make you very embarrassed, and you think that's what's most worrying. The possibility of having to sit in the ship with him after. Now he knows that you’ve been thinking about him? Like that ? 

He can leave you here. It’s fine. You’ll figure it out. 

“No.” You lie to him. Then you feel bad for lying to him because you’re unsure if he’s even capable of lying. You’re not sure. He does seem like an innocent soul, minus all the killing. “Okay. Maybe. I don’t really know what upsets you other than when I mess something up, so I don’t really have much to go on.”

“I’m sorry.” He says and it forces the air out of your lungs like someone just punched you in the back. “I’ve–I’ve had a lot on my mind.” 

Maker, what is going on? Am I dead? 

“I shouldn’t take it out on you. You do good with the child.” 

You’re completely stunned. You cannot form a sentence. You cannot even think. Did he just compliment you? And apologize to you? Surely, you’re dead. 

“Thanks.” Is all you can manage to say and now, he’s warming up to you and you’re throwing water on the fire. 

“You could clean better, though.” 

And then you laugh because yes, you’re still alive and he is actually the Mando you barely know. And he did just apologize for being mean. And took accountability. And insulted you. 

It’s late now and the child will be awake in a couple hours. You’re asleep. Enjoying the thin mat that’s your bed and your warm blankets. You’re in a dream floating amongst the stars and skies, Mando’s floating with you, touching you so sweetly, and then, there is a hand on your arm. A strong one. 

It’s almost alarming, but then you open your eyes and it’s pitch black. So dark. Darker than you’ve ever seen it in the ship and now  it is entirely alarming. You go to scream but there is a warm hand over your mouth. 

“Don’t.” The modulated voice says quietly in the dark. You immediately relax and the terror stops ripping through you long enough for you to get angry. Very angry. After you hastily wrap the blankets around yourself, you pull your mouth away from his hand.

“Why? Why would you turn off all the lights– every single one? Huh? And then shake me awake like that?” You’re whispering, shouting at him. Your heart is still pounding and his hand is still tightly wrapped around your upper arm.

It’s quiet for a long time

“I didn’t shake you.” 

“Oh my Mak-” You whisper. “You know what I mean, you startled me awake in the darkness. Might as well be the same thing!” You’re exasperated. You had just fallen asleep and now this? Being throttled awake the way you just were? What was he gonna yell at you about now? What had he found that had made him grab you the way he had? Was still grabbing you.

“Sorry.” 

The raspy modulator voice in the dark is terrifying. Even if it’s being nice to you.

“What do you want?” You grumble angrily. “I was sleeping so well– so well and you’re throwing me around in my sleep.” You go to turn over but he stops you, squeezing your upper arm tighter. 

“I saw it.” It’s quiet, but there is some emotion behind the words. What emotion? You can’t be sure just yet. It’s something you’ve never heard from him before. It’s hard to tell in the void you’re in.

“Saw it? Saw what? How can you see anything here?” The sleep is still heavy in your brain and you’re also still terrified. Yes, less terrified knowing that it’s Mando gripping you like this in the dark and not an intruder, but why is he doing this? That is terrifying. Horrifying. 

“The page.” 

You gasp in even more pure, real horror and pull your arm from his grasp but he doesn’t allow it, he grips you tighter and in the dark you can hear him breathing under his mask. You thought you were scared before but not like this. Your heart is threatening to break free from the bone cage it’s safely hidden behind and you feel like you’re going to be sick. Your stomach is clenching and twisting inside of you. Sweat starts to bead your forehead and the back of your neck. 

“ Okokokokokok I’m so sorry. Please don’t kill me please, Mando, plea– I’m really, really scared to die and I don’t wanna go like this . In the dark? No. No , ple–  not in front of the child! Okay?” The silence around you now is deafening, you can’t even hear him breathing anymore and if it weren’t for the choking grip on your arm, you would think he had left. You’re begging for your life because this isn’t how you imagined dying. Not over doodles.

“I’m not mad.” He says quietly. Still raspy but soft. 

“Y-you’re not?” You’re too stunned to say more. Ask why, see if he liked it, nothing else comes to mind. You’re glad he’s not going to leave you outside to fend for yourself tonight. 

“Did you- did you think I was going to kill you?” Raspy modulated whispers come out of the darkness.

“Yes!” You whisper at him with a still beating like crazy heart in your chest. It’s about to burst out of you. “Why wou-” He cuts you off.

”They’re good.” He garbles quietly. 

“What is!? What’s good?” The fog in your head hasn’t lifted at all, and you’re so confused. What the stars is he talking about.

 “I looked at all of the pages.” He sighed out. It didn’t sound as gentle as it may have  meant behind the voice modulator. Still garbled and distorted. 

All the pages? All. Of. The. Pages. There were doodles of yourself in that notebook. Doodles of what you look like behind your clothes. The other pages in that notebook held secrets, real secrets and now you were even more mad at him. He could just invade your privacy? You got to have no secrets while his whole existence to you besides what he chooses to tell you? Unacceptable. The anger was bubbling under your skin now.

“You did what!?” It was still whispered as to not wake the child. “That was in my bag! You went through my stuff to get it? Are you sick?” He was holding on to you tighter and it was starting to actually hurt now. “Ow!” You snap at him and tug your arm away quickly and this time he lets you go. 

“Sorry. I had to know.” Garbled attempt at an apology from the darkness. You realize then that he hadn’t had his gloves on. You had felt his skin on yours. Hot calloused skin against yours. Gripping you the way he had been. You’d have bruises in the morning. Of his very real fingers on your flesh.

“You’re sorry!? That’s it?.” You have to force yourself not to yell at him because if this wakes the child up and you don’t get to go back to sleep, you’re going to quit. Walk right out. “You still haven’t answered my question!” He hadn’t. What did he want from you? If it wasn’t to kill you for seeing the drawings, then what did he want?

Nothingness surrounds you. For so long, you’re staring into the emptiness waiting for something . Some kind of response and then you hear him clear his throat. 

“I forgot what you asked me.” His garbled confession comes through in the dark. 

“You forgot? I just asked you wha-”

“The way you draw... it’s incredible.” You can hear him rustling through pages in the dark. The fluttery, scratchy sounds of pages, like a notebook. 

“A-are you-” You stumble over the words because you can’t actually believe this is happening. “D-do you s-still have it ?” You are fuming. “It’s so fucking dar-” and then you gasp loudly at the recollection that he  has night vision in that fucking helmet of his!

The child cries out softly in his sleep and you hear him rolling over and you and presumably him, freeze for what feels like forever before you accept that the baby is still asleep. You don’t know because you don’t have night vision. Then you whip your head back in the direction he’s in. You think he’s in. You honestly have no idea. There is no light coming in from anywhere and your eyes haven’t adjusted at all in the dark. 

You check your face to see if he’s blindfolded you. You pat your hands over your forehead and eyes when you’re completely sure that you’re just now blind for however long he wants you to be, you let your arms drop to your sides in frustration. 

“You’re still looking at it!” You point into the darkness accusingly, remembering he is in fact still holding your notebook. “Are you still looking at it?” You move your finger in a semi circle when you can’t actually decide where he’s kneeling beside you. The darkness is so disorientating. You have no idea where anything actually is anymore. 

“I can’t stop looking at it. I’m sorry.” He confesses from somewhere in the dark. “The bodies you drew are j-just so beautiful.” 

“They’re doodles.” You’re sweating. What is he doing in the dark looking at your doodles? You reach out into the darkness and you hear him take a shuffled step backwards, towards the center of the room. 

“What was your inspiration for them?” His raspy voice is different, like he’s not really here with you, it’s like he’s on that page with them.

“Just… my imagination ?” You lie in hopes he’s going to believe you. 

Silence. 

It’s anxiety inducing. He’s just somewhere in the darkness. With your notebook. 

“The woman's body is my favorite. She’s so…” Garbled modulator trails off. 

Maker. He has a favorite?  

You’re now hyper aware of the fact that if he can see your notebook in his hand, he absolutely can see you too. Oh Maker. 

Why was it suddenly so hot? When did it get so hot?

Your whole body is now prickled with sweat that he’s standing there in the dark. Assumed to be looking right at you and your artistic notebook.

There had been nothing sexual about your doodles at first. Really. They were just the only thing besides the child and the inside of the ship. And sometimes the fields he’d take you to, like the one you’re in now. So all of those things are in that notebook too. But he was looking at the couple pictures you decided to draw of yourself, because the human body is a work of art. Yours and Mandos just happened to be the only bodies around. 

“Just my imagination.” You don’t even know what you’re saying. Just words you’ve strung together fall out of your mouth for no reason known to you.

Silence for so long, you’re sure he’s not there anymore.

“Y-you already said that.” Modulator speaks in the dark.

“I did? Are you sure?” You’re one hundred percent sure you didn’t.

“Yes.” 

“What do you want? Why did you wake me up? Why are we just standing in the dark?” The questions are firing out of your mouth at the speed of a blaster pistol. “What? What do you want from me?” 

Mando say’s nothing for a long time. You cross your arms over your chest uncomfortably in the quiet. 

“Is this you? The woman?” He taps on the pages and you hear him do it in the dark. “Is this what you l-look like under your c-clothes?” 

“Why are you talking like that? What are you-” You’ve never heard him speak the way he is tonight, no. He’s commanding in his tone and what he says. Mando doesn’t stumble over his words. 

“Answer the question.” He interrupts you. “Please.” His tone is much more firm now. You’ve snapped him out of whatever trance he was in. 

“Maybe.” It’s not even an admittance of guilt and you’re already blushing in embarrassment. 

“It’s beautiful.” He’s breathless and somewhere in your notebook again. Presumably touching it with his ungloved fingers. 

In between your legs twinges. 

“Thank you.” You’re blushing so hard you think your cheeks are going to combust.

Then more quiet. For so long. It’s painful.

“Would you l-let me touch it?” He whispers through the modulator. 

“Touch it?” You don’t get it. “You’re holding it, what do-” And then you shut up because you realize what he’s talking about. It comes to you mid sentence.

It’s quiet again now. So quiet. The dark you could deal with if there was just something making some kind of noise beside yourself breathing in the abyss. You’re waiting for a response but you get nothing. A sigh from your nose. 

“You want to touch me ?” You don’t want to say it, but you’re desperate to hear anything in the void. You’re also so tired and sleep deprived because of the child, you might let him if he just got to the point so you could go back to bed. He’s been on your mind for the last week. The only reason you dream anymore, apparently. 

“Yes.” Honest and innocent garbles from the modulator. You smirk. “And-” But he stops. 

“And what?” You’re so curious what else could go along at his request. But he says nothing again. More blistering silence. It’s actually burning the inside of your ears. 

“Watch.” 

Maker, give this mandalorian the ability to say more than one word, please. I don’t know how much more patience I have left inside of me. 

“Watch what? What do you want from me?” You haven’t said no. That’s something you start to notice as you wait for him to respond to you. Haven’t said yes but you also haven’t said no. 

So, what could he want?

“Can I show you?” Your breath hitches in your throat because what the hell could that mean? 

“Oh-okay?” So hesitant. So fucking nervous. Your heart was beating fast this whole exchange with him but now it was beating somewhere in the base of your throat. Hard. 

“Lay down.” It’s said from much closer to you now, startlingly close. You hadn’t heard him get closer. How did he do that? But you obey his order and lay back down on your thin mat on the floor. You can feel him hovering over you. Then suddenly, the blankets are being torn off of you and you're exposed to the now suddenly freezing cold ship. 

He’s exposed you. You wear nothing but a thin nightgown to bed every night. It’s the only thing that isn’t scratchy in your little bag of clothes and it does get surprisingly warm in the ship at night when everything’s closed up. It’s refreshing normally, but not now. Now you’re freezing and your nipples are giving you away in the darkness at how cold and excited you are for what might be about to happen. 

You hear him respire sharply into the modulator and your nipples somehow get harder and that tingle in between your legs is back. You just made Mando gasp ? You’ve never once heard that sound come out of him. Okay, once when the child almost fell out his floating orb, but that was only once and it was different . There had been fear interlaced with that gasp but not this one.

He was admiring you in the dark through his night vision. A gasp of admiration? 

Mando still hasn’t touched you at all besides the painful grasp on your arm earlier but that was it. He hadn’t ever touched you before that, ever. Now he had asked if he could and you were trembling already waiting to see what he had meant.

“Be like the pictures.” He cooed it out, the modulator garbling it all up but still. It was cooed, you heard it with your own ears. But you obeyed again, pulling the loose straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. It was easily wriggled off the rest of you and then, the nightgown was just a mess of fabric in front of your mat. 

“ Oh Maker. ” He speaks so softly it doesn’t even sound like Mando. You start to wonder if it is really him and then he says, “More beautiful. Much more.” He sighs it out and it makes you melt into the mat you're laying on.

You want him to touch you so bad. So badly it is sending electricity through you, starting between your legs. 

“Can you s-spread them?” He asked so cautiously that you were unsure that he even wanted but the sound he made when you bent your knees and let them fall open to your sides made you start to leak from the place he wanted to look at you so badly. 

“Like this?” You knew that, yes, it’s exactly what he meant but you were now so obsessed with listening to his voice that you’d ask him anything to hear him speak. 

“Yes. Yes.” It’s said hastily into the voice modulator, like if he doesn’t answer you’ll close your legs on him. “Just like that.”

You almost jump back at the feeling of the tips of his fingers on you. Pressing so gently into the soft skin on your thighs but you remember why you’re down here on the mat, naked below Mando. That’s all he does, just traces the pads of all five of his fingers up and down your thigh, stroking you with a feather touch. It almost felt like he might not be touching you at all, like you’re imagining it. 

He exhales deeply and it registers from under the helmet. 

“Were you- were you just holding your breath?” You ask.

Quiet, his hand still stroking your thigh so gently. 

“Maybe.” 

You smirk in the dark and rest your head back on your pillow and let him do whatever he wants. Then an ungloved hand reaches and touches you the same way across your stomach. So lightly it almost tickles but you don’t want him to stop so you don’t move. You let everything be still underneath his hands. They move leisurely across your body, never stopping in one place, like he’s scanning the pages of a book and using his hands to follow along. 

You’re covered in goosebumps and almost quivering under him but it feels so fucking good that it doesn’t matter anymore. You reach out and try to put his hand where you’d like it but before you can touch him he removes his hands and you’re left alone in the dark again. 

He’s gone. You’re sure of it and you’re on the verge of tears when he says from the dark.

“Will you touch yourself?” This wasn’t a demand or an order, this was a sweet question asked by that innocent man who wanted to look at your notebook earlier. 

“You want me to do what?” Deadpan response to what’s asking of you. Because what in the stars is going on? Please help me understand, Maker. “You wanted to do it a minute ago?” Confusion. 

It’s not like you're confused about what he wants you to do, you have been with a man before but not like this and he definitely did not ask you to do that . No one else has even seen you do that before so why does he want you to do it all of a sudden? Like he’s at the theater and you’re the midnight showing. He stays silent for so long that you’re sure he left. 

“I w-want to w-watch,” Garbled muttering. “-you touch.” Now, you’re sweating again because the idea that maybe he wanted to touch you had you shivering on the floor in front of him, but now, the idea that he wants to watch you do one of the most private things you’ve ever done right in front of him? On the floor? And worse, you can’t even see where the fuck he is now that he’s pulled his feather touch away from you. 

Sweating. It’s beaded across your forehead because what? You’re still thinking about what he’s just said when a strong, hot calloused hand cups your dripping sex with much more force than before. He’s pressed the flat of his four fingers and his palm against you. It draws a gasp from you in the dark and you bring your hands up to your mouth to cover them because if the kid woke up now you’d throw yourself off a cliff.

The child thankfully, doesn’t wake up. Just cooing quietly in his floating orb.

“I-,” He starts again in the dark, to talk to you again but he’s so hesitant to say it, you can hear him from inside the helmet stumbling again over his words. “I just want to w-watch. Here” 

You exhale so loudly and so hard because again, why? What does he get out of it?

“Were you just holding your breath?” He asks in the darkness.

Yes. You had been. Maker. 

“Maybe.” You retort quickly, the heat in your cheeks is back and now you’re embarrassed again. 

“What if I ask nicely ?” The garbles do nothing to hide the tone behind his voice. He’s aroused. Deeply aroused and Mando wants to watch you masturbate. 

An instinctual buck upwards of your hips slips his middle finger between your folds and instead of pushing away, he pushes back against you and you feel the rough skin of his hands against you and starts to slowly drag his hand up your middle. 

Oh, Maker, you feel him. This is not a feather touch. No, it's so much more. It’s like all of your senses have been heightened in the dark. You can feel everything. Every ridge and callous and the heat, oh Maker he’s so warm. Like he’s been held to flames until the exact moment he reached out to touch you. You feel like hes branding you with his finger it’s so fucking hot.

“S-so wet.” He sounds like he's in awe of what you’ve been hiding from him between your legs.

As the tip of his finger leaves you, your hand brushes his and his whole body is hot like his fingers had been, you feel as though you’ve been branded again but now, your head is spinning and he probably could have really branded you and you wouldn’t have cared. 

It’s too much, he’s been talking for too long and you know what he wants now, you don’t care why. You’re too tired, you’re too excited. You secretly have been wanting just this, well not this exactly but whatever this is leading to, you want him to give you that, so you do what he’s asking in hopes that he will satisfy you, do something other than just watch.

Mando rests one hand on your knee that’s closest to him and grips it so gently it's almost like it’s not even there at all. But regardless, your hands have found what he wants you to touch. 

“Yes.” He sighs softly. “Like that.” There is a sound of relief to his voice like he’s been anticipating this for so long and now it’s finally happening. Your two fingers start moving in slow, lazy circles. You dip your fingers down to your entrance and coat them in your slickness, moving them back up to your aching clit and tightening the motion, speeding up slightly. 

Mando’s fingers dig into you. Not hard but enough to know that he’s still there, he’s still watching. You wonder if he’s naked now, or if he still has his suit on?  He definitely doesn’t have his gloves on anymore but you wonder what else he could be doing in the dark. He’s just watching you touch yourself? Watching as your fingers start to move with meaning. It’s starting to feel good… so good. It’s good enough to make you close your eyes, little pants leaving your nose as the stimulation courses through you.

The hand on your knee is gone and you’re shuddering with the idea that he’s had his fun and now he’s most surely left you to have to finish what he started in the dark but no, his hand’s cupping your breast now. Squeezing it gently in his hand. Like it’s the most fragile and precious thing he’s ever seen. One finger moves across the curve of your flesh and drags so gently across your hardened peak.

“Oh Maker .” You pant, because you’re holding your breath again. It was such a small, gentle touch you’re barely sure it was there but then he grips you, is feeling how soft and fleshy your mound is and your fingers move faster because this is the most erotic thing you’ve ever done and it feels so good to have the burning hot heat of his hand on you and you’d wish he’d touch you more and then he does. It draws another gasp from your chest when he take your nipple between his fingers and gently starts to twist and pull and roll it between them.

“Don’t stop.” He says as your fingers start to slow at the new sensation he’s giving you. “Please.” He’s being so polite, and his voice sounds so breathless. It’s making you wetter than you’ve ever been, its practically gushing out of you. You can feel it dripping. 

Mando just holds you, his fingers still pulling and twisting your nub between his fingers. You slide two fingers into yourself now, and curl them upwards against your g-spot. You hold your breath again so as not to moan or groan or make any noise at all because it’s so quiet in the ship you’re sure it’ll wake up the child. It’s futile, you gasp softly and arch your back into his hand. It’s so good. You haven’t made yourself feel this way in so long and you can’t stop now. It’s so good, the little growing ball of warmth and pressure building slowly inside you.

“Oh M-maker.” You hear Mando whisper softly into the darkness. And then he’s still. Watching you plunge the two fingers back inside of you. “So b-beautiful.” He says it so exasperated.

The sounds of your excitement are audible within the ship's walls. Like it’s echoing. Your fingers are plunging in and out of you now, your eyes are closed and your heads thrown back as you're getting yourself so close. Close so that he can watch you come.

“May I?” 

You’re so confused because he’s just asked you to do it yourself and now he wants to? Reluctantly, with a small whine of protest, you move your hand and his other hand replaces yours. Two fingers push into you deeply. Gently. He holds them there for what feels like an hour. Not moving, just holding them inside you.

“S-so, so wet.” He’s breathless behind his helmet.

 You’re sure the sun is going to rise before you see bliss, and then it’ll be too late because the kid will have woken up. 

Then he withdrawals them.

“Go ahead.” He says.

“That’s it?” You’re disappointed. It’s evident in your voice.

“Keep going.” 

So you do. You replace your fingers and his hand starts to grope you again. Moving now between your two supple mounds. And then you hear him.

Over the wetness between your legs and your own ragged breathing, you hear the soft sound of skin slapping skin. He’s touching himself, he used your juices as lubricant to touch himself. To rub all over himself. Now the thought that Mando is kneeling on the ground over you in the dark, watching you about to bring yourself to orgasm, touching himself with your wetness just about does it. 

Your fingers speed and curl against your spot and you let your head fall back. You try so hard to keep your breathing steady, anything to keep yourself from crying out. Biting your bottom lip to try and stifle it, your fingers work faster. You can feel Mando’s body shaking and jolting with each thrust of his fist on himself in the hand he’s using to squeeze your breast. You pull your knees into your body, keeping them spread so he can watch, your head leans forward as you bring yourself closer. The pads of your fingers curling and uncurling against that place deep inside of you over and over again, the feeling of your palm pressed against your clit is too much. The sounds of his soft moaning send you over the edge though, his hand gripping your chest the way he is, like his life depended on it. Squeezing you with his strong, hot hand. You can hear the way he’s making himself feel good over you.

“I’m gon-” But the words are stolen from you as he pinches your nipple, the rest of his hand still groping you. He’s panting for lost breath in his search for pleasure. 

“P-please. D-do it, m-make it wetter.” He stutters and his breath is also ragged now, the sound of skin on skin is more frantic now and his groping at you is sloppy, like he’s can’t control his hands anymore.

It happens, the bliss and the lights behind your eyes. The warmth and pressure in your lower stomach explode and you need to use your free hand to cover your mouth again. Your hips buck up against your own hand as you coax the orgasm out of yourself. Maker, it’s so good. You haven’t had a release like this since before you got onto Mando’s ship.

Now  you hear him groan softly, he grips you tightly, like he had gripped your arm earlier. Your own heart is still racing, and you can barely catch your breath but you feel the warmth on your belly.

Did… did Mando just– Did he?

He’s still hovering over you. The ship is quiet now. Just the sounds of yours and his labored breathing. He’s still groping you, holding on like he’s going to float away into the void if he lets go. 

He definitely did. And he still is. He’s still letting go on your stomach, you can feel every time he empties a new rope onto your belly. 

You lay there, hands at your sides, panting. 

It’s tempting, to reach your hand up and swirl a finger to what he’s delivered to you and then taste him. You’ve never done that but something inside of you is screaming to do it. So, you take one of the two fingers that was just bringing you so much joy and you slide it through the puddle on your belly and bring it to your lips.

Mando gasps softly and grips you tighter. He’s still watching. 

He’s salty and musky and it’s different, but it’s good. It’s something you’d let him give you more of if he wanted. You’re still sucking him off your fingers when he pulls away.

Maker. Please, you don’t want him to leave-

Mando’s fingers are at your entrance and he’s running the first digit of two between your folds, he’s not even really inside you. Just tracing your opening. Teasing you. Then his fingers are gone. 

It’s so quiet again. He left you in the dark with his good time spent still all over your belly. Running both hands over your face, dragging them down your cheeks in exasperation. 

All these new thoughts are going through your head at warp speed and then you hear from so close to you, his modulated breathing. 

“Are you still here?!” Whispered exasperation.

It's been so quiet again for so long.

“It’s my ship. Where would I go?” 

“Oh my Mak-” You’re almost in tears because he’s right. Where would he go? His bed is just across the room. “What are you doing?” 

“Tasting you.” 

You’re now a puddle in front of him. His fingers are back at your entrance again, still, just tracing and coating themselves in your wetness. Then they’re gone again.

“You’re delicious.” 

Mando was still tasting you. Currently. Doing it as he spoke to you. You hear him let out the softest sigh of satisfaction as your flavor touches his tongue. 

“I like it.” It’s said like you should know it. Like you’ve accused him of taking too much from between your legs. 

“Okay.” Is all you can manage to say because you’re hoping he does it again, you keep your knees open in anticipation but he doesn’t. You don’t hear him breathing anymore either.

You lay there and slowly close your knees. Brush the hair that’s gotten in your face away and sigh. Wonder where the fuck Mando is in this Maker forsaken dark room. You hear him now, shuffling across the room and he’s getting closer to you. When had he left? 

Mando kneels down beside you again. Maybe this is round two? So you slowly open your legs for him but he stops you with his hand and then you feel the coolness and dampness of fabric on your belly. The Mandolorian is cleaning you off, wiping you tenderly, not missing anything. He reaches down and wipes between your legs. Very thoroughly. You wish he’d move the cloth and touch you again but his touch is gone again. 

You almost groan in disappointment but you stop yourself. You didn’t hear him leave.

“You really are so beautiful. Just like the pictures.” He garbles quietly.

“They’re doodles.” You explain into the void.

“Who was the man?” 

You stay silent. 

“It’s from my imagination.” You say quietly, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment again. 

“So a made up man in my beskar?” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Maker what do I say? 

“Okay.” You retort. He doesn’t say anything for a long time and you wonder if he’s still there in the darkness next to you. You don’t dare reach out for him in fear of being rejected again. He didn’t let you touch him earlier even though he got free reign. 

“I don’t look like that.” 

“Okay?” You whisper again, exasperatedly. 

“I’ll pose for you next time you want to doodle. ” And you hear it, the sarcasm in his voice. You honestly didn’t even know it was possible for him to do that or if he knew what it was. 

Then you hear him walking away. He’s gone, back to be a part of the void and watch you in the darkness behind his helmet. You put your nightgown back on and lay there on your thin mat on the floor behind the cockpit. Mando gets into bed, you hear him moving in the sheets. 

It’s still so dark and you wonder how much sleep you’ll be able to get before the child awakes and returns to his normal state of chaotic green cuteness.

If Mando ever asked you to do it again, you would. Not in so many words next time, but yes. You would. 

Your notebook. You wonder if he put it back in your bag but it’s too dark and quiet to check now. 

Hey, let's chat real quick.

So, this was the first Pedro character fic I ever wrote, and it was so heavily inspired by the legendary Rough Day (I'm saying it twice so no one can said I never said it)

It was supposed to be just a quick, hot, sexy little one-shot between you and The Mandalorian, but I ended up spiraling out of control and wrote over twenty chapters.

I have one chapter left until it's completely over and I thought I'd start posting it here so that once the final chapter is done-- I can post it to AO3 and Tumblr at the same time.

I'm pretty critical of my own stuff-- but this one particularly.

My disclaimers are- there will be spoilers to everything- season 1-3, the book of Boba Fett, and maybe even other things- I don't know because I didn't watch any of it.

All the crazy Mandalorian facts that come up in later chapters are just researched online. I misuse Mando'a and Manda'lor constantly so... punch me right in the face if you want... or yell at me in my asks.

Let me know if you like it with comments and reblogs and like and all that good shit. I love them.

[httpsserene]

httpsserene's F1 Kinktober '23

welcome to httpsserene's f1 kinktober special!

i do not know how many posts i will be doing for this event, but, reblog and save this masterlist for any updates concerning my f1 kinktober.

posts tagged as: # httpss :// kinktober 23 | status: completed. | table of contents.

f1 kinktober 2023 charles leclerc x max verstappen | carlos sainz jr | oscar piastri | daniel ricciardo x max verstappen | lewis hamilton | george russell | pierre gasly | lando norris | charles leclerc | yuki tsunoda | x fem!black!reader

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE: CORRUPTION KINK — 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔 𝐱 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things.

CHAPTER TWO: WERE-SHIFTER & PREDATOR/PREY KINKS — 𝐜𝐬𝐣. 𝟓𝟓 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

for all people believe that werewolves are dangerous creatures, your wolf is pretty tame, even with some of his...quirks. this halloween you let him be the big bad wolf to your little red riding hood, while you give out candy to trick-or-treaters. what he doesn't know, is that you have your own trick-or treat planned for him after this– you're his treat tonight, but he's going to have to chase you first.

CHAPTER THREE: CAR SEX & SQUIRTING — 𝐨𝐩. 𝟖𝟏 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren.

CHAPTER FOUR: OVERSTIMULATION KINK — 𝐝𝐫. 𝟑 𝐱 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

you can't remember the last time you've gotten to spend more than three days at a time with both of your boyfriends. you understand how demanding their job is but, you just can't remember the last time they really exhausted you...pleasurably. and then winter break comes around, and they have all the time they need to make you lose your mind.

CHAPTER FIVE: TENDER SEX & COCKWARMING — 𝐥𝐡. 𝟒𝟒 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

your husband comes home to his monaco apartment after achieving p2 in spain. from the texts you sent him before he boarded his flight, he expected you to be awake when he arrived. however, you’ve fallen asleep–but that’s not a problem. he’ll sneak into bed right next to you and catch a few extra hours of sleep. you’ll commemorate the podium come morning.

CHAPTER SIX: VAMPIRE & BITING/HICKEYS — 𝐠𝐫. 𝟔𝟑 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

george has created a serious problem. you two have been dating for over three years, and he fed from you the first time about three months ago. the problem lies within the fact that he conditioned you to orgasm every time he used you as his glorified high-class wine bottle. on second thought, that’s a pretty good problem to have; his thirst is sated, and yours is as well.

CHAPTER SEVEN: WITCHCRAFT & APHRODISIAC — 𝐩𝐠. 𝟏𝟎 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

witch!reader and potions master!pierre run a shop to fulfill anyone’s magical needs. it’s nearing valentine’s day, and the shop is bombarded with desperate humans looking for love charms & potions, even though there’s no magic spell strong enough to replicate true love. oddly, news travels from a few villages over that there’s a potions master who managed to make a real love potion. pierre has to get his hands on it—for the bit, obviously. there’s no way it will work.

CHAPTER EIGHT: PUSSY WORSHIP — 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

if lando achieved a podium at silverstone, you promised you’d give him anything he wants. he thinks about it the whole race weekend, and when the two of you are celebrating his second-place finish, he tells you that he wants to take care of you. you’re disbelieving–he takes care of you every waking hour. lando, on the other hand, said that with his chest. and he’ll prove it to you.

CHAPTER NINE: ORGASM DENIAL — 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

the 2023 season has had a despicable effect on charles’ self-worth. it pains you to see how he attributes ferrari’s failure to deliver to himself. you can’t stand to see him berate himself for things that are out of his control. when the emilia-romagna grand prix is understandably canceled, you start forming a plan. if charles doesn’t believe he’s as good as you say he is, you’ll make him internalize it–using any means necessary.

CHAPTER TEN: AB-RIDING & DRY HUMPING — 𝐲𝐭. 𝟐𝟐 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

your mental state is suffering–you’re not sure if you can handle alphatauri posting another thirst trap of your boyfriend to disguise their inability to build a car that doesn’t break within the first ten laps. but, when yuki posts his own half-naked picture on main? he’s asking for it, at this point. clearly, he’s been spending too much time with pierre.

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Who Is In Control? (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Black!F!Villain!Reader x Hunter!Gojo Satoru

Synopsis: Sung Jinwoo is the highest-ranking hunter and the most powerful human being humanity has ever seen. So is Gojo Satoru. Both cocky, both confident, and both eager for more power, they compete against each other for each gate that seems to get more dangerous the farther and higher they go. They figure your gate won’t be any different and that you will be the usual big baddie that they need to take care of. Another cog in the system. Until they manage to beat you and find out who you truly are behind your facade. Now the hunters are hellbent on keeping you to themselves. So, what’s another friendly competition? Only this time, the prize is you. 

Chapter Warnings: MILD SPOILERS (Nothing too crazy except naming Jinwoo's shadows & talking about his mom if you haven't read the story/watched the show yet!)

Disclaimer:  I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Nothing smutty in this chapter lol. Just setting up for the rest of this random ass fic. Enjoy! -Jazz

CHAPTERS: PREFACE. ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR. FIVE. SIX.

*************

ONE: A FRIENDLY COMPETITION.

When Jinwoo awakens in the dead of night, when the entire city is sound asleep and not even an owl is hooting, he knows exactly why. 

The screen, transparent and suspended in midair, appears in front of him as he sits up in his bed. He is not tired even when he only slept for thirty minutes after an extensive nighttime training session. He can still feel the burn in his muscles from the dumbbell lifts, the pushups, and curl-ups. And they are about to burn more. 

Words pop up on the screen, bright and neon, almost stinging his eyes as he stares at it in his dark bedroom: 

New S-Rank Gate Open…Transition To Red Gate in 3…

2… 

1… 

The screen suddenly turns red, dousing Jinwoo’s room in the color so he is bathed in it. “A Red Gate, huh?” he murmurs to himself, thoughtfully tapping his chin. No doubt something has gone wrong, and he is going to find out just what it is. 

After getting the location of the gate, Jinwoo plants his big feet on his hardwood floor and zooms over to his drawers. He doesn’t put on much–just his usual blue hoodie, jeans, and sneakers to fit the cool early-summer air. He takes his phone, wallet, and keys before he is out the door, leaving his sister and mother to slumber and not worry at all about their brother and son out fighting fantastical, dangerous creatures for money. 

The gate is not as close as Jinwoo initially thought. He is breaking a sweat by the time he arrives at the park across town. But he would rather it be here than anywhere near his family or his neighborhood. He needs to keep them safe.

Besides, he can tell this one will bring quite the treasures for him. As he jogged to his destination, his body buzzed with every step. His blood boiled, his veins hummed, and his head swam with the energy and power he could feel in the air from the gate. 

Now, standing here and staring at it, he can definitely see that this is a danger zone. Hence the police tape and heavily-armed guards standing with the crowd of civilians that have begun to gather. They all want to catch a glimpse at the Red Gate pulsing with wild electricity, a red glow emanating from its portal-like opening. It pulls anything except humans into its wake–tree branches, rocks, dirt, nearly a dog if its owner didn’t wrap it up in his arms–and swallows it whole.

‘Whatever is in that gate must be a real bitch,’ Jinwoo hypothesizes. 

Despite the throng of scared and astonished people, Jinwoo is hard to miss. Not only is he the face of the Hunters’ Guild, much to his dismay, but he is also about six-foot something, lean, and strikingly hot…not that he realizes it. He must think that the people ogling him are only doing so because they’ve seen his face on TV and YouTube. 

A federal guard closest to him tries his best to ease the crowd, his hat nearly flying off his head due to the rush of wind from the gate. “Everyone stand back, please!” he orders. “It appears the S-Rank Gate has morphed into a Red Gate! We must wait until the Hunters’ Guild arrives to take care of this!” 

Jinwoo rolls his eyes. If they wait for them, the gate will grow bigger and more hazardous. Suddenly, the screen appears in front of his face, signaling that he has found the gate. A Start button appears, ready to be pressed and plunge him into a new world filled with adventure, danger, and, hopefully, answers to his burning questions. “Found you,” he coos before he presses the Start button on the screen. “Let’s go.” 

As the screen begins to count down from ten, Jinwoo vanishes from the naked eye in a blink and suddenly, to the shock of the crowd, appears in front of the yellow tape keeping the crowd out.

The guard turns, grabbing Jinwoo’s shoulder. “Wait, wait, sir!” he shouts. “Where are you going? I just said to…” His angered words die down when he catches a look at Jinwoo’s deadpan expression. Instantly, his eyes fill with recognition and his hand trembles. “H-Hunter Sung,” he stammers. “I’m so…I-I didn’t–” 

“It’s fine,” Jinwoo drawls out in his smooth, panty-dropping voice. “You’re just doin’ your job. Please allow me to take care of this for you and your team.” He gives the guard a reassuring smile and pats his hand before walking towards the gate, ignoring the shouts from the guards. 

“Where is he going?!” one shouts. “He’s as good as dead in there!” 

“Idiot, don’t you know who that is?!” another criticizes. “That’s–!” 

Jinwoo doesn’t hear the rest because once the screen hits zero, he is immediately transported out of the park and into an entirely different world, universe, and realm. When he opens his eyes, he rapidly blinks to refocus his vision and examines his new surroundings that are currently in disarray.  

It appears to be a kingdom. Medieval. Definitely somewhere in the Regency Era with its destroyed, village-like houses, cobblestone sidewalks, and the villainous castle off in the horizon that looks straight out of a Disney movie.

The gargoyles surrounding the windows growl and hiss, moving their stone heads from side to side, and ominous clouds storm in, swirling around the highest power of the castle pointed to a tip. Jagged rocks surround the outside of the castle, giving Jinwoo the impression that either the owner wants to keep themselves in or keep outsiders out. 

The village is completely in flames and abandoned, meaning that its villagers have either been vacated or they are in hiding. The flames feel hot on Jinwoo’s face and he has to cover his mouth to avoid breathing in the smoke billowing in the air. ‘Not bad,’ he sarcastically thinks. ‘Nice atmosphere. Very inviting.’ 

He begins to look around, squinting through the floating embers and the darkness that the blackened clouds, crackling with lightning, cause. “Now, where is this Boss?” he murmurs to himself. He doesn’t feel anything right now that signals that a Boss is near and the game screen hasn’t appeared to…

He suddenly pauses and strains his neck to look, really look, yards away in the distance. “Da hell?” he cusses to himself. “No fuckin’ way.” He notices the long legs. The tallness and broad shoulders. The lean muscle. The confident stance. But what gets him immediately is the snow-white hair and the blindfold wrapped around his eyes that have been said to make a monster tremble. 

Jinwoo is ready to crash the fuck out when he recognizes his unfortunate colleague and year-long opponent. “This asshole!’ he thinks, rageful and beyond pissed off. Immediately, he activates his teleportation and zips across the village to meet the white-haired man where he stands. He turns around as if sensing Jinwoo already and his shocked expression morphs into a cocky smile. “Well, shit,” he chuckles, putting a hand on his hip. “If it isn’t my favorite S-ranking hunter. To what do I owe the pleasure, Sung?” 

Jinwoo grits his teeth as his name escapes Gojo Satoru’s cocky ass ass. 

Everyone knows Gojo, including Jinwoo. As a fellow S-Rank Hunter who popped onto the scene after being an E-Rank and resurrecting after a bloody rave accident where he was literally sliced in half, Gojo moved from Japan to South Korea and once the Korean Hunters Association caught wind of his story, they took a shine to him immediately. Especially since, like Jinwoo, he continues to level up and gain more astronomical powers with every gate he beats. 

Since his S-Rank, Gojo has beaten over fifteen gates. He shows it in the smattering of healed scars on his skin, the callouses in his hands, and the confidence in his gait. He is someone that has been compared to Jinwoo many times for showing the same cockiness during battle and the same aggression when faced with a Boss. Jinwoo can’t stand that. No one is like him. 

This is why he and Gojo have engaged in a rivalry for months now. ‘Friendly’ battles during training that change into fights that the other Hunters have to break up. Unspoken agreements on who can beat a Boss first. Side-eyes and heated glances shot to each other at press conferences and at meetings that build enough tension for a chainsaw. 

Jinwoo can’t stand the man, but he also cannot deny that Gojo is one powerful Hunter. But that doesn’t mean he can come here to his gate and snatch it away. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?” he spits. 

Gojo puts his hands up like he’s claiming a wild animal, animated and asshole-ish as ever. “Whooooa, you’d better watch yourself, Sung. I don’t take too well to aggression. You kiss your mother with that mouth? How is she, by the way?” A sly smile crosses his lips. “Actually, how’s–” 

“Don’t even say her name,” Jinwoo growls. It’s bad enough that his sister has a crush on Gojo, damn near melting when he came to her school to meet the students after a gate broke out in the hallway. Gojo keeps his hands up in defense. “My bad.” 

Jinwoo impatiently huffs, pinching his sinuses. “Gojo, I thought we had an agreement to not ambush each other’s Red Gate raves.” 

Now the white-haired hottie’s smile fades, replaced with an incredulous frown. “Hold up, I never agreed to shit,” Gojo argues. “I’m not followin’ you or nothin’, as paranoid as you are. I was asked to come here by the Hunters Guild since I live closer to the Gate’s location.” 

Jinwoo scrunches his brows at the mention of the Hunters Association. “Wait…you’re with the Guild now?” This Guild in particular has been asking Jinwoo for his agreement to join for some time now, but each time, he turns them down. He isn’t just in this anymore for the money or to protect others. He needs answers and a Guild isn’t going to understand that. 

“Oh, hell no!” Gojo guffaws, waving a passive hand as fire continues to flame behind him. “Don’t get me wrong: I’m cool with most of the members, but I have no interest in splittin’ my pay after risking my life for humanity with a bunch of subpar S-Ranks.”

He pulls down his blindfold an inch, giving Jinwoo a wink of his blue eye. “They’re not like us,” he whispers, an almost sinister smirk on his face. “Plus, I’m a greedy motherfucker.” 

Jinwoo doesn’t reply. He is too busy resisting the urge to punch the man in his face. Gojo cocks his head to the side, placing his hands on his slim hips. “Y’know, I think you’re just scared that I’m gonna get to the Boss before you and your Walking Dead army do.” 

Now, Jinwoo does speak, but it is not to Gojo. It is rather to his invisible friends that do not reveal themselves until the five-lettered, two-syllable word is uttered in a powerful commanding tone: “Arise.” 

The way Gojo’s smile wavers makes Jinwoo bloom with pride and joy as his shadowy red knight appears beside him. “I’d be very careful about the way you talk to me, Gojo,” Jinwoo warns. “You might piss somebody off.” Ingris steps forward, looming over Gojo with his sword at his hip. “And he doesn’t take too well to someone disrespecting his master,” Jinwoo adds. Ingris keeps his hand on his sword, never moving and never keeping his shadowy eyes off of Gojo. The S-Rank sighs, pressing a hand to his heart. “That’s my bad, alright? Your army of the undead is kinda cool.” 

Jinwoo smirks and lays a hand on Ingris’ shoulder. “Chill out, Ingris.” The red knight immediately lowers his sword and bows, obedient and subservient. Gojo looks a bit perturbed, but not enough to show too much fear. Even the biggest, baddest hunter would be afraid of a shitload of dead Bosses staring dead at you. “Look, I’m not here to steal your gate from you, but you ain’t the only one who wants to level up time after time…and find out why.” 

The smile that Gojo wears now is knowing and sharp. Something darker is hidden beneath it and puts Jinwoo on edge. “What do you mean?” 

Gojo chuckles, shaking his head. “C’mooon, Sung, you seem like a smart guy. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t.” He claps a hand on Jinwoo’s shoulder and the dark-haired S-Rank pushes it off. Gojo barely acknowledges the brush-off. “You can’t tell me I’m not the only one who knows that it ain’t a coincidence that we’re the only two S-ranking hunters in Japan with abilities like the ones we have.” 

Abilities like we have. Powers that transcend the usual ones of an S-Ranked Hunter. Jinwoo knows exactly what Gojo means and he hates that he does. “We came back for a reason,” Gojo continues, “and I know you don’t just come to these gates day after day for a power-up.” The smirk on his face grows, appearing like he can see right through Jinwoo’s lowkey personality and cool facade. 

Jinwoo’s palms begin to sweat, his body entering into fight or flight as if Gojo is danger. And he is. He is too close to Jinwoo’s truth. “You don’t know anything about what I do,” he hisses. He walks up to Gojo, nearly closing the gap between them. “And if you keep talkin’, I’ll know my shadows would be delighted to have two somethings to battle in this gate.” 

Gojo’s smile grows hard and he cocks his head to the side. He doesn’t step back or flinch as Jinwoo grows closer, nearly brushing his nose against Gojo’s. “Is that a threat?” Jinwoo’s eyes flash an electric blue and he can feel his shadows’ energy shift at the reaction of his power. “That’s a promise.” 

Still no flinching. Still no sign of hesitation or fear. Gojo is as cool as ice, but so is Jinwoo. He fears nothing. Finally, after a tense stand-off that even Ingris grows wary of, Gojo throws in the towel and is the first to take a step back. “Fine, be defiant,” he huffs, overdramatically craning his neck. “But since I’m here and can’t get out till the Gate opens again, why don’t we have another friendly competition?” 

The grin that stretches across his lips is mischievous and wicked. The same grin he gives Jinwoo in the gym or the training room for a fight. The dark-haired hunter sighs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Fine, I’ll bite: what’s your proposition?” 

Gojo is happy to explain. “Whoever is the first to kill the Boss good and dead wins some good sake and the grand prize of a power-up.” Jinwoo thinks about it for a moment. He knows he can have that advantage with his powers. Besides, some good and free sake doesn’t sound too bad. 

“Deal.” The two hunters jut their hands out and firmly shake on it.

“Now arise,” Jinwoo commands. Gojo furrows his brows at him, perplexed. “Excuse me?” he asks.

Jinwoo points behind Gojo’s back and the white-haired hunter turns, cussing at the sight of the S-Ranked hunter’s shadowy soldiers appearing out of thin air in clouds of smoke. Ice bears, orcs, ants, and every other Boss that Jinwoo has killed so far and resurrected appears behind him, standing behind their master like soldiers. Beru, the talking ant, and Tusk, the King of Orcs, are among them. Ingris goes to stand with them, obedient and only serving the one and only Sung Jinwoo. 

Gojo glares at his colleague, off put by the shadows. “What, you tryna make me a soldier too?” Jinwoo wraps a cape around his shoulders, smirking. “Perhaps in the future,” he sniggers. But just as quickly as his smile came, it fades as he regards his shadows. “Scout the perimeter and take out any threat in your sight. Leave the Boss to me.” 

Immediately, his soldiers take off, each one scrambling in different directions, some in the air and some on ground. Jinwoo stands with pride as he watches them, knowing that he has this in the bag. “Hey, that’s cheating!” Gojo argues. “You can’t use your army to do your killing for you!” 

Jinwoo glares at the white-haired hottie, tapping his ear. “Clearly, you’re hard of hearing. Aren’t you supposed to be good at everything? I said for them to leave the Boss to me. You should be thankful that I’m minimizing the obstacles for you.” A smirk pulls at his lips. “Or are you just scared that you’ll lose?” 

In the blink of an eye, a portal appears behind Gojo, one that he no doubt made. He gives Jinwoo a confident, cocky grin, flashing his pearly whites. “Nah, I’d win. Every single time.” And after greeting Jinwoo farewell, he disappears. 

“Cocky motherfucker,” Jinwoo mutters before he bends his knees in preparation for a jump. With a grunt, he jumps, suddenly airborne, and lands on top of a crumbling building. Then he’s shooting off from the top of the roof for another, going higher and higher each time, heading towards his target. 

Heading straight for you.