#guts shoved up in my ribs

[thunderheadfred]

oof okay hello round ligament how you doin

[skyrigel]

Simon had him and you all convinced that it was just sex and nothing more.

“No attachment.” He always said, everytime — sometimes so hurried and forgotten that it's just mumbled against your mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat.

Sometimes with so much urgency that it's lost between your moans, no attachment, babe, no attachment. And you believed him because it was really just sex, wasn't it ? There were no pretty dates and no fancy dinner at ritz, maybe those poorly wrapped ones he pretended he had not ordered and takeouts he brought along...but oh please, no attachments!

But maybe sometimes about those walks in the city where he would not so subtly grasp your hand, and you would catch him stealing glances at you while a teenager fiddled with his guitar, rhyming she came, my world lit with narcotic, I am addict.

No attachment but Simon's standing outside your workspace when it's raining —“I thought you might need it.” holding up the umbrella but those two words were there again when you were knee deep in the passanger seat and he was eating you out... because it was casual, right ? No attachment.

And it really didn't burn and ached until you got sick, real sick — puking your guts out and coughing until your ribs gave up, surely he wasn't the best role model of no attachment when he was panting to death as he picked your unconscious frame from the floor, you still remember the faint whisper of his ‘please don't leave me, please, please don't —’ over and over.

And if he wanted for no attachment then he should be gone. Gone and not come back because it was just sex...

Simon shouldn't be mopping the floor, and stirring your soup and touching your forehead every five minutes.

No attachment then why he's loading your grocery and taking out trash and doing your laundry, why he's wiping your tears and telling you it's going to be alright.

Why he's not leaving like he always did because there were no attachment right, but he's right here, tucking you in bed and washing your hair and reading you book.

“Is it some eccentric joke ? Why this Zaid is always growling ?—also when you get alright... we're gonna try it out, lovie.”

You blushed, but it wasn't just what he was suggesting but that word, it felt good.

“S-say it again.” You whispered, shifting your head in pillow. Simon turned back a page he was reading from, your scrunchie on his wrist.

“Zaid growled—” You screwed your face,“—oh, we'll try it—”

“last word. Your last word.”

“Oh.” He said, “Lovie...you don't like it ?”

You shaked your head, sniffing very unsexy-ly

“Call me that...I love it.” Simon pushed up the book up his face, his neck was pulsing with his many veins and you knew the blush that would be blooming on his hard face. Cute.

“Again.” You tilted your head, to get a look at his flushed out face.

“Okay Lovie...sleep now.” He grumbled, flicking your bedside lamp off and bookmarking the book with one of your scrunchie he removed from his wrist.

“Huh...Good night baby.” You said, waiting to be corrected, waiting for those two words to come and upside down it all.

But they never came, like they never even existed, never had a meaning to them at all.

No attachment, lost forever in darkness.

“G'night lovie.” He said so sweetly, and when you closed your eyes this time, you only saw daylight.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ jealousy. ✦ 」

[Mattheo riddle × reader]

Summary : The night started perfectly: a party with music, friends, and Mattheo by my side. But everything shifts when Mattheo reappears, a dark fury clouding his features and a smear of blood on his face.

Words: 1k

Warning: angst , smut , fluff , unprotected sex .

The pulsing bass vibrated through the floorboards, the party a sensory assault of flashing lights, pounding music, and the excited shouts of our friends. But none of it registered as Mattheo shoved through the crowd, his face a mask of tightly controlled fury.

"Mattheo, what's wrong?" I blurted out, concern twisting my gut into knots. "Mattheo, are you okay?" I reached out, but instead of taking my hand, he grabbed it roughly, his grip sending a jolt through me.

Panic clawed at my throat , as I noticed the blood on his face The darkness in his eyes, the raw anger emanating from him - it was terrifyingly unfamiliar. "Baby, you scare me," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the din. "Did something happen?"

Still not answering me, he marched towards the bathroom, his movements focused and aggressive. He flung the door open with a bang, slamming it shut behind him with a sickening thud. The lock clicked into place.

Trapped in a silent bubble in the middle of the pulsating party, my heart hammered against my ribs.

"Baby please say something ?" I called out, my voice trembling. "What is going on?"but he doesn't answer His lips crash onto mine, and I find myself pinned against the wall, my back hitting it with a soft thud. I moan into the kiss, my body already responding to his touch.

"Shhh, do you want them to hear you y/n?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine. I shake my head, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Are you bleeding?" I couldn't help but ask, terrified that he might be in pain.

“ it’s not my blood “ he say and kissed me again not giving me a chance to respond, the kiss was rough, almost desperate, as if he needed to feel me against him, to reassure himself that I was real. I responded eagerly, my hands instinctively wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. Our bodies pressed together, the heat between us igniting a fire that seemed to consume us both.

His kisses became more demanding, his lips trailing along my jawline, down my neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. My breath hitched as he found that sensitive spot just below my ear, his teeth grazing my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his hands roaming my body, cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, making them harden under his touch.

I let out a soft moan as he slid his hand down my body, his fingers tracing the outline of my panties. "So wet for me," he whispered, his fingers slipping underneath the fabric, finding my clit.

He rubbed slow circles over it, making me gasp. His other hand reached up, cupping my breast, his thumb flicking over my nipple. I arched my back, pressing myself closer to him.

His fingers moved lower, sliding inside me, curling up, hitting that spot that made me see stars. "Oh, Mattheo fuck," I moaned, my legs shaking.

He started moving his fingers faster, his thumb still working my clit. I was close, so close. But then he stopped, pulling his fingers out of me.

"No, don't stop Matt please ," I whimpered, but he just smirked.

"Bend over," he ordered, and I did as I was told, my hands bracing myself against the wall.

He hiked up my dress , pulling my panties down to my knees. I heard him spit, felt his cock rubbing against my entrance, slick with saliva.

"Mattheo," I moaned, pushing back against him.

"You want it, baby?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"Yes, please," I begged.

He thrust into me, hard and fast, making me cry out. "You're so good for me, so fucking good around me, you feel so fucking good," he groaned, his hands gripping my hips.

He started moving, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. I could feel him hitting that spot inside me, over and over again.

I moaned, my legs shaking. "They were looking at you," he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic. "They will pay for it."

His dirty words only made me hotter, my orgasm building up inside me. "Please, Matt ,"

“you want to cum? beg “

"Mattheo. " I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“try again, love.” he said , his thrusts becoming harder, more demanding.

“ please,Matt”I cry out, my body shuddering, my muscles clenching around him.

“Such a good little girl , aren't you?”, his thrusts becoming wild, I could feel myself getting closer and closer, my legs shaking, my breath hitching.

"Cum for me, baby," he ordered, and I did, my orgasm exploding through me , He follows me, his release filling me, his body shuddering with pleasure .

I barely fainted in his arms, my legs too weak to hold me up. He pulled out of me, turning me around, his lips crashing onto mine.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his forehead pressing gently against mine. His warm breath tickled my skin as he spoke. "I just needed to have you, Was I too much? Did I hurt you "

I shook my head, pulling him into a tight hug. "No, you were perfect ," I whispered, planting a soft kiss on his temple. His arms enveloped me, holding me securely against him.

I looked up at him . "Can we go home? I don’t like this party ," I murmured, my eyes searching his.

"You know I would never say no to you," he replied with a warm smile before leaning down to give me one last kiss.

He helped me fix my dress, his touch gentle and caring. Taking my hand, he led me out of the bathroom and back into the party.

As we walked out, I noticed a boy who seemed to be injured and bleeding. I glanced up at Mattheo, and he simply remarked, "He should have kept his mouth shut." and in that moment, everything became clear to me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[its-avalon-08]

bruised knuckles (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, he calls her his ex's name, tears, comfort

(no hate to any ex-girlfriends, i just needed it for the story)

Y/n slammed the apartment door shut, the echo bouncing off the bare walls. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, the Montreal wind whipping through the open window doing little to cool the simmering anger inside her. The fight with Carlos had escalated quickly, their voices rising above the city's evening hum.

It all started with a seemingly harmless Instagram post. A picture of Carlos and his ex-girlfriend, Isabella, posing together at a charity event they'd both attended. The caption, "Great catching up with a dear friend, Isa! #SupportGoodCauses," only fanned the flames of insecurity Y/n had been trying to ignore for weeks.

"It's nothing, Y/n," Carlos had said, frustration lacing his voice. "We've been friends for years. It's just a photo."

"But you never post pictures with me," Y/n had countered, her voice tight. "Not from events, not from anywhere."

"That's different," he'd argued. "This was for charity. Besides, you hate being in photos."

"Maybe I wouldn't hate it if it felt like you wanted to show me off," Y/n shot back, the words stinging on her tongue the moment they left her lips.

Carlos had sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Come on, Y/n. Don't start this again."

The conversation spiraled, old hurts resurfacing. Y/n, a freelance photographer who thrived on capturing moments, felt invisible next to Carlos, a Formula One driver constantly in the spotlight. The insecurity gnawed at her, and Isabella's friendly post felt like a giant red flag waving in her face.

The fight reached its peak when, in a fit of anger, Carlos reached across the table, his hand landing on hers. "Look, Isa –" He stopped short, his eyes widening in realization. The air hung heavy as the weight of his mistake settled on them both.

Y/n's heart shattered into a million pieces. The name, a careless slip, confirmed her worst fears. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She stood up, her voice choked with emotion.

"Don't touch me," she whispered, the words barely audible. Then, louder, her voice cracking, "You called me your ex. That says it all, doesn't it?"

Carlos scrambled to his feet, reaching for her, but she flinched away. Tears streamed down her face as she grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and started shoving clothes inside with trembling hands.

"Y/n, wait," Carlos pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice. "It was a mistake, I swear."

"Don't," she choked out, the single word laced with a lifetime of unspoken hurt. "Just don't."

carlos's pov

Regret, cold and sharp, clawed at my insides. Y/n stood there, the duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes red-rimmed and filled with a pain that mirrored my own. My stupid mistake, the one unforgivable slip of the tongue, hung heavy in the air.

"Y/n, please," I pleaded, my voice thick with emotion. "Don't do this."

She reached for the car keys on the hook by the door, her movements jerky, mirroring the storm raging inside her. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a desperate plea for her to stay.

"We can talk about this," I stammered, my hands shaking. "It was a mistake, a stupid, careless mistake. I love you, Y/n. You know that, don't you?"

But the words seemed to fall flat, bouncing off the walls of the suddenly cavernous apartment. Her gaze, once filled with warmth and love, now held a coldness that sent shivers down my spine.

"No, I don't know that anymore," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The sound of the engine turning over ripped through the silence. I lunged towards her, desperation fueling my movements. "Wait!" I yelled, but she was already out the door.

I watched, helpless, as she slid behind the wheel, her face etched with a pain that mirrored the agony twisting my gut. The car lurched forward, pulling out of the driveway and disappearing into the Montreal twilight.

I sank to my knees, the floorboards cold against my skin. Tears, hot and unchecked, streamed down my face. My vision blurred as the weight of my actions crashed down on me. I'd driven her away, the woman I loved more than anything, with my own stupidity.

The silence in the apartment pressed in on me, suffocating. The remnants of our fight – a half-eaten bowl of cereal on the counter, a book abandoned mid-sentence on the couch – mocked me with their normalcy. Everything seemed so trivial, so meaningless, without Y/n.

The sound of her car fading into the distance echoed in my ears, a constant reminder of the love I'd so carelessly thrown away. In that moment, I would have given anything to take back my words, to rewind time and hold her close, to assure her, with every fiber of my being, that she was the only woman I loved.

But all I had left was the deafening silence and the crushing weight of regret, a heavy price to pay for a stupid, careless mistake.

Rain lashed against the windshield, blurring the neon lights of Montreal into an unrecognizable smear. Y/n gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, tears blurring her vision further. Each sob that wracked her body felt like a shard of glass tearing through her chest.

Following a route etched into memory, she pulled into the familiar driveway of Charles and Alexandra's house. The house, usually a haven of laughter and warmth, felt like the only place she could go.

Scrambling out of the car, she ran for the porch, the downpour soaking her clothes in seconds. Pounding on the door, she barely registered Charles' surprised face before collapsing into his arms, her sobs erupting anew.

"Y/n? What's wrong?" Charles asked, concern etched on his face. He ushered her inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the storm outside.

Alexandra appeared at the sound of the commotion, her eyes widening at the sight of her friend. "Oh my god, Y/n! What happened?"

Wrapping her arms around Y/n's shaking form, Alexandra led her to the living room couch. "Charles, get some tea, honey. A strong one."

As Charles disappeared into the kitchen, Alexandra held Y/n close, her gentle touch a balm on the fiery pain. Finally, between choked sobs, Y/n managed to get the words out.

"It's Carlos," she hiccuped. "We had a fight. A horrible fight."

Out came the story, a torrent of hurt and betrayal. She spoke of Carlos' insensitivity, his unwillingness to acknowledge her feelings, and finally, the crushing blow – the slip of the tongue that confirmed her worst fears.

"He called me his ex," Y/n choked out, burying her face in her hands. "He doesn't even love me, does he?"

Alexandra squeezed her hand, her voice firm but gentle. "Hey, hey, look at me." Y/n complied, revealing red-rimmed eyes and a tear-streaked face. "Don't jump to conclusions. You know Carlos can be a bit of an idiot sometimes."

Y/n scoffed. "A bit of an idiot? He doesn't even see me, Alexandra. I'm just some inconvenient truth compared to his glamorous life."

Charles returned with a steaming mug, placing it carefully in Y/n's hand. "Here," he said softly. "Drink this. You need to calm down."

Y/n took a sip, the warmth spreading through her chilled body. "It's not fair," she continued, her voice trembling with anger. "He never wants to post pictures with me, never makes me feel like I'm part of his world. And then, on top of it all, he calls me his ex?"

A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the soft crackling of the fireplace. Charles exchanged a worried glance with Alexandra. He knew Carlos and Y/n's relationship had been strained lately, but this was worse than he'd imagined.

"Look, Y/n," Charles began, choosing his words carefully. "We don't know the whole story. Maybe Carlos messed up, but you know he loves you."

Y/n gave a humorless laugh. "Love doesn't act like that, Charles. Love doesn't make you feel invisible."

Alexandra took over, her voice laced with quiet strength. "Y/n, honey, sometimes love needs a good talking to. You can't just run away and expect things to fix themselves."

Y/n considered this, her anger simmering into a dull ache. The thought of facing Carlos again filled her with dread, but the idea of losing him altogether was even more terrifying.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, burying her face back in her hands.

Charles and Alexandra exchanged another look. They knew this was a fight Y/n and Carlos had to face alone. But for now, all they could offer was a warm hearth, a listening ear, and the unwavering support of friends. The storm outside might rage, but inside, a different kind of storm was brewing, one fueled by love, hurt, and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

The first knock on the door was almost gentle, lost in the rumble of thunder that seemed to be having its own tantrum outside. The second one, though, made Alexandra and Y/n jump. It was a pounding, a desperate plea that sent shivers down both their spines.

"Charles!" Alexandra exclaimed, worry flickering in her eyes.

Charles, already on his feet, moved quickly towards the door. He flung it open, bracing himself for another downpour, only to find Carlos standing on the porch, rain clinging to his clothes like a second skin. His face was pale, streaked with rain and something else that looked suspiciously like tears.

Without a word, Carlos pushed past Charles, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Y/n curled up on the couch. He moved towards her like a man possessed, ignoring Charles's bewildered questions.

Y/n flinched as he approached, but Alexandra placed a calming hand on her arm. Carlos stopped a few feet away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked like a broken statue, rain dripping from his hair like tears.

Then, with a shaky breath, he sank to his knees before Y/n. His voice, rough and raw, cut through the silence.

"Y/n," he started, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, just listen. I don't even know where to begin. I messed up. I messed up so badly, and I don't deserve you, not after what I did."

He took a shuddering breath, his eyes locking with hers. The raw pain and desperation in them made Y/n's heart clench.

"That name," he continued, his voice cracking. "There's no excuse. It slipped, a stupid, careless mistake. But the truth is, you're all I see, Y/n. You're the light in my world, the calm in the storm. You make me a better person, even on my worst days."

A single tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his cheek. Y/n's breath hitched. Seeing Carlos, the confident, fearless driver, reduced to such a vulnerable state, chipped away at the wall of anger she'd built around her heart.

"I know I've been a jerk," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "I haven't shown you how much you mean to me. You deserve to be celebrated, to be shown off to the world. I was scared, Y/n. Scared of losing you, of not being enough. That stupid post, it was a reminder of what I almost lost when you came into my life."

He reached out a hand, his fingers hovering just above hers. "I love you, Y/n. More than words can ever express. You're my best friend, my confidante, the woman I want beside me through every victory and every defeat."

The room hung heavy with unspoken emotions. Y/n watched him, a silent battle raging inside her. Charles and Alexandra stood by, unseen witnesses to the raw vulnerability playing out before them.

Finally, Y/n reached out, her hand trembling slightly. She took his hand in hers, the warmth a stark contrast to the coldness that had enveloped her heart.

"I...I need to hear you say it," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Show me, Carlos. Show me that you love me."

Carlos's face lit up with a smile that could rival the sunshine on a perfect day. He squeezed her hand, his voice thick with emotion.

"I'll spend the rest of my life showing you, Y/n. I'll post pictures until you beg me to stop. I'll shout your name from the rooftops if that's what it takes. Just give me another chance, please."

A sob escaped Y/n's lips, this time a sob of relief. Tears welled up in her eyes, but this time they were tears of forgiveness and a love that, despite the storm, still burned brightly.

As they pulled each other into a tight embrace, the storm outside seemed to lose its fury. Thunder rumbled one last time, a distant echo of the tempest that had raged within them. In the warm embrace of love and forgiveness, Y/n and Carlos found their calm, ready to face whatever storms life threw their way, together.

The drive back to their apartment was a quiet one, punctuated only by the rhythmic swish of the wipers and the occasional rumble of thunder that seemed to echo the turmoil within them. Y/n sat close to Carlos, her hand resting on his arm. Her fingers brushed against a tender spot, a small bruise blooming where he'd pounded on Charles' door.

Without a word, she reached out and cradled his hand, her touch soft against his calloused palm. A tear welled up in Carlos's eye, spilling over and tracing a glistening path down his cheek.

"Y/n," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't deserve you."

Y/n squeezed his hand gently. "Don't say that," she said softly. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, and that includes me."

Hesitantly, she brought his hand up to her lips, placing a gentle kiss on the bruised knuckles. The touch sent a jolt through Carlos, a mixture of pain and a surprising sweetness.

"It wasn't about the pictures, Carlos," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "It was about feeling unseen, like I wasn't a part of your world."

Carlos looked at her, his eyes searching hers. "But you are my world, Y/n. You're everything to me."

A small smile played on Y/n's lips. "I know," she said, her voice filled with a newfound understanding. "You just needed to show me."

She reached up and wiped away the tear that stubbornly clung to his cheek. Her touch was a balm, soothing the raw emotions that had been churning inside him.

"We can work on that together," she continued, her voice firm but gentle. "Right now, all that matters is that we're okay."

Carlos took a deep breath, letting out a shaky sigh. "I love you, Y/n," he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "More than anything in this world."

Y/n's heart swelled with love. "I love you too, Carlos," she whispered, leaning closer.

Their eyes met, a universe of unspoken emotions passing between them. Slowly, Carlos leaned in, bridging the gap between them. The kiss was filled with a quiet intensity, a promise of a new beginning, a love that had weathered the storm and emerged stronger.

As they pulled away, breathless and filled with a newfound closeness, the rain outside began to taper off. The clouds parted, revealing a sliver of moon peeking through. It wasn't a perfect night, but for Y/n and Carlos, it was a new beginning, a chance to rebuild their love, brick by brick, stronger and more beautiful than ever before.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Ok I know you said time won't make them nicer to each other.

But I need her reaction to Carlos being diagnosed with appendicitis. Maybe she's the one that takes him to the hospital?!

The Uphill Battle {2} || CS55

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, name calling, angst

WC: 2.9k

Part One

Carlos was grumpier than usual. And that was saying something since he had been in a mood since the news broke about Lewis taking his seat. You could understand that after losing seats to guys all the time before getting a spot in the Academy. Carlos, however, was not used to that feeling and it showed as he pushed himself harder at each training.

“You’re too weak,” he taunted as you wiped the sweat from your brow and started another set of reps with trembling arms. “It’s like you don’t even want to be in F1.”

You let the weight bar fall into the shelf and sat up. “Go project yourself onto someone else, you miserable shit.”

After taking second place at the feature race in Bahrain you had shown you had the drive for F1, but it didn’t seem to change his training approach. He was still firmly on the path of insult until you explode and prove him wrong. To be fair, it had worked so far.

A muscled arm, followed by a bare chest, blocked your way when you stood up, a sneer pulling at his lips. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. Now get out of my way, you have free practice to get ready for.”

He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. He hadn’t meant to let time get away from him but when he found you in the gym he decided to finish his warm up routine alongside you. It had been a mistake because he couldn’t help but pester and critique you until he completely forgot what he was meant to be doing.

“Fine, but you need to stay and finish your set. That was just embarrassing to watch.”

“I’m done. With you. And with your training. Go fuck yourself, Junior.” You shoved past him, your elbow connecting with his gut, before you made your way to the stack of towels. You felt his presence follow you to the changing rooms and he closed the door to the shower cubicle.

“You’re done when I say you are done,” Carlos growled, turning you to face him before he pressed your back to the cold tile wall.

You tipped your head back and laughed darkly. “Only for the next nine months, then I’m Lewis’ problem. Or, maybe I’ll get the golden boy as my PT. Charles seems sweet and kind, I wouldn’t mind testing his patience.”

“Listen here, you little-” Whatever threat you would have ignored was lost as you flipped the handle of the cold tap and washed it gush out of the showerhead and straight into Carlos’ face.

“You were saying?”

“Brat.” The timber in his voice had the desired effect as his hand enveloped your throat and pulled you under the cold spray. His lips crashed against yours and his thigh nudged your legs apart, your hips riding the thick muscle as you kissed him back just as passionately. “I really hate you.”

You grinned, but it was more a baring of teeth ready to sink into his skin. “I don’t even hate you, that’s how little I feel about you.”

His palm glided over your ribs, touching the flesh bared by the sports bra you trained in, and slipped between the waistband of your shorts. His fingers spread your folds and curled into your core as your head fell back against the tiles.

“You feel something,” Carlos chuckled, dipping his head down to leave his mark on the swell of your breast. “Or you wouldn’t feel so fucking wet.”

“God I hate it when you open your mouth, just fuck me already.”

Carlos pulled the elastic waistband and let it snap back against your skin. The twanging pain was instant but then it was gone as he dragged the material down your legs. Another ache flared as he sunk his teeth into the soft supple skin on your thigh and you cried out at the heat that radiated from the indents he left behind.

“Fucking savage,” you growled, but you both knew how much you liked it that way.

“Sticks and stones, malcriada.”

You were needy, impatient, and well aware someone would come looking for Carlos as the countdown to free practice began. The lure of a verbal repartee would have to wait if you wanted some pleasure to balance out the pain in the arse that was Carlos. You pushed Carlos onto the bench where your dry towel had been abandoned and he lifted his hips for you to drag his shorts off.

“You gonna ride this di-“ You slapped your hand over his mouth to silence him and straddled his hips, sinking down on his cock with a moan that echoed around the changing room.

“Be a good boy and keep the commentary to yourself if you want a happy ending,” you warned as you let your hand fall to his shoulder and started to roll your hips. He heeded your words and bit his bottom lip to keep from saying something that would leave him with blue balls.

His hands gripped your waist and guided you up and down, setting rhythm that had you bouncing on his dick and an orgasm quickly building. The heat flashing across your body was the perfect contrast to the droplets of cold water collecting on your back and shivering down your spine.

“Fuck, harder,” you begged as your head fell back and he grazed his teeth over your throat. Your gasp filled the small cubicle as he nipped sharply at your skin and you raked your nails down his chest, earning a deep groan from his parted lips. The pained sound made your cunt clench and flutter before he suddenly stood up and turned you to face the wall. The emptiness within your body was quickly filled with the snap of his hips and his hand slapped over your mouth to muffle the cry at the sudden fullness.

“Shut up and take it,” he ordered quietly in your ear. “This is what you asked for.”

Carlos’ hands fell to your hips, bruising your skin with their harsh grip as he pounded into you. The slap of your bodies colliding filled the small space and your eyes rolled back into your head as your legs began to tremble. Your breathing deepened and you forgot where you were as your mind emptied and your body exploded.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Carlos moaned, your walls tightening around him with your orgasm. A wordless grunt warmed your ear before he sealed his lips over your racing pulse and left his mark while he filled your cunt.

Your forehead pressed to the cool tile as you regained your breath and Carlos pulled out, chuckling as he watched his cum leak down your still trembling thighs. “God, you’re a whore.”

“That’s more of an insult to you, desperado,” you teased. “Should I send the invoice to you or Sainz Senior?”

You forced yourself upright and stepped under the cold spray to see his smirk fade as you washed his seed away. You both jumped at the loud knock on the bathroom door and a voice called out, “Carlos, are you in there? You’re going to be late.”

“Just a sec,” Carlos shouted back before attempting to step under the now warm spray. You cast your hands out, splaying your fingers across his torso, catching the pained wince that crossed his face.

“Tsk, tsk, Daddy’s calling,” you said with a shake of your head.

He looked down at himself, the evidence of what transpired glistening on his cock. “Seriously?”

It was your turn to smirk and push him back further before waving him off. “Good luck.”

Free practice was already underway by the time you finished showering and changing into fresh Ferrari merch. No one really paid you any mind as you found a good spot on the balcony above the pit lane and watched the final 30 minutes of track time.

Despite there being better performers, your eyes kept being drawn back to your PT and the lowly 7th place he finished. You had catalogued a list of insults for him and went down to the debrief room ready to rule him up when you found him leaning against the corridor wall. Lines from his balaclava creased his cheeks and his eyes screwed shut as he clutched a hand to his stomach.

“Don’t think playing sick will let you off the hook for that performance,” you said as you crossed your arms.

There was no humour in his face, no wry amusement that usually came with your insults. Instead, he silently pushed off from the wall and made his way on towards the briefing room.

You kind of felt bad as you left the track and returned to the hotel. There had been a misstep in the turbulent dance that had been going on for months and you were left unsettled by it. Nothing on the tv could distract you enough that you finally gave up and took the elevator to Carlos’ floor. It was late but you figured he would still be awake as you knocked on his door.

“You look like shit,” you greeted, but your voice was thick with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead and the sickly sheen covered his bare chest too. Reaching out, you felt his skin burning like a furnace and he swayed on his feet before leaning on the doorway.

“You don’t care, so just go,” he rasped, his voice pained and weak.

You rolled your eyes and stepped around him to see a sick bowl on the coffee table with some painkillers beside it and a rumpled blanket spread over the couch. He made to follow but he could barely hold himself up and it was only your arms that kept him collapsing. “Fuck sake, Carlos, you need a hospital.”

“Just need sleep,” he argued. His body shivered and his throat worked to swallow but you had been through enough hangovers to know what was coming. You leapt for the sick bowl and barely got it under his face before he hurled up the bright blue electrolyte drink that you spotted on the table.

“Where’s your phone and your keys?” He peeked up from the bowl pitifully and he saw the determined look on your face before pointing to the kitchen. “Can you stand on your own? Don’t look so offended, it’s a reasonable question in your state.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m Max Verstappen.” You let go of him for a second to see if he would crumple to the carpet but he seemed to hold himself on pure stubbornness so you dashed to the kitchen to dump the bowl in the sink and grab his belongings.

“Planning on robbing me too?” he asked as he noticed you grabbed his wallet too.

“Since I’m apparently a whore, you owe me a hefty debt,” you muttered sarcastically. “It’s for your ID, asshole.”

Carlos didn’t deign to respond as he curled one arm around your shoulders, leaning heavily into your embrace, and the other clutched his abdomen.

“You’ve been in pain since practice, haven’t you?”

“Maybe…can we just go?”

You pocketed his things and took as much weight as you could off him, using every ounce of your strength training as you guided him to the elevator. It was strange to see him so reserved in the elevator mirror as it headed down to the underground car park and it was even stranger to sit in the driver seat of his car.

“Please don’t crash it,” he murmured as you started it up and headed out into the street.

“I know you don’t believe it, but I am actually a decent driver,” you muttered. The city traffic was busy 24/7 but the satnav came in handy with the directions to the emergency room at the nearest hospital. “Should I call your dad?”

“No. It’s probably nothing but a stomach bug.”

That ‘probably nothing’ turned out to be acute appendicitis. You could have laughed at how spectacularly wrong Carlos was but you were too worried as he was wheeled away to surgery and you were left to make a phone call.

‘Do not call him Daddy Sainz,’ you reminded yourself as you entered the passcode on Carlos’ phone and hoped he wasn’t too delusional to get it right. Thankfully it unlocked and you went to his contacts. “Hello, Mr Sainz?”

“Who is this?” he asked worriedly.

“It’s Y/N, I drive for Ferrari in the Academy, uh, Carlos is my Mentor.”

“Where is my son? Why do you have his phone?”

“He’s at the hospital. They’re just taking him into surgery now to remove his appendix.”

The elder Sainz must had put you on speakerphone as you heard the noises at his end increase. “Which hospital? Why are you only calling me now?”

“King Fahad Armed Forces and you’re welcome, by the way, if it wasn’t for me your son would still be curled up on the couch in his room until it burst.”

“He said you had an attitude,” the old man muttered quietly before he resigned himself to a sigh. “Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

You sent him the ward number that Carlos would be brought through when he was out of surgery and tried to make yourself comfortable on a vinyl chair. It must have been cozy enough as you dozed off, only waking when a nurse tapped your shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Mr Sainz is on his way up now, the operation went well.”

You rubbed your eyes and thanked her as you sat up to see almost two hours had passed. It was then you noticed a pair of brown eyes were watching curiously from across the room.

“Have you been watching me sleep?” you asked as you stretched and cracked your back.

The old man snorted a laugh and put down the almost empty styrofoam cup of black coffee. “You don’t need to wait, I can look after him from here.”

“And ruin my perfect posture for nothing? I’m fine waiting a bit longer.” You stood up and made your way to the percolator jug of black sludge and poured yourself a cup too before pacing the room. “Have you been talking with the other teams yet?”

His eyes followed you back and forth like he was trying to pick your brain apart. “About what?”

“2025. He’s too good for his F1 career to end now.”

The old man stood up too and refilled his cup. “Would you like milk and sugar?” he asked when he noticed your face scrunch at the first sip.

“Just a tiny dash of milk please, no sugar. I like my coffee like I like my men: a little dark and bitter.”

He chuckled and poured a small amount of milk into your cup before returning to his seat. “I can see why my son likes you.”

You spluttered on your mouthful and hurried to swallow the hot liquid. “You must be thinking about someone else. Carlos and I just about have a mutual understanding, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he borderline hates me.”

“Can’t be too many female Ferrari drivers that he mentors from the Academy, because I sincerely remember his comment about her,” the old man teased, crossing one leg over the other and staring over the rim of his cup. His eyebrow arched, daring you to correct him until he took the silence with an air of smugness.

Sounds grew along the quiet ward and soon Carlos was wheeled in on a hospital bed, parking into the empty space that had been between the two chairs. Though he looked a little sleepy, Carlos was awake and he smiled dopily from where he lay looking up at you.

“The doctors said your testicle retrieval went well.”

His smile broke with a deep laugh and he turned to look at his amused dad. “I see you met her.”

“I did.” Carlos Senior stood up and kissed his son’s forehead. “I’m glad you had her to take care of you, son. I’ll give you a few moments alone.”

You frowned as his dad left the room, waiting for the door to close quietly behind him. “What the hell were you thinking! Why didn’t you say anything? You could have died!”

Carlos shrugged and shifted carefully to get comfortable on this pillow behind his head. “We don’t exactly have the sort of relationship where we talk about things.”

You huffed and lifted his head, fluffing the pillow before shoving it back into place. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Back to the insults, finally.” The sick bastard smiled happily and settled into the pillow with a contented sigh. “For a moment I thought I died and went to heaven.”

“Not funny.”

“Was so, you just care about me too much to laugh. Admit it, you would’ve missed me.” He opened his hand and inched it closer to the edge of the bed.

“They must have given you the strong stuff, you’re clearly delusional,” you said with a roll of your eyes but placed your hand into his palm and he closed his fingers around them. “Your dad seems to think you like me.”

Carlos yawned and closed his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “That’s probably the beginning of dementia. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t,” you chuckled. A few moments of silence filled the room before a soft snore broke the quiet. Careful not to wake him, you kissed his cheek and whispered, “I’m glad you’re okay, Junior.”

“Knew it,” he said as he cracked one eye open and grinned.

You let go of his hand and dropped into your chair with an annoyed huff. “Asshole.”

“Brat.”

[chadillacboseman]

OKAY OKAY OKAY

IDEA

WHAT IF THE READER IS PREGNANT WITH MAKAROV'S KID AND HE'S HELLA PROTECTIVE AND THEY'RE OUT AND ABOUT AND SOMEONE IS STUPID ENOUGH TO LIKE. GET ANGRY AT HER AND BECOMES THREATENING AND UNFORTUNATELY (not really) MAKAROV IS AROUND??

"Walk carefully," Makarov rests a protective hand on the small of your back, rough fingers massaging the fabric of your shirt as he guides you down the curb.

"I'm fine, V," you protest indignantly, "I'm pregnant, not frail."

Makarov grunts and his dark eyes find yours, "With my child, yes? I need to keep you safe."

"From the curb?"

He ignores your sarcasm, instead scanning the street for any threats, any faces he recognizes. The neighborhood is rough, littered with refuse and graffiti.

You bury yourself in your phone as you trot along beside him, thumb swiping past articles that didn't catch your eye. Perhaps if you'd been more observant-

You crash into something-no, someone, bouncing back a few inches as your phone clatters to the pavement and shatters on impact.

"Oh! I'm sorry-" you scramble to pick up your broken cell.

"Watch where you're going, bitch," a loud, slurred voice booms from the figure you had bumped into.

You look up into his face, stubbled with dark halos around his hate-filled eyes. He smells of whiskey, positively reeks of it, and he looks unsteady on his feet.

"Excuse me?" You straighten and instinctively place a hand on your stomach.

"I said-" the man moves his face closer to yours, "Watch where you're fucking going!"

It happens in a split second.

He shoves you, hard, and you stumble back, losing your footing and falling unceremoniously to the concrete, wincing at the unwelcome contact.

The man takes a step forward, his face a twisted visage of rage. Genuine terror takes root in your chest as you try to scramble backward and out of his reach.

In an instant, the man's head jerks violently to one side and a spattering of bright red blood showers from his temple, painting the ground at his feet.

You watch with wide eyes as he crumples in a heap and Makarov shakes his hand, ridding it of the crimson that smears his knuckles.

The man groans and tries to roll to his feet; blood rolls in thick, red rivulets down the side of his face. He's drunk and pain clearly isn't an issue.

If there's one thing Makarov loves, it's a challenge.

His foot connects with the drunkard's ribs, taking the air from his lungs and sending him back to the concrete once more.

"Stay down," Makarov snarls.

"Fuck you," the man spits through wheezing breaths. He attempts to get up once more, blood now staining his rumpled shirt.

Makarov hits him again, this time with his fist, connecting his sharp knuckles with the man's face with such force that it sends him toppling onto his back.

This time, he does stay down. But Makarov isn't satisfied- another kick lands, this time in the gut, and the man lets out a wet, heavy cough.

As the man lays in the street, Makarov comes to you, his face painted with concern, hands reaching for yours as he pulls you to your feet.

"Are you alright?" His eyes flick up and down your body, searching for injury.

"I'm okay," you pant, nerves still wrung taught like rubber bands, "thank you..."

Makarov waves a hand at you dismissively, his eyes still full of worry. Calloused fingers find the swell of your stomach and he runs a rough palm over the bump.

"Any time."

[elryuse]

i came here from wattpad 🙌🙌 i love your writings, idk if you're still accepting request but if you are , i would like to request a drunk winter x male reader fluff, just a short one will do. just a spark from watching a lot of drunk scenes from kdramas, like the one in my demon lol. im sorry if this is a burden but cant wait to hear from you soon!

Drunk Call

Winter X Make Reader

Fluffy fluff fluff

Exhaustion gnawed at my bones, a familiar ache that had become a constant companion these past few weeks. Practice sessions for our upcoming comeback were brutal, the pressure to deliver another hit song gnawing at my confidence. To top it all off, a nasty rumor about me had surfaced online, and the hateful comments felt like a punch to the gut.

Curled up on the dorm couch, I scrolled through the endless stream of negativity, tears blurring my vision. Frustration bubbled over, a silent scream trapped in my throat. "This is stupid," I mumbled, shoving my phone onto the coffee table.

Loneliness, a suffocating weight, settled in my chest. I craved a familiar voice, someone who wouldn't judge, someone who knew the real Winter, not the one fabricated for the cameras. With a sigh, I reached for my phone, my finger hovering over your name. You were more than just my manager; you were my rock, my confidante, the one person who saw through the facade.

Hitting call, I waited with bated breath, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The first ring felt like an eternity, the second a cruel joke. Just as I was about to give up, your voice, warm and soothing, filled the silence.

"Hey Winter, everything alright?" Your voice, laced with concern, sent a wave of relief washing over me. "Y/n," I croaked, my voice thick with emotion. The dam broke then, the frustration, the loneliness, spilling out in a torrent of words. I ranted about the comeback, the rumors, the relentless pressure, the tears blurring my vision all the while.

You listened patiently, your voice a calming balm on my raging emotions. You didn't offer empty platitudes or dismiss my feelings. Instead, you encouraged me to vent, to let it all out. By the time I finished, my voice hoarse and tears drying on my cheeks, a comfortable silence settled between us.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," you said finally, your voice firm but laced with tenderness. The promise sent a warmth blooming in my chest. Just knowing you were on your way chased away the suffocating loneliness.

Twenty minutes later, the soft knock on the door had me scrambling to my feet. Wiping away any lingering tears, I opened the door to find you standing there, a concerned frown creasing your forehead. The sight of you, your worried gaze softening at the sight of me, was a balm to my soul.

"Hey," you said gently, your hand reaching out to cup my cheek. The touch, warm and familiar, grounded me. Without a word, I stepped aside, ushering you into the dorm room.

The state of the room must have been a giveaway. The empty soju bottles on the coffee table, the discarded tissues, and the general air of disarray spoke volumes. You cast a quick glance at the empty bottles, a knowing look in your eyes. "Rough night, huh?" you asked softly.

I nodded, unable to meet your gaze. Shame washed over me, a childish need to apologize for my weakness. But before I could voice my insecurities, you pulled me into a hug. Your embrace was a safe haven, the familiar scent of your cologne a soothing comfort.

"It's okay to not be okay, Winter," you murmured against my hair. "You don't have to be strong all the time." Those words, simple yet profound, shattered the dam of my remaining defenses. Tears welled up again, hot and silent, as I clung to you.

You held me close, whispering words of comfort until my sobs subsided into sniffles. When I finally pulled away, you brushed a stray tear from my cheek, your thumb gently wiping away the moisture. "How about we forget about practice tomorrow?" You suggested, yoir voice laced with concern.

My eyes widened in surprise. "But the comeback…" I began to protest, but you cut me off with a gentle smile. "The comeback can wait," you said firmly. "Right now, you need rest."

There was no arguing with the determined glint in your eyes. With a sigh of surrender, I nodded. You helped me change into my pajamas, the simple act of putting on comfy clothes a small comfort in itself.

Tucking me into bed, you fluffed the pillows and adjusted the covers with a meticulousness that made me smile. "Get some sleep, Winter," you whispered, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on my forehead. "I'll be here in the morning."

As I drifted off to sleep, the weight on my chest had lifted considerably. The knowledge that I wasn't alone, that you were there to catch me when I fell, filled me with a warmth that chased away the lingering shadows of The morning light filtered through the blinds, painting the room in soft stripes of gold. A gentle ache in my head and a dry throat were the only reminders of the previous night's emotional rollercoaster. Yawning, I stretched luxuriously in bed, a small smile playing on my lips.

The faint smell of coffee and something warm and savory drifted towards me. Sitting up, I found a tray on the bedside table laden with a bowl of steaming porridge, a glass of water, and a small cup of coffee with a cartoon bear latte art. My heart warmed.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you said from the doorway, a playful smile on your face. You looked a little sleep-deprived yourself, dark circles under your eyes, but a tenderness lingered in your gaze.

"You didn't have to stay the night," I said, touched by your gesture.

"Well, how could I leave you here alone after last night?" you countered, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, who else would make sure the most important member of AESPA gets a decent breakfast?

I blushed, unable to deny the truth in your words. You carefully helped me sit up, placing pillows behind my back as I took a sip of the warm porridge. The coffee, creamy and sweet, hit the spot just right.

"Feeling better?" you asked, pulling up a chair beside the bed.

"A lot better, thanks to you," I mumbled, stealing a glance at you. The concern in your eyes morphed into something softer, making my cheeks flush again.

"Don't worry about practice today," you reassured me. "We already informed the others you're taking a break." Relief washed over me. The thought of facing the dance studio right now was daunting.

"So, what do you want to do today?" you asked, your voice gentle. I thought for a moment. The idea of staying cooped up in the dorm room wasn't appealing.

"Maybe we could take a walk in the park?" I suggested. "Just the two of us, away from everything".

Your smile widened, genuine and bright. "Sounds like a perfect plan, Winter."

The park was a welcome change of scenery. The crisp autumn air invigorated my senses, and the vibrant foliage painted the landscape in hues of gold and crimson. Walking hand-in-hand with you, the tension from the past few weeks seemed to melt away.

We talked about everything and nothing, sharing stories and dreams, laughing at silly jokes. You even indulged my sudden craving for street tteokbokki, the spicy rice cakes adding a delicious warmth to the cool air.

As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows on the park's path, we found ourselves sitting on a bench overlooking a small lake. The tranquility of the scene mirrored the newfound peace within me.

"Thank you, Y/n," I said, leaning against your shoulder.

"For what?" you asked, your voice soft.

"For everything," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. "For being there when I needed you most, for believing in me, for being my rock."

You turned to face me, your gaze filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "Winter," you murmured, your voice husky, "you are strong, talented, and beautiful. Don't let anyone, not even yourself, tell you otherwise."

And then, before I could respond, you leaned in, your lips meeting mine in a kiss that was both soft and passionate. It was a kiss filled with the unspoken words of our affection, a promise of a love that transcended the boundaries of fan and manager, idol and boyfriend.

As we pulled apart, breathless and smiling, I knew that no matter what challenges awaited me, I wouldn't face them alone. I had you by my side, my confidant, my best friend, and most importantly, my love.

The End

[mrchiipchrome]

Sixth Sense

W.C.- 1.4 k

Not very long but oh well

---------------------------

“-And so she was all like…Less? Alessia, are you listening to me?” Katie taps the shoulder of the taller girl, seemingly zoned out fully.

“Hmm? Uhm, you’ll have to tell me later Macca, my Y/n-tingle just went off and I have to make sure she doesn’t lose a limb.” Jogging towards the dining room at the training ground, Alessia can soon feel Katie’s presence right beside her.

“What’s the Y/n-tingle?” She questions the younger forward, whom she had taken under her wing.

“When Y/n does anything stupid, dangerous, or the dreaded 2-in-1, I get a…feeling. It’s like my spidey-sense…” Alessia’s words trail off as they reach the lunch room, being met with the dreaded 2-in-1.

For you were standing on top of a table, decked out in a full bear costume, one foot high in the air and hands high above your head. The ski goggles didn’t do you much favor, cutting off your breathing slightly.

“Y/N Y/L/N GET DOWN!” The loud, unexpected voice startles you, the single foot on the table slipping. 

The resulting fall feels like one happening in slowmo, your back hitting the table and fully knocking all the wind out of your lungs.

“Ouch” Is the only thing you’re able to say as soon as you can get some air into your lungs, hand coming up to rest over your chest. 

“Holy shit, that was awesome Y/n!” Your partner in crime says, the girl is also known as one of your bestfriends in the entire world.

“Did you get it on film?” You ask excitedly, seeing Alessia shaking her head disappointedly in your peripheral vision. With the same enthusiasm as before, you waved her over.

“Less! Did you see that!?” The girl drags her feet over to where you’re now sitting on the table, standing in between your thighs.

“I sure did baby, it was very dangerous.” She tells you matter of factly, brushing her thumb over your cheek lightly.

“Well, when you get triple dog dared to do something, you do it.” With a quick kiss to her cheek and an even quicker slap to her butt, you jump off the table and run out the room. 

It doesn’t take long for your girlfriend to follow your lead, running out of the room to seemingly catch you.

The remaining women in the room look to Kyra, who’d been the one to film.

“Hey, don’t look at me! I wasn’t the one to triple dog dare her, Caitlin was!” And with that, two more people were running out of the room.

—-------

“What would happen if I theoretically jumped off a trampoline and into a pool?” You whisper to the girl laying in your arms, the early morning sun painting the room with its gorgeous orange glow.

“You’d probably hurt yourself, don’t even think about doing it.” She mumbles sleepily, but firmly at the same time.

“I wasn’t thinking about doing i-” You get interrupted before you can even finish your lie.

“Stop lying, I know you better than you know yourself my love.” Alessia shoves her face deeper into the crook of your neck, exhaling loudly.

“Let’s say I hypothetically-”

“No Y/n, that’s dangerous.” Her voice holds a tone of finality, signaling the end of the conversation.

“But you haven’t even-” 

“I know you Y/n, it’s dangerous.” She presses her fingers into your ribs, the feeling making you giggle.

“Okay, okay, I won’t.” You tighten your arms around her, the girl not having noticed the way your fingers were crossed behind her back.

“Uncross your fingers and tell me.” The disappointed girlfriend voice was switched on again, the striker barely having enough patience to deal with you.

“How do you always know?” She quite obviously rolls her eyes at you, kneeing you in the thigh softly.

“Because we’ve been together for years.” You hum in agreement, muttering a quiet ‘fair enough’ into the damp London air.

—--------

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” Kyra’s voice carries throughout the hallway, mixing with the voices of Gio and the rest of the youngsters.

That combined with Alessia’s gut feeling of you doing something stupid again makes for an uncomfortable situation.

Turning the corner, Alessia can see you standing beside Jen, chugging what looked to be sparkling water out of a plastic bottle.

“What is going on!?” Alessia’s booming voice turns a few heads, and apparently it surprises you enough for you to choke on the beverage, trying to cough it back up when more water flows down your throat. It ends with a Jen Beattie trying to pat your back and water dripping painfully from your nose as Alessia cusses you out.

“We were just having a contest to see who could chug-” Jen starts off, her powerful frame cowering behind yours slightly. No one liked to face Alessia’s protective side.

“I don’t care. I mean I get Y/n doing this, I could not stop her if i tried, but you? Jen you’re 32 for fuck’s sake, you shouldn’t be encouraging this behaviour.” Alessia rips into the older woman, leaving you to try to come to her defense.

“Baby, it was my idea. They were just convinced to help me, I promise-” 

“I know it was your idea love, therefore you are sleeping on the couch tonight.” ‘Oohhhhs’ spread throughout the room at Alessia’s delivered judgment.

“No, I’m sorry baby. It won’t happen again!” You stalk after her as she makes her way out of the room, feeling your teammates pat your back every so often.

—------------

The only thing Alessia can hear when she gets home from training is a soft pitter patter sound, like something scratching against the ground repeatedly. She had been a little worried at training when her stupid-o-meter had gone off, but when she had called you everything had seemed fine.

Oh how foolish she was to believe you.

“Shhhh Fanta, don’t ruin the surprise for Mommy now.” Alessia moves towards the kitchen with tentative steps, leaning against the doorframe. She sees your crouched over body, one knee planted firmly on the ground and one pulled up to your chest.

“Y/n?” Hearing your name fall from her lips makes you stand up abruptly, the puppy in your hands hidden behind your back.

“Lessi, hi! Let me give you a quick hypothetical, what would you do if I brought home a golden retriever puppy named Fanta?” She can barely understand the rushed words coming out of your lips, but somehow she manages to decipher them well enough.

“That depends, is this scenario real?” Her eyebrow raises in your direction as a shrill bark comes from behind you.

“Right, funny story, we have a dog now. Meet Fanta!” The fluffy puppy you hold out towards her barks once again, Alessia’s gaze softening even more at the sight of it.

“I know I should be mad at you for buying a puppy, but I can’t possibly be mad at this adorable baby.” You hand her the puppy, who takes the opportunity to lick at Alessia’s cheek, giving her kisses.

“Hey, Fanta be careful, that’s my girl!” You call out jokingly, getting an amazing photo of Alessia smiling with the newest addition to your family.

“Oh, hi sweetness. I love you so much, yes I do” Alessia kisses Fanta’s head softly, the dog starting to squirm in her grasp. She lowers her body down to the floor, letting the squirming puppy jump out of her arms. 

Alessia wraps her arms around your waist in a strong grip, leaning up to kiss your temple. The two of you watch fondly as the puppy slips around on the slippery floor, likening a deer on ice.

“This might be your best stupid idea ever love.” She places her head on your shoulder, leaning back into your body.

You use your pointer finger to tilt her chin up, pressing a loving kiss to her lips.

“I take it that you like my surprise?” She hums tiredly in response, her beautiful eyes closed as you sway the blonde in your arms to the tune of an imaginary song.

“Does this mean you’ll let Katie throw darts around me like they do in the movies?” You whisper in her ear, not wanting to break the moment.

“Absolutely not.”

[ma1dita]

omggg hope you had a great birthday!! do u mind writing a remus x reader who realize there’s smth more than friends between them, thank youuu

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

remus lupin x reader

a/n: gn!reader truly idk how this escaped me. me writing for my long lost husband in the year of our lord 2024?? this was so fun it felt like reuniting with an ex anyways fluff incoming

wc: don't... look at me... 1.3k

“So?”

“So what, Prongs?” Remus huffs, flipping through a textbook. Merlin knows why he even tries to study in the common room with the boys when all they do is badger him about nonsense.

“So are you and your little friend, well…more than friends? You two are attached at the hip, so where’d the little one run off to?” James teases, whacking his best mate with a throw pillow, “Get tired of you moaning and groaning about prefect duties?”

Well, that’s…you’re definitely not nonsense.

Remus blinks, brushing his hair away from his face and glaring at James before elbowing him straight in the gut. Tosser he is, acting like he knows anything about you or relationships in general when he’s been pining after Lily for years now.

You two are just friends.

Sirius lets out a loud laugh from his place at Remus’ feet. He’s leaning against the arm of the sofa, looking up at the sandy-haired boy with a cock-eyed grin, “If they were more than friends, Moony’s moaning and groaning would be appreciated and reciprocated, don’t you think?”

Peter snickers from the loveseat across the table. It doesn’t help with Remus’ mood, so he buries his head deeper into the boring History of Magic text, grumbling, “Don’t be crass. Just friends, is all. Don’t look too hard into it or you’ll melt what’s left of your brains.”

The three instigators look at each other, before looking back at their best friend. Just friends, he says. Sure, Remus’s the nicest guy around—a prefect even; the one that people count on to be the most morally sound out of all of them, the guy that people borrow notes from, politely laughs at jokes and makes people feel included in conversations. Sure, friends—they can believe that! Everyone wants to be Moony’s friend. But it’s the way they’ve seen him treat you that stands out.

Remus usually lags behind them now, breaking apart their formation in the halls (and yes, Sirius likes to be at the front of the diamond), pushing Peter up so he can wait for you after class. Also, anyone that could distract him from taking notes in Arithmancy is surely a force to be reckoned with (and a threat to Peter’s grades). He’s even gone as far as sidling up next to you during Potions and breaking their age-old rotation of picking partners since their first year (which left James with a botched Aging Potion, and Lily laughing at him as he limped out of class with graying hair and a hunchback).

So things were different nowadays, but one thing is for sure: Remus Lupin’s favorite game is being in denial.

“Maybe your friend knows about your furry little problem, Moons. Surely you really don’t think you’re gonna get any studying done with us?” James chuckles, before pushing his glasses up to clearly see the blush blossoming on Remus’s cheeks. Though it might also be anger, he couldn’t really tell—they’ve never seen him like this, ever; so blatantly obvious with how he feels about you even though he’d never admit it. It was quite refreshing to remember that Remus is still a normal teenage boy.

“You’re right, Prongs,” he huffs.

“I am?”

“I don’t know why I even bothered to try and study with you lot if all of you are too focused on me instead of studying!” Remus is shoving his books into his knapsack as the boys continue to rib at him to get him to stay. This essay isn’t going to write itself.

“Just playing, Moons!”

“Yeah mate, if you need an actual study date we know that’s not us, just hang around!”

Remus sighs as he’s looking at his friends' shit-eating grins as they go around him showing each other the map and pointing at something.

“What now?”

There’s a knock at the portrait, and the Fat Lady’s shrill voice could be heard from where they were sitting. Peter jumps up, sticking his face over the enchanted parchment as he giggles a bit like a schoolgirl, “It’s for you. Your friend’s outside.” They all cheer and laugh at Remus shaking his head, slinging his knapsack over his shoulder walking quickly away from them.

When he sees you chatting with the Fat Lady, it’s almost as if he’s in a stupor, studying every inch of your face until your eyes finally meet his and you grin and wave at him.

Just friends, he reminds himself.

“Hey Rem! Was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the library together?”

Your voice is a treat in itself, he thinks—the lilt and manner of it so sweet and rich it almost reminds him of his favorite chocolate.

Good thing he has a sweet tooth.

Walking down the hallway together your hand bumps into his several times in passing, fingers ghosting against each other as if they were dancing, too close and then too far. Friends can hold hands right? Remus’s heart flutters as he thinks of the possibility like solving an Arithmancy problem. He supposes the boys and him don’t necessarily hold hands, but he imagines holding yours would be way nicer.

Is he sweating?

His palms are sweaty, forget it, and you’re just friends! You’re telling him about your day like you both haven’t seen each other in years, but he even sat by you at lunch earlier, much to the rest of the Marauders’ surprise. Though Remus supposes you could even make Divination sound interesting—maybe even make him look in the stupid tea leaves to see if you’re in his future, furry little problem and all. He realizes he’s been staring a second too long, bumping into you lightly as you stop in front of the library.

“Haha, you okay? You’re quiet today, Rem. Something on your mind?”

A lot about you, apparently, thanks to his meddling friends.

Remus scratches the nape of his neck as he grimaces, cheeks reddening again and instead of a response, he opens the door for you and puts his finger to his mouth as if to say “Shhhh….” before Madam Pince starts a fit at either of you. That, or him actually having to say how he feels.

How he feels… Well…shit.

You make a beeline for an open table near the corner, tugging at his wrist like it’s not making his heart beat out of his chest and Remus tries to compose himself, but then you look at him with your pretty fluttering eyelashes and he knows he’s utterly fucked. Pulling out your chair for you, you squeeze his arm in thanks and scooch your chair closer to his.

“Rem?”

“Hmm?” he responds, a strangled noise crawling up his throat as he coughs slightly, his arm landing on the back of your chair before he panics then realizes he’d look like an arse for pulling away.

Not that he wants to.

“How did you know?”

His heart genuinely stops. There’s no way you’ve caught on that quickly—especially not with him just realizing how he feels about you, his friend that he wants to be more and there is nothing casual about what he wants to d—

“How’d you know I was at the common room? You walked out just as I was about to walk in, I thought it was kinda funny,” you giggle, brushing your hair behind your ear and he takes a deep breath.

You’re just friends. But he definitely wants to be more.

“The boys told me it was you,” Remus says, chewing on his lip, “Apparently they had a feeling.”

And now, so does he.

What’s worse is that Remus hates admitting when they’re right (which is rare enough in itself, he’ll never hear the end of it from their inflated egos).

What’s worst of all is that for the first time in his Hogwarts career, Remus Lupin ends up submitting an essay late.

[queers-gambit]

Midsummer Night(mare)'s Dream

prompt: ( requested ) when Oliver's obsession reaches new heights, you fear Felix might return the affection - resulting in bloody flower petals suffocating you.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 12.9k+

note: favorite trope here to stay

⚠️ you are responsible for the media you consume ⚠️

warnings: Hanahaki Disease AU: depiction of physical illness, medical phenomenon, blood, self-destruction; alcohol consumption, brief illicit material use and brief depiction of physical aggression, Lord's name in vain, cursing, angst, hurt and comfort, spoilers, AU timeline (obviously), "friends to 'strangers' to lovers", fix it Felix, "best friends" trope too, dead parents / family angst. requires maturity and caution.

When the first semester at Oxford started, something in your gut twisted with an unknown anxiety. Something in the air churned, a tide was turning, and there was something deeply amiss that you just couldn't put your finger on.

Your roommate was kind, your grades average with those that took education seriously, and your professors were decently challenging but in a good way. You didn't know what was wrong, why you suddenly felt anxious, but then, after asking your best mate why he was late to class the day of his first tutorial, Felix answered, "Had a flat tire."

You nodded, handing him the joint as you sucked in a sharp breath to hold the smoke in your lungs, "So you booked it?"

"No, actually," he chuckled. "Nice bloke named Ollie stopped t'help, offered me his bike."

You laughed, smoke billowing out, "Yeah? Tellin' me he just stopped and gave you his bike? Come off it - nobody's that nice. You flirt with him or something, Fi?"

"No, no, I'm serious! That's literally what happened!" He nestled his arm around your waist, "No, seriously, listen, right, I was on my way t'class, on time and all, yeah? Got a flat tire on my way. This lad, Ollie - Oliver - comes down the path, stops, asks what's goin' on, said he was in my college, so, he offered his bike 'cause he'd get it later, said he'd wheel mine back and all."

"Fuck off!" You shoved your elbow into his ribs.

"You only think people are out to do the worst, darling," Felix chuckled, flashing you a blinding smile. Neither of you could anticipate the series of events that this interaction would kick off. "Besides, he saved my fuckin' arse, I got t'class with enough time, didn't I?"

"Hmm," you agreed, a knot forming in your stomach as he handed you the joint back; both stretched out in your dorm bed as the thunder storm raged just shortly after you got back from class.

Perhaps you were too much of a cynic. Perhaps you grew up in a rougher part of the city with considerably less money, being skeptical of gestures of kindness. Perhaps you only knew people to be disingenuous.

Maybe you were just used to hearing these incredible stories from Felix Catton - certified spoilt best friend.

You grew up together; meeting as young children because your parents worked for one of the Catton's companies, your fathers having been childhood best friends, joining you two at the hip. You and Felix were two halves of one whole, a single functioning organism; becoming inseparable. You were meant to be soulmates, you were so sure of it, but in reality, it felt reassuring to have such a strong friendship that you never entertained the idea of romance.

Felix's friendship was genuine. It was built-on everyday, growing, evolving, forever changing to accommodate both your changing personalities. He accepted you for who you are, and it felt like he chose you everyday. Where others came and went, you remained. Where others abandoned you, there he was. There was no you without Felix and no Felix without you, and when the time came, you chose to attend Oxford together.

You knew how easy life was for him. You knew the silver spoon he was fed from. You knew he was the flame moths were drawn to.

Knowing Felix Catton was power-by-association, and you watched an endless slew of people come and go with the snuffed-out dream of being in his inner circle. You protected Felix (and the Cattons) from leeches and Felix protected you from, well, everything else. You were meant to be soulmates, you were so sure of it, and then everything changed the summer before senior year of secondary school when you moved in with him permanently.

Summer had just started, you were only two months away from turning 18, and then, a drunk driver drove your mother and father into a tree on the side of a road. There was nothing to be done when your parents were finally found, the EMTs assuring you they were dead on impact and did not suffer. You had been at home with Felix, who let you paint his toenails, the house phone ringing shrilly.

"Hello?" He answered for you, reporting your family's surname's residence. He hummed, then paused, looking at you. "It's St. Luke's Hospital, love?" Felix handed you the phone with curiosity.

When you reached for the landline, the nurse reported you were needed and asked if you had the means to get to them. You begged to know what happened, but all she said was, "There was an accident."

Felix drove you to the hospital.

Felix held your hand when you were lead to a private room, meeting a set of police officers.

Felix held you when you stumbled in shock upon being shown your parent's demise and Felix held your hair when you threw up after identifying bodies.

And the Cattons stood with you when the man responsible was sentenced to life in prison. They stood in the rain when you tossed two stones in the stream.

You lived with him from that moment on and sometime after, you accepted how in-love with him you were. He had always taken care of you, but that summer, he took care of you; being the glue that kept you together, the binding force that brought you into being, the reason you didn't waste away, give up, or lose yourself entirely.

When your final year before university began, you had to stomach the idea of loving him at a distance. He'd always been popular, charismatic, the sun at the center of everyone's galaxy that pulled all towards his warmth and light. But after losing his virginity at age 15, Felix was constantly running through partners and you didn't want to interrupt his "sexual awakening" despite the knife to the gut each girl stabbed. So, you kept your feelings to yourself and tried your hardest to be a staple in his life, and when you chose to attend Oxford, you made peace with the idea that you'd go another 4 years in silent denial.

Something about Oliver's little act of kindness just made you uneasy.

And then, the following night, Felix spotted his new little friend when you were out at the local pub and invited Ollie to sit at the table with you lot. You sat between Felix and Farleigh, India on your friend's other side - his cousin something akin to your own flesh and blood. After all, you had known them all for two nearly decades; marking you as one of the very, very few who could put Farleigh in his place. Eerily, you both shared a look of mild distain, but for very different reasons.

You didn't think yourself a jealous woman, but after meeting Oliver Quick in person, hearing him speak, watching him watch Felix, and witnessing how he interacted with everyone else, you grew uneasy in his presence. The night you met him officially, there was a funny tickle in your chest, and after a few too many coughs escaped, Felix whipped around at you instantly. "You gettin' sick, darlin'?" He asked, words drenched in genuine concern.

Oliver thought it was curious to use a pet name for a pretty girl while a different one was sat on his lap.

"I'm good," you assured, thinking the rain caused this reaction.

But as the night wore on, you coughed more and more. When Oliver got up to get the next round of shots, Felix, ever the sweetheart who had money at his disposal, scolded Farleigh for instigating the poor boy and stood with a note in his hand. Only you saw the real interaction of Felix subtly paying for the drinks, and when he returned, he set a glass of water in front of you.

He made sure you didn't drink the rest of the night, but you didn't want to - starting to feel unwell. "Fi, I'm gonna go - "

"Oh, no, love, c'mon, an hour longer," he pleaded as you stood. But he paused, examined your face, then standing without another word and tossed his arm around you, announcing to the table, "Right, we're off."

He ignored the jeers and complaints because he was swiftly escorting you away, and only when Farleigh clocked this did he scold the table to shut the fuck up. When you stepped outside, Felix was turning to you instantly, holding your cheeks in hand and using his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth.

"You're bleedin', love," he muttered, showing you his hand. You frowned and wiped the area yourself, seeing the crimson stain on the pads of your fingers. "Fuck. All right. C'mon, we can get you to the infirmary - "

"No, I don't think it's - "

"You've been coughin' all night and now you're bleedin'," he snapped, shushing you, "we're goin'!" When you just stared at him for a moment, he sighed, "I-I'm sorry, that was a bit more aggressive than needed. I'm just worried, love, you shouldn't be coughing blood."

"Might've just been smoking too much, yeah?"

Felix spoke your name with a hardened edge, staring at you for a long moment as neither of you wanted to back down. Finally, he cracked, "You're not gonna go, are you?"

"Nope. C'mon, I'm tired."

"Well, I'm stayin' the night incase you throw up," he declared, giving in and leading you towards your dorm.

"No, go back - "

"Not leavin' yah, love," he refused. "So, c'mon, tell me," he changed the subject, "what'd you think of Ollie?"

You sighed, "Nice enough lad, I guess."

"Told you," he grinned, weighing your heart to your feet.

For nearly every instance there after, you dreaded hearing Ollie's name or seeing him pop up at events. But that first night, as Felix dozed off in your bed, you were set on your knees, dry heaving in vain to free your throat from whatever suffocated you internally. When you managed to trigger your gag reflex, a stream of alcohol came spewing out - dotted with long, pretty, bright yellow petals.

You stared into the toilet, blinking in shock.

You always thought Felix was the human equivalent to a golden retriever with the disposition of a sunflower. In fact, there grew a small patch of sunflowers at Saltburn just for you; you and Felix planting them one summer together, kept alive after your parents died to bring you a little sunshine when you felt overwhelmed with storm clouds. After all, they were your favorite flower... Now being hacked out of your lungs in a ghastly, tacky mixture of blood, clots, and mucus.

As the year went, you didn't have another episode, but still did any and all research you could on your current phenomenon, wanting to avoid the hospital if you could.

The year flew by without much of a hitch, outside of Felix snapping on Ollie and distancing the lad from the group. However, just before exams, Felix came to you in need of help; saying Ollie's dad died, and being as he had both parents, he wasn't sure how to comfort the lad. It struck a nerve deep within you, going with Felix to talk to Ollie, and by the end, your arm had slung around the scholarship boy in pity, trying to talk him through part of his grief.

You didn't know the lad did his research on you and discovered you lived with Felix in his grand fucking castle because you were orphaned just before turning 18. It was the perfect "in", in Ollie's mind; a way to weasel close to you, solidifying himself to Felix.

You didn't like Ollie, he still made you feel uneasy, but you did pity him enough that you tolerated him. Now more than ever. He was back in the group before the day was done.

However, when exams concluded, Ollie was acutely aware that Felix attended the celebration to your exams - dressing you, pinning you for your accomplishments. You dressed and pinned Felix after his. And you both showed up for Ollie's exams, though, you dressed and pinned Farleigh as Felix did Ollie. He supposed it counted, still having the object of his desire back in sight; within his reach; staring at him with pride and a hint of pity.

It was exactly what Oliver wanted.

"Well, aren't you gorgeous?" Felix complimented when you arrived in the courtyard, dressing for the end-of-year ball. He stooped down to wrap you in a hug, giving a spin, and setting you on your feet as you laughed at his usual antics. "Absolutely a vision, love, seriously," he praised. "And I have a li'l something for us, hey?" He held up the champagne bottle.

"Christ," you mused, "what's the occasion? They'll supply cocktails there, Fi - "

"We're going to a funeral."

"I'm sorry?"

He sighed, handing you the bottle to dig in his trouser pocket and revealed a stone painted with the word, 'Dad'. Felix looked sheepish, "I thought we could do it for Ollie, yeah? Lad's had a real rough go of it all - "

"I think that's a nice idea, Fi," you cut him off, smiling in assurance, opening the wire on the bottle. "But first, a toast," you proposed, "to the start of summer."

"And end of exams," he agreed, taking the bottle back when you handed it over and popping the cork. He cheered as you drank first, taking his own, wrapping you in a tight hug. "We survived," he laughed, sighing after. "Really glad you were here with me through it, love."

"Yeah, me, too," you whispered, holding back creeping bile when your heart began to pound with harrowing tension. "All right, pretty boy, c'mon, sun's setting."

"Right," he pulled back, "I told Ollie to meet us in the courtyard."

"Which one?"

"C'mon," he laughed, taking your hand and leading you after him. You danced after him on your tip-toes, avoiding using your whole shoe and the high heel that elevated you off the ground several inches. "Easy, watch it, careful now," he teased.

"Hey," Farleigh greeted, watching you two go with a smile.

He bet Venetia that this was the summer you two got together. Felix had confided in him that he was considering the idea of settling down, having sowed his wild oats and being tired of running through girls like he had this past year. Farleigh never thought he'd hear such words from Felix Catton, but after seeing you and his cousin running off, he knew, it was only a matter of time before confessions were made.

"There he is," You pointed.

"Ollie!" Felix called, both of you jogging up to him. "Hiya, mate."

"Hey," He greeted you both as Felix didn't stop.

"C'mon, then! Follow us!"

Upon arriving at a stone bridge that passed over a thin stream, you let Felix explain what you were doing and why you were there. "So, in my family, we have this tradition, right? When somebody dies, we write their name on a, er, on a stone," he showed Ollie the stone he made, "and we chuck it in the river. My great-grandfather started it when his son died in the war. We've only done it for Y/N's parents and my dog so far, but... You know, I don't know, I just..."

"It helped, a bit," you filled in when Felix looked at you. You took the stone from Fi's hand and handed it to Ollie, offering, "Felt like our own private goodbye."

When Oliver took the stone and looked it over, Felix anxiously excused, "This feels a bit fucking stupid now."

"No. It's not stupid," Ollie insisted sincerely - only looking at Felix, like the whole world did. "Thank you."

"It's something, right?"

This lead into Felix explaining "what to do", Ollie taking a moment after. When he looked over, he saw Felix had positioned you in front of him, arms wrapped around your neck to keep you close, both screwing your eyes shut in prayer. It would've been endearing had this been an honest memorial...

When the stone was throw, it clattering into the mud on the embankment... A foreshadow you should've paid more attention to. This lead into you three sitting on the stone bannister, skipping the ball, sharing the champagne, and after learning about Ollie's poor living arrangements, for Felix to invite him home with you two. To Saltburn, setting in motion a series of unfortunate events.

That night, you stayed in Felix's dorm, asking, "Are you sure about this?"

"Hmm?"

"Ollie - coming home with us?"

"Oh, yeah, love, it'll be fine," he promised. "Gives us one more person in the house, that's never bad, is it?"

You couldn't answer, you didn't know.

Your first night home was memorable in the sense that Venetia, Felix's older sister, insisted on 'girls night' and locked you both in her room. "So? Did you tell him yet?" She rushed with an excited grin, pouring you both a glass of wine. "Farleigh and I have a bet goin' - "

"Tell who, what?"

She glared, "Don't play coy. You're in love with Felix!"

"Venetia!"

"Oh, shove off, I won't tell him - but does that mean you haven't either?"

"If I did, you honestly think I'd be here?"

"Well, yes - "

"He doesn't feel the same," you insisted, "and if I tell him, he wouldn't want me here anymore, it'd be awkward."

"You're absolutely insane if you think any of that is true!"

"Ven."

"He's mad for you."

"He say that?"

"Well, no, but I can tell."

"It's not gonna happen," you sighed, shaking your head. "Not with all his interests, and those interested in him," you explained bitterly.

"I think you should tell him," she nodded. "It wouldn't hurt to tell the truth, but it might give you both some relief. I promise, he doesn't want you out of his life, so, even by the off chance he doesn't feel the same, he'd still want you around. Oh, know what would be romantic? Writing him a note! You've always been a talented writer."

By the end of the bottle, you and Venetia had started drafting a letter; confessing your feelings and coming up with the grand idea to ask him to meet you in the maze if he felt the same. It was where you both went when wanting solidarity, being a place of worship for you both. The center of the maze was remote, private, being where your tears could be shed and secrets shared.

It felt fitting to meet there.

Your letter wasn't perfected to your standards until Ollie arrived. His first night, you began to feel that tickle in your chest again, and for some reason, you mistook this for 'butterflies' and decided tonight was the night. So, you snuck into Felix's room before dinner, knowing he was already out, and left your note on his bed; unaware that Oliver was watching through the crack in the bathroom door.

He slithered in when you were done, slowly approaching the bed, and fingering the letter. He plucked it in hand, opened the unsealed envelope, and read your confessional; requesting, that if he even had an inkling of returned affection, he'd meet you after dinner, in the maze. At the center, beneath the Minotaur statue.

Ollie stared at your flourish of a signature and instantly crumpled the letter, surging back into his room and shredding it into bits. He swept them away into the waste bin and adjusted his jacket.

"There you are!" Felix smiled, finding you in the hall. "Don't you look nice, darlin'."

"You always say that."

"I always mean it," he grinned, escorting you to the dining room.

Dinner was... Interesting, to say the least.

You were distracted by nerves only Oliver clocked, Venetia giggling and Felix the center of attention - as usual. He reached out a few times to grab your thigh, asking muttered questions in your ear, making sure you were all right after he noticed you had barely eaten. Oliver had to hide his amusement as you just seemed anxious, and when dinner was ended, he watched you scurry from the room as if the Devil was at your heels.

"Oh, is my darling girl all right?" Elspeth asked in concern.

"She had a lot of wine," Farleigh smirked.

"Ah, yes," Mrs. Catton waved off, and Felix stood from the table shortly after.

Oliver stalked by the windows that evening, catching sight of you, still in your evening gown, cutting through the mist to head into the maze. He smirked, hearing Felix in his room - but then catching sight of Venetia through a different window. A different part of his plan roared to life that night; meeting the sultry sister under the moon, both knowing you were waiting in the dark for Felix.

You paced in the cold. Your dress drug through the grass, bare feet tickled.

The hour drug by slowly. You lit another cigarette, watching the mouth of the maze.

The second hour rushed by. Your stomach knotted.

Three, four hours ticked by. And you were left standing alone, in the middle of the maze, coughing and wheezing.

You dropped to your knees when your ailment turned physically violent; fingernails digging into the mud as you choked and heaved, trying in vain to clear your throat. When you stuck your fingers down your throat, you threw up bile, dirt, acid, wine, and long, bright yellow sunflower petals - sobs soon wracking your entire being.

He didn't come... He didn't come. He didn't come.

You threw up twice more, blood staining your chest and dress; teeth outlined in red, the dewy taste of pollen left on your tongue. You sobbed until your head hurt, and sobbed some more; confusion and heartache taking over. When you managed to find your feet, you felt lighter, thinner, smaller, less of yourself than you have ever before.

A piece of you had officially cracked away, being spewed into the mud and grass at the base of the Minotaur statue.

When venturing back to your room, you gasped when you nearly smacked into Duncan. You stared at one another in mild shock, his eyes taking in your state and you quietly begged, "Please... Don't say anything to Sir and Mrs. Catton. I don't want them t'worry until I know what's wrong. I-I'm going to the doctors, Duncan, please, give me time to figure this out."

He nodded sadly, shocked by the blood left behind. The following morning, he didn't wake you... He let you sleep, demanding you be left alone to the waitstaff. When Elspeth questioned your absence at breakfast as Ollie entered the dining room, Duncan was heard, "Miss L/N was up early this morning, went for a run. She went back to bed, said she didn't sleep well."

"Oh, the poor darling," Sir James Catton tutted.

"Morning," Ollie greeted, careful not to let his excitement show over your empty chair beside Felix. Venetia was staring at her brother in near anger, confusing him, but distracted instantly by Oliver's arrival. Sir James greeted him first, Venetia followed, and Felix invited the lad to help himself to a meal.

You had sobbed the whole night, puking bits of blood as the flower petals tightened your windpipe; the tackiness making them stick like glue. You didn't know what to do - there was no way you could face the Cattons now, not after Felix surely told them that you would leave Saltburn (for good) soon.

But sometime after breakfast, there was a knock at your door.

"Come in," you bid quietly, debating if you should start packing or not. When Felix entered, he was holding a bouquet of sunflowers, smiling softly.

"All right, love?"

"What?"

He chuckled, "I'm asking if you're all right, we missed you at breakfast."

You just blinked stupidly, "Uh, y-yeah, guess I am."

"Good," he chirped, approaching you and handing over the flowers. "Got these for you, thought maybe you could use a bit cheering up?"

"Why would I...? Felix, is there - is there anything you want to say to me?"

"Uh, no? Not really, I mean, I was gonna see if you fancied coming with us to the field?"

You stared at him in confusion. "You... Don't want me to go?"

"Go? Go where?" He laughed, "Cause yes, I'd like you to go with us... To the field? I just asked you - you sure you're feeling all right?"

"Um, y-yeah," you swallowed thickly, petals peeling back down your throat. "Thank you, for these," you accepted the flowers.

"Figured, with your parent's anniversary comin' up, should keep you close, you know?"

You shook your head, "Wasn't even on my mind, Fi..."

"And I just put it there, Christ, Felix, fantastic job," he cursed himself, hand through his hair in stress. "I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean - "

"You didn't, it's fine - I-I mean, I'm fine," you assured, trying to stave off tears. "Actually, Fi, I'm feeling a bit tired, think I'll nap."

"Duncan said you were?"

"No, no, I didn't get back t'sleep," you nearly whispered, needing to clear your throat again. "You lot have fun, I'll find you later."

"Sure? 'S Ollie's first time," he taunted. "Don't wanna miss that, do yah, love? And we're reading The Half-Blood Prince together, can't miss that."

"I'll catch up tonight, promise," you nodded, "just tell me what chapter you get through."

Felix stared at you, reaching to pinch your jaw and pet his thumb down your cheek. He whispered, "Sure you're all right?"

You nodded, shaking off his touch, hating how easy it was to fall in love with him. "Just tired, pretty boy. Promise."

"All right, well... Find us later, yeah?"

"'Course."

But you didn't leave your room for three days, unable to control the vomiting spells, the blood, the pain, the petals... The gutwrenching heartache. Venetia checked on you damn near every other hour, sitting, resting your head in her lap, stroking your locks in comfort as you sobbed.

"Tell me what's happening?" She begged, unable to get it out of you yet. But you felt another wave, jumping from her embrace to rush into the restroom; sliding on your bruised knees in front of the toilet. She followed, and like her brother's done many times, gathered your hair to hold back. "Jesus fucking Christ!" She gaped, seeing the blood and long, bright yellow petals. "Are those - what the fuck is that!?"

You heaved greatly, throat shredding as blooms and stubby stems cut up your esophagus. When you stared at the devastatingly beautiful blooms coated in your blood, floating atop of the water, you looked up at your friend and confessed, "I'm in love with your brother."

"I know, babe - "

"And he doesn't feel the same," you sobbed; breaking down, panting for breath, Venetia dropping to your level to pull you into her chest. "I-I-I left him the letter, Ven, I-I-I asked him to meet me..."

"He didn't show?"

"I waited hours!" You wailed, finally breaking down after the past couple of years caught up to you. "He never came! An-And then, he shows up with flowers - with fucking sunflowers! - acting as if he never saw my letter! Acting as if he didn't know! Like - Like it's easier to ignore than confront!"

"Oh, sweet girl," she whispered, gently rocking you both as you couldn't catch your breath.

Neither of you attended dinner that evening. Felix showed up again, like he had everyday, asking if you were hungry while holding a plate of toast and mug of tea. But you had passed out in Venetia's arms, the fake blonde waving her brother away, doing her best not to snap at him - remembering she made you a promise that she wouldn't interfere. You feared if she got involved, you really would be asked to leave Saltburn and you had nowhere else to go.

The following morning, you were up before Venetia.

"Hey," she grunted, stretching in your bed after spending the night. "You all right? What're you doing?"

"Goin' for a run," you answered, lacing your trainers.

"How do you feel?"

"Well," you sighed, "pretty fucking foolish, but it's summer. Yeah? Best not to dwell on what I can't have..."

"But it's killing you, love," she sat up.

"I'll get over it," you assured, not believing yourself. "If he can act as if nothing's happened, so can I. Do me a favor, though, love?"

"Anything."

"Sit between us?"

She frowned, watching you head out of the room. When she peered from the window, she saw you setting off around the ground and flopped back into bed for another hour.

"Oh, there you are!" Elspeth gasped when you entered the dining room that morning - jetting out of her chair. "Oh, darling, are you all right? Gave us a fright - thought you were sick or something!"

"Just a wee stomach bug, I promise," you accepted her embrace.

"I'm glad you've joined us," she whispered. "Felix has been dreadfully annoying."

"I can hear you, Mum," Felix groaned when you two pulled back. "Ven, hop down one," He told his sister.

"No, no, stay put, love, I can sit here," you assured the siblings, taking the seat on the other side of the sister.

Felix frowned instantly. "Don't think I've ever seen you two sit apart all these years," Sir James teased, reaching to pat your hand. "Good to have you join us, darling."

"Thank you," you whispered, Duncan placing a plate before you.

"How come she's served?" Ollie wondered without thinking.

"Miss Y/N has been unwell," Duncan replied stiffly.

"Oh, tell the truth, Duncan," you smirked, "I'm just your favorite."

It spurred the family on, Farleigh offering you a look of confusion from across the table. You waved him off, not once looking to your left at Felix - only ever answering Venetia by looking directly at her, avoiding her brother.

Felix felt something in his gut shift as you avoided him more and more. Venetia all but moved into your room, or you into hers - not wanting you alone in this time of duress. Meaning, each time Felix tried to get you alone for questioning, his sister was driving him away. When hanging out as a group, you no longer were at Felix's side, but opted for Venetia and Farleigh's.

It left a gaping hole for Ollie to fill - happily.

"Did I do something, you think?" He asked Oliver one day, floating in the lake, watching you braid Ven's hair as she read from her copy of The Half-Blood Prince.

"No, just maybe," Ollie shrugged, "it's, I don't know, girl stuff?"

"I'm her best mate, she never avoids me like this," Felix frowned. Oliver hated how genuinely hurt Felix sounded. "Seriously, what did I do?"

"I couldn't say, mate. Maybe just let her cool off, come to you when ready," he advised, watching Felix nod sadly and stare at you from behind his sunnies. He craved Felix's attention that you so effortlessly warranted.

You didn't sit with Felix during movie nights anymore, opting for the furthest seat on the floor at Sir James' feet. You didn't spend the night in his room once, nor let him into yours. You weren't on his tennis team. You didn't share sunbeds.

You no longer met for midnight swims, something that made Felix explicitly sad. He waited with his feet in the water, but this time, you were the one who never showed up.

You didn't sit with him at meals, making his family acutely suspicious. Yet neither of you seemed at odds - so, what were the truly worried over? You acted as if there wasn't a thing wrong, but they all noticed the sickly state you took on.

You thinned out, you barely ate a fourth of your meals, you went on runs as often as you could - even in the sweltering heat. You barely slept, creating bags under your eyes, dull, lifeless hair, and a concerning docile attitude. It was as if you were haunting the castle, barely visible, making yourself into a shell of who you once were.

You simply weren't yourself and the Cattons had no idea how to help. Elspeth sent tea to your room. Sir James let you pick movies for family movie nights, but you never seemed interested. Farleigh tried to engage you on the daily, but nothing seemed to register. Even Oliver put on a show by approaching you at the lake, sitting beside you, trying to strike a conversation.

"Sorry, Ollie, I was about t'go for a run," you eased.

"Been goin' on a lot of those. Want company?"

"No," you refused.

"Sure it's a good idea?" He asked. "Been throwing up a lot, might make it worse."

This made you freeze from where you had stood, slowly turning to look down at him. "Excuse me?" You seethed. "You spying on me?"

"I can hear yah sometimes," he nodded. "You're hiding it from the others, aren't yah? The blood, the tears... The way you're wasting away?"

From a short distance, Felix recognized the angry look and body language you wore. Slowly lowering yourself, you hissed to Ollie, "You keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll make sure you're on the first train back to fucking nowhere tomorrow morning. Hear me? You don't know shit about a Goddamn thing, you don't fucking know me, and if you're smart, you'll shut the fuck up, Oliver."

He watched you with a small smirk; standing over him before vacating the lake's shore.

That night, Oliver heard moaning from the adjoining bathroom. Upon his 'investigation', he spied Felix in the clawed-foot bathtub; steam wafting from the water, sweat beading down his skin, and bicep pumping vigorously as he pleasured himself. But what infuriated Oliver was the subtle, nearly slurred and unintelligible moan of your name from Felix's mouth. It seems, despite his best effort to drive a wedge between you two, there was lingering emotion that neither knew what to do with.

You were withering away, and Felix was self pleasuring to you.

Oliver had to up the ante, but how? You avoided the Cattons on a rotating basis - not letting any of them too close to figure out you were devastatingly ill, except Venetia. And the sister wasn't about to spill this darkening secret of yours, she was loyal to a fault.

Only Oliver seemed to know this dark little tale, figuring Felix hadn't even admitted his feelings for you to himself. Perhaps why he found relief in the tub, releasing into the water with a tear falling from his eye over the idea that you no longer wanted to sustain a friendship. It was all terribly confusing for the summer residents at Saltburn. And yet, in an effort to feel closer to Felix than you ever had, Oliver climbed into the draining bathtub and slurped Felix's cum as if it were water from The Holy Grail.

It made him feel superior. It made him feel as if he were winning an endless race. Made him feel like he was validated in pushing you out in favor of himself - no matter the history between you and the Cattons. Made him feel like he was solidifying himself amongst the distant royalty and you were giving reason to be thrown out of Saltburn.

But he would underestimate the power of family.

He got a little too cocky the night he met Venetia outside, in the moonlight, with Farleigh watching from his window.

The following morning, there was a pounding at your door - a rare night Ven didn't sleep with you. When you opened the door, Felix came pushing in, looking purely distraught.

"Look, I know you're pissed at me for whatever reason - but I fucking need to talk to you, okay? Please - I-I feel like I'm about to lose my mind, Y/N, love, please - "

"What's happened?" You asked, shutting the door. "I was about to head out - "

"Please, love! Please!"

"Christ Almighty, all right, the fuck's goin' on with you? Hey? Looks like you're gonna give yourself a stroke," you approached him, caressing his bicep. "What happened?"

"He kissed her."

"Come again?"

"Fucking Ollie - Oliver! He fucking kissed Venetia!"

"When?"

"Last night, Farleigh saw them."

"Oh, love, c'mon, you know Farleigh doesn't like Ollie."

"So, he's lying? You think he's lying?"

"I didn't say that, but you're all worked up. C'mon, just breathe for a minute, gonna pass out from the way you're huffin' and puffin'."

"Please, be serious! This is serious!"

"I know it is, I'm just trying to be rational."

"So, Farleigh's lying."

"Well, I don't think so - kinda a huge lie t'tell, innit?"

"I thought so," he snapped, hand through his hair in anxiety. "I-I mean, how could he? How could Ollie do this - I-I mean, my sister? My fucking sister?"

"Love, if you're this worked up, just go talk to him," you tried. "Ask Ollie point-blank what happened."

"Would you ask Venetia?"

"No, darling, that's not how this works."

"Well, how will we know who's lying? Farleigh or Ollie?"

"I don't know - is this even something to lie about? What did Farleigh say?"

"He saw them - tonguing - practically eating each other!"

You sighed, "Love? You're not gonna want t'hear this."

"God, what?"

"Venetia's a big girl, she can tongue and eat who she pleases."

"It's bad form, though, innit? I mean - he's my friend, my guest, here under my invitation, and he gets with my sister?"

You shrugged slightly, "I don't know, Fi, but she's allowed to do as she pleases; Ollie, too. It's not like either are dating someone, hey? What? You jealous? Of your sister?"

"Fuck off with that, know that's not it," he snapped again.

"What is it, then?"

"It's another Eddie situation!"

You sighed, "Fi... You can't horde people, right? Ollie bein' here, he's free game to you, Farleigh, Ven."

"And you?"

"Fuck no, lad gives me the creeps," you blanched.

"Still?"

"Yeah, fuckin' still. Call it intuition, but there's something off, Felix. I know you don't want to hear it, but when I have ever been wrong? Huh? Tell me."

"You've not been."

"Exactly - I know a leech when I see one. So, you draw your assumptions, but perhaps what Farleigh saw is true, perhaps not - but you'll get more answers by confronting the truth than ignoring it."

He sighed, dropping to your bed, shaking his head. "Well..." He mumbled, "What do you think?"

You paused, "Doesn't matter."

"Does to me. Please, love, it's Eddie again and I don't - "

"All right," you relented, sitting beside him. "My money's on... Something happened, it's just a matter of what, exactly. How about we go to breakfast, see what the energy is there."

"Feels like I can't stomach anything."

"Your mother and father will be upset if we don't go down, c'mon," you whispered, standing, offering your hand. "I'll sit with you, and if you get upset, you can just lean into me, yeah?"

He took your hand, but didn't get up. He just stared at where you were conjoined, rubbing your hand with his thumb. "Does this mean we're fine? That things are... Are things okay between us?"

"Never not been fine, Fi."

"You've avoided me since we got here."

"I've been dealing with shit - "

"That you won't tell me about," he scoffed.

"Yeah," you agreed, his eyes shooting up to meet yours, "you're right, I won't tell you 'cause I can't yet. I want answers first... Then we can talk. I've gotta figure this out for myself, Fi."

"Well, I can help, you know?"

"No, you've helped plenty," you alluded. "C'mon, breakfast."

"Fuck's sake," he grumbled, finally standing, but tightening his grip on your hand. You lead the way to the terrace the Cattons decided to dine at that morning, being the last two to arrive.

There were two seats side-by-side.

"Good morning," you greeted the family that took you in, Felix silent and angry as he took his seat - but still pulled yours out.

"Morning."

"Good morning, darlings," Elspeth breathed from the head of the table.

"You sleep well?" Ollie asked as Felix whipped his cloth napkin to his lap.

"No, not really, mate," he grit, not looking at the boy and instead, reached for your hand. You handed him a cigarette, placing your own between your lips - both forgoing morning meals.

"We're 30 for dinner tomorrow night," Sir James informed the table. "Stopford Sackville has cried off."

"Oh, dear, that's a shame," Elspeth feigned sympathy.

"God, I forgot about fucking dinner," Felix tilted his head back, speaking between his stick as you lit the end of yours - then reaching for his after nudging his bulging bicep to warrant his immediate attention.

"Wait, who is coming to dinner, again?" Farleigh asked.

"The Henrys," Ven reminded.

"No, please!" Farleigh whined quietly.

"Who are the Henrys?" Ollie asked.

"Dad's friends," Ven filled in, Felix glaring at you as you laced your hand with his and squeezed in warning. "They're all called Henry."

"Not all of them," James corrected. "Just most."

"It'll be fun," Elspeth assured.

"It'll be being molested by Henry," Ven continued, swallowing a bite of croissant. "You know which one."

"Oh, I'll put you next to Oliver, then, he can molest you instead," Elspeth quipped, Felix strangling your hand.

"Don't," you whispered, Ollie's head cocking at Ven in an unspoken conversation. She hummed an amused chuckle. Felix glared at them both before looking back at you, silently begging you to let him snap. "Not right now, please, just breathe," you whispered in his ear, ensuring none others heard you.

"Oh, Oliver, I was going to say, we should do something fun for your birthday. Y/N's is at the end of the summer, we can combine efforts! A proper party! No Henrys, something actually fun. What do you think, darling?"

"Mum, you know Y/N doesn't celebrate anymore," Felix seethed with offense.

"Oh, I know, but it might be fun - a combination party?" She offered. "Darling?"

"If Oliver and Y/N would like it, I think it's a splendid idea," James agreed with his wife.

"I think Oliver looks like he'd rather throw himself out of a window," Farleigh chimed, everyone knowing to avoid asking you your thoughts since you couldn't celebrate without your parents - it just felt wrong. Like a betrayal. So, you no longer celebrated the day of your birth, but the Cattons looked for any reason to throw a party.

"What kind of party?" Oliver asked Elspeth.

"I don't know, whatever you want!" She insisted. "What do you think? About 100 people?"

"A hundred?"

"Or two! It invariably ends up being two, doesn't it, with this sort of thing?" She asked her husband, who hummed in amusement. She told Ollie, "Invite whoever you want. All your friends."

"What friends?" Farleigh leered.

"Oh! Oh!" James folded his paper messily in excitement, jumping to attention, "How about fancy dress?"

Ollie reached over and nudged Felix in curiosity, picking up on his angry demeanor. Your best mate looked down at you, making you lean your chin on his shoulder. "Oh, yes!" Mrs. Catton agreed.

"I can wear my suit of armor, Elspeth!" James giddily exclaimed with a childlike grin that made your heart weep gently.

"Good idea, darling," she agreed as Venetia stood hastily from the table; all knowing where she was going, and what she was going to do. "We could have a theme!" She distracted, you watching Venetia and knowing you needed to follow. She'd been caring for you in your illness, you could at least hold her hair back, too. "What about Midsummer Night's Dream?" Elspeth looked around for opinions.

"Lovely," James prasied.

"Bring on the slutty fairies," Farleigh mused.

"Awh, lovie, you'll still be the sluttiest fairy, don't worry," you teased, glancing back again and seeing Venetia escape inside.

"You wanna match my sluttiness?" He asked you.

"As if that was ever in question," you shot back, Felix offering you a small look. "I'll be right back," you excused yourself, standing from your seat but bending at the waist. You whispered in Felix's ear, "I've gotta go, 'M sorry, just keep calm, love. You're all right."

"Find me later," he requested, holding your hand a moment longer before letting you escape.

"So," James grinned as you walked away, leaning in towards his son, "how are things with you two?"

"Yes, darling, you two seem better! Did you finally tell her how you feel?" Elspeth asked.

If Felix was surprised by his parents knowledge, he didn't show; instead scoffing lightly, "Yeah, right..."

"Oh, darling - "

"She doesn't feel the same, Mum," he refused, sighing deeply - making Oliver's stomach coil. "Just leave it, all right? We're just friends, only ever gonna be just friends - she's part of the family. No need to mess all that up."

Farleigh smirked subtly and took a drag from his cigarette.

While hosting the Henrys for dinner, you felt another tide turn while sitting amongst the rich and fabulous. You knew them all, of course, grew up knowing them and attending these dinners with your parents. But something was amiss, something churned your stomach and clenched your heart.

You felt your chest tickle and tighten, the desperate need to cough nearly strangling you; Oliver paying close attention to your struggle from beside Felix. You coughed unexpectedly, seeing blood splatter onto your plate and without a single person noticing, you got up, excused yourself, and rushed from the dinner table with a hand over your mouth. Duncan swiftly cleared your place setting.

"Hear that, love?" Felix turned to look at you, only finding an empty seat. He looked around in case you were mingling, not spying you, and slowly got to his feet.

"Where are you going, darling?" James asked, "Sit, sit - "

"I'm only going to check on Y/N," he explained.

"No, no, sit, sit, sit, we know she's been fighting her stomach all summer," James waved off, and slowly, Felix went against his instinct and sat down. Venetia felt her heart steel in annoyance, wishing her brother would just wake up and realize what was happening.

When Oliver caught Venetia's eye, she questioned, "Felix warned you off, then?"

"Well, maybe we just need to be a bit more careful," he hushed.

"No, thanks," Ven refused, not one to sneak around her own home to satisfy her brother's jealously and possessiveness. "It's just sooooo disappointing," she snipped. "You're just another one of his toys."

"Like Y/N?"

"Y/N's not a toy," she barked.

"You're upset," Oliver noted.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm used to it - honestly. I mean, he never liked sharing his toys. Even the ones he doesn't want to play with anymore."

Oliver cocked his head, wondering, "Well, he's kept Y/N around this long."

"Y/N isn't a toy, Oliver, not to Felix, not to this family," she sneered in anger. "And he won't ever grow tired of her, she doesn't hold a temporary position in his life - unlike most." She chuckled dryly, "Honestly, do you not get it by now? She's the gatekeeper, and you're just a passing interest. You won't ever truly be his because she already is, and there's no replacing Y/N L/N - not to Felix, not in this lifetime." She offered a fake smile and turned from him to face her left, distracted by one of the Henrys.

Oliver knew all that, and he was working on removing you from the portrait - but it seemed, maybe he didn't have to work too hard. A rare disease had infected you the moment Oliver Quick laid eyes on Felix Catton - eating away at you internally, making you lose interest in yourself, plaguing you with self doubt to the point you couldn't look in a mirror without seeing a stranger. When Oliver decided to act against the pretty, rich boy, he started a chain of events that lead here: him, in a tux, at a dinner party, and you, shattering the frail skin on your knees from how hard you dropped to them - spewing blood, wine, and sunflower blossoms.

You choked harshly, make up ruined from your blood, sweat, and tears; hacking out most of a put-together flower. Your throat was shredded, dripping blood down into your lungs to slowly fill them again - floral growth breaking the barrier of your organs, sending unimaginable pain through your body.

You heard the karaoke begin, heaving over the sounds of drunken antics. You slowly crawled out of the bathroom, sniffling as you used your bed to lift your fragile body to your feet only to strip from your gown and crash into bed. Weakness invaded your muscles, exhaustion coated your bones, and your eyes stung with the endless supply of tears that would stain your cheeks.

Morning came far too quickly, and with it, Farleigh's forced departure from Saltburn. You were all dreadfully confused, Venetia explaining he'd been caught nicking items from around the house to sell for a profit - perhaps feeling desperate, wanting to help his mother without needing to ask for the help.

You weren't sure what to say to the situation, so you said nothing, but felt desperate to scream for your own help at the top of your lungs. The closer Ollie's birthday drew, the more you bent over the toilet, the more blooms that tore from your lungs and esophagus. You were at a loss over what to do, fearing you were too late for a doctor, and on the hottest day of the year, while everyone was outside by the water, you were inside, scouring the vast and random library.

"Miss," Duncan leered from behind you, no longer causing fright. "Is there something I can help you locate?"

"No, I'm just doin' some more research, Duncan, thank you, though."

"On what's wrong, Miss?"

"Yeah," you frowned, storing another book. "Nothing answers my questions, nothing explains this condition."

"Hm," he considered, "may I?"

"Please," you gestured him forward, watching in mild curiosity as he moved the ladder, ascended, looked over the spines of the many books and then made his selection.

"I've read every book in this library, and think this might help," He explained, handing you the dark green book about Japanese lore and watching you instantly finger through it.

You eyed him for a moment, asking, "You haven't told them, have you?"

"I found your request for privacy reasonable," he nodded, "and have not told the masters of the house."

You nodded, breathing in relief. "I promise, I'll tell them soon - when I figure this out."

"I think you already have," he mentioned, glancing at the open book in your hands. When you looked down, you had paused on a page titled: Hanahaki Disease.

The chapter was filled with detailed accounts of previous patients and sufferers; all giving a recollection of their battle with the unknown illness. You looked up at Duncan in shock, rereading the passage that told you what you needed to know:

"Hanahaki Disease can be fatal by making the infected vomit flora; either just petals or full blooms. There are three known variations of the disease, but all are caused by unrequited love - making the process often long, drawn out, and incredibly painful. The first variation involves the infected confessing their love to their desired, and that love being returned. This is the cleanest way to cure Hanahaki Disease. The second variation includes the desired not returning the known affection, leaving the infected to undergo surgery, a viable but messy recovery. The operation removes the plants growing in the lungs, but in turn, also removes all known traces and memory of the desired - but it does result in the infected being cured. The third and final variation is the worst, where the infected confesses, the desired does not return any affection or want, and leaves them to suffer until the bitter, bloody end. Without care or caution, this disease can become unmanageable with common side effects including but not limited to: blood loss, weight loss, avoidance, isolation, fear of food, fear of living, fear of affection, miscommunication, blood from other bodily orifices, and uncontrollable depression, anxiety, and other mental afflictions. Most infected never fully recover from the aftermath of this disease, and even when their love is returned, they are often haunted by the damaging effects of unrequited love."

You stared at the passage in shock, looking up slowly to spy Duncan staring at you in pity.

"I had a companion like you are to Mr. Felix, once," he confessed. "I was dedicated to my job, loyal to the Cattons, and in turn, he suffered greatly because I couldn't love him how he deserved." Duncan blinked at you twice in the silence that stretched between you. "My advice, Miss? Do not wait - you should come clean to Mr. Felix, let him decide how he feels, and should he not return your affection, I will take you personally to the hospital, where you might choose to undergo the procedure."

"And lose all memory of Felix? Of the Cattons? Of Saltburn?" You asked in desperation, tears swelling in your sunken eyes. "Not likely, Duncan, they're my family. I couldn't bear to forget them, even if it means I should live - I wouldn't be alive anymore. Not without him, not without this family that took me in without a moment's hesitation. I'd lose myself."

"But you'd have the chance to discover something new," he argued gently. "You have your own decisions to make, Miss, but I can only tell you my deepest regret was being so far up Sir James' arse that I missed the life that passed me by. And now," he sighed, "I live with the fact that I condemned my beautiful Roger."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Duncan..."

"I do not wish to see you suffer more than you have been," he frowned. "But I understand the fear you have, emotions are terrifying, especially for the young. But love is not conditional, Miss... Remember that. And having only a part of Mr. Felix would result in losing yourself entirely, whereas losing a part of him would result in you rediscovering all you are. Just... Just something to think about."

"How did you find this?" You asked softly.

"After Roger, I had no reason to care for much else other than the written accounts of those who passed before me. It felt like I was given a life to live, if only vicariously. I've read them all," he reminded, gesturing to the grand library, "and when I found this, I knew I had my answers. That being afraid costs us more than being brave."

You read the book in its entirety. You soaked in every recorded account.

Duncan's words weighed on your heart, and the last few nights leading up to Oliver's party were spent on bruised knees. Venetia still slept in your room a few nights a week, begging you to seek medical attention, and you promised her, after the party, you'd take action. She didn't need to know you were lying just yet.

But as it seemed, your lies were minuscule in comparison to others.

The day of the party arrived, Felix taking Ollie out for a drive as a birthday present. Where their destination was, you didn't know, you couldn't care, because watching them drive off the property dropped you to the ground as your heart felt as if it were physically shattered. You couldn't breath, the sunflowers strangling you from the inside, and after watching the love of your life drive off with another lad, you felt as if your fate was sealed.

That was it.

He didn't love you, he had Ollie. There was only so much love to be given at a time, and Ollie soaked it all up. You didn't stand a chance, you knew Felix's infatuation was out of control with Ollie's pitiful background piquing his interest. You felt like old news, you felt abandoned, alone, cold, heartless...

"What're you wearing tonight?" Venetia asked, tossing pieces of clothing around. "Felix is wearing these sort of golden wings, want to match?"

"What are you wearing, love? Maybe I'll match with you?"

"No, no," she grinned, "I've just found the perfect outfit for you!"

She squealed in excitement, turning to show you the dress seemingly made out of strips of fabric and a corset; creating an ethereal look and design. The color was pale, moss green with shimmering pale golds and nudes paired amongst the fabric. It created an illusion that the mini dress moved and swished around your thighs, and when she handed you golden gladiator sandals, you were sold.

Venetia spent more time helping you get ready than she did herself. She ensured your hair was pinned off your neck, that your make-up was mystical and covered in glitter, corset cinched at the waist to show your figure, and that you had a smaller pair of golden wings to top off your slutty fairy look.

Farleigh would've been proud.

The dress showed off your back, only thin straps keeping it in place as the wings were small enough that you weren't hidden under them. You showed more skin in that dress than you had all summer, your thinning frame tailored under Venetia's talented fingers.

Her hands clapped when you showed her the final look.

"Love the spider web chain," you complimented, clipped her in.

"Sure?"

"It's a look, Ven, you're stunning," you complimented, smiling at your friend with genuine kindness. "C'mon, I think I can hear people arriving."

Once more, Venetia squealed and snatched your hand, racing from her room and leading you into the party on the grounds as the sun was beginning to set. After greeting Elspeth and Sir James, complimenting their chosen costumes, you were sucked into a night of young debauchery; Venetia pinned to your side.

And thankfully, she was there to witness the moment you gave up. Moving through one of the darkened rooms, you were mingling with old classmates, happy to see familiar, friendly faces, and just as you turned, your glass shattered to the floor with the last bit of your heart and composure.

You saw Felix, clear as day, dancing with none other then fucking India - the girl you felt most in competition with, besides Annabel. He was so close to her, they were practically fucking; seemingly distracted by one another, they didn't even notice the party.

"Oh, love," Ven turned to you, but you just gave her a pained look.

"I'm gonna go," you rushed.

"No, wait - "

"I need to be alone, Ven," you insisted, the tears starting as your chest felt too tight in the crowded room. "I told you, I fucking told you, he doesn't feel the same," you sniffled, her eyes widening as you felt a familiar metallic taste in your mouth.

When your hand lifted, you smeared blood from your lips and nostrils, blinking in recognition - knowing what was to come next.

"I-I-I have to go, 'M sorry," you rushed, blood oozing and dripping down your neck in artistic scribbles. You didn't bother hiding this time, turning from your fellow drunkards to escape outside - heading for the maze, like you always did when needing to be alone.

Your room wasn't safe, anyone could find you there. The entire home was overrun with party-goers. The grounds surrounding Saltburn unsafe for your breakdown, as well.

So, you raced to the one place you felt safe anymore: the maze.

Your blood stained the shrubbery as you stumbled through it, trying to hold together, but the moment you reached the Minotaur statue, your legs gave up, mud squishing to your knees, and instantly coughing, hacking, and heaving blood from your lungs.

Long, pretty bright yellow sunflower petals came out in an abundance, the most it's ever been, before you were vomiting full blooms again.

You felt woozy, dizzy... Less than human.

You just wanted it to stop.

When you left Venetia's side, she noted you beelining outside and knew immediately where you had run off to. In unfiltered anger, she turned and shoved through the crowd up to her brother, grabbed him by the strap of his wife beater, and yanked him after her.

"Oi! Hey, hey, hey, Venetia! What the fuck are you doing!?"

"You've fucked up!" She raged, ignoring the looks from others and lead him outside so they could hear each other.

"Are you out of your mind?" He demanded.

"Are you!?" She sneered. "The fuck are you doing!?"

"What?" He scoffed, "What am I doing wrong, dancing at our party? Hmm?"

"With that skank!?"

"Hey!" India barked, having followed them outside.

"This doesn't concern you!" Ven barked, Felix feeling on-edge with his sister so enraged.

"You're talkin' about me, I think it does!"

"Ven, what the hell's gotten into you - "

"It's about Y/N!"

Felix froze for a moment, then looked at India, "Go inside."

"What!?"

"Piss off, India! She's right, this doesn't concern you!" He snapped, the girl scurrying away with her tail tucked firmly between her legs. When Felix looked at his sister, he demanded in a rush, "What about Y/N? Where even is she - "

"I promised her I wouldn't intervene, I swore I wouldn't say anything - especially to you, but you're such a fucking idiot, if you're not fed anything, you don't get it!"

"Is this really the time to insult me?"

She glared, steeling her jaw and gritting, "Y/N's in the maze."

"Okay? She goes there - "

"No, listen to me," Ven sneered. "She's been in love with you, Farleigh and I both figured it out - but it was really fucking obvious."

Felix blanched in shock, "What?"

"She's in love with you, you fucking idiot! She's been sick the whole summer because you can't love her back!"

"How - what are you on about!?"

"She's been throwing up blood, you're honestly killing her by doing what you're doing with all these girls! By ignoring whatever you feel - by denying it repeatedly! It's not fair! All she's done is love and support you, care for you, protect you, and you're fucking killing her!"

He blinked, "She loves me?"

"Yes, you fucking imbecile! And tonight was her last straw, I fucking saw it! She lives here, you jagoff, and you're dancing with India - right in front of Y/N? In her own home? Where she's supposed to be safe!?"

"I-I didn't - I didn't know!"

"No shit, because you're both fucking idiots who talk about everything except your feelings! Do better, Felix! Now, go! She needs you to be a fucking man - go! She needs you, Felix, she's in the maze, don't fuck this up more than you have!"

He didn't hesitate to shoot off in the direction of the maze, Farleigh catching sight and pushing his brows together before realizing he was sprinting after you - I mean, who else would Felix move that fast for? Into the maze Felix went, and Farleigh knew, everything was about to change. Elspeth and Sir James didn't notice a thing, too distracted by their party, but there was another watching; a set of dead, ghostly blue eyes nearly glowing in the night as they locked onto their prey fleeing the party.

Felix sprinted his way through the maze, an expert at navigating, and when he made it to the center, his own heart constricted to a suffocating depth.

"Oh, my girl," he rushed to your side, getting on his knees and holding your weakening body as crimson dribbled from your mouth. The pool of blood was grand enough that he worried how you'd make it through the night; floating sunflowers a hauntingly beautiful sight in the dead of night. "Hey, hey, you're okay, you're all right, I got you - I'm here," he whispered, smoothing hair from your face. "It's me, it's your Felix, love, just focus on me, yeah?"

And finally, with a sniffle that did little to nothing, you looked into his eyes with yours rimmed in red. "Fi..."

"Don't talk, save your energy, I'm gonna get you somewhere safe - "

"I've gotta tell you something."

"Tell me after we get to your room, yeah?"

Your head shook, "If I wait longer, it'll get worse."

"Sweetheart, please - "

"I'm in love with you," you finally confessed to him, unable to look him in the eyes for a second longer. You stared at your demise, blood soaking into both your knees. "Have been, I think, since I moved in here," you whimpered, "and after my parents died, I fell so fucking in love with you that it hurt. But out of fear of losing this friendship, I couldn't - I couldn't tell you. And now, it's killing me, but you deserve to know: I'm so fucking in love with you, makes me physically ill. I-I can't do this anymore, Fi, I just can't - the pain is too much and I've already lost so much - "

"Felix?" Ollie called in a drunken whine, entering the center.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, man!" Felix snapped, whipping around to glare at Ollie as you folded into his chest out of sheer pain. Of course, in the midst of your confession, nobody but Oliver fucking Quick would show up. "Get out of here! Now, Ollie, I'm not fucking joking!"

"Is she all right?" He asked, stumbling a bit.

"What the fuck are you still doing here!? Get out, fucking go, this doesn't concern you!"

"We need to talk, I need to talk to you!"

"It's fine, talk t'him," you wheezed, trying to get to your feet, but failing out of sheer weakness.

"No, you need to fucking go, Ollie! Now! Y/N and I need to talk a helluva lot more than we do!"

You used his shoulders to stand, "Talk t'him, Fi, don't let this shit happen t'someone else." He glanced to your blood as you let go of him, stumbling just out of reach, towards one of the maze exits.

"We need to talk, Felix!" Ollie demanded as you slipped out of sight.

"No, you know what? Fuck you!" He barked. "You're not what's important right now, Ollie! For fuck's sake!"

"Don't go after her," Ollie sneered, stepping in Felix's way when he climbed to his feet and meant to go after you.

"Fuck is wrong with you, mate!?" Felix raged, shoving Ollie back several steps. "Hey? So fucked in the head, you think you take precedence over my girl?"

"Y-Your girl?"

"Fucking Y/N!" He shouted. "Yes! My fucking girl, that I was so blinded by you to fucking see what was wrong! Now fuck off!"

"She's nothing - "

"SHE'S FUCKING EVERYTHING!" Felix shouted, you pausing in the maze when you heard it. "You and I can talk later, if I even fucking want to, but right now, my girl needs me - not fucking you!"

"I see she's got you so blinded - "

"You think Y/N's the problem here?" Felix sneered, getting in Ollie's face; fisting the lapels of his blazer. "Huh? You blaming her?"

"No, just saying - "

"All the wrong fucking things," Felix shoved him back again. "She's all that fucking matters to me!" He shouted again, you slowly nearing the entrance into the center of the maze, remaining hidden behind a shrub. "Not you, not all your lies - but her! It's always been her, but you fucking knew that, didn't you!? You saw what we were, what we had, what we could've been, what we were dancing around, and just had to wedge yourself between us, yeah? I didn't see it before, but your fucking lies - all your fucking lies, you were trying to ruin the best thing in my life! And you might've just succeeded!"

"She doesn't deserve you! None of them do!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Oliver!?" Felix cried, "Leave me the fuck alone! Leave us the fuck alone! Leave my family the fuck alone! Christ! Please, stop!"

"We need to talk!" Ollie now approached Felix, making him back up into the statue.

"We can't - we can't, are you fucking crazy? Haven't you ruined enough!?"

"Me!?" He snarled. "I didn't ruin shit, it was her! It was all her, don't you see? You pitied us against each other, I had to do this! For you! You can't just throw me away!"

Felix lost his temper, shoving Oliver again, "Get the fuck away from me! I can! I can and I will throw you away - for her! I'd do anything for her, don't you fucking get that!? I didn't see before, but now I do, the slimy, scum you are - and I'd throw you away a hundred times if it meant being with her! Fuck out of here, leave us alone!"

Oliver shouted as he grabbed Felix's shirt, "Look, I just gave you what you wanted!" His voice lowered to a quiver, "Like everyone else does. Everyone puts on a show for Felix! So, I'm sorry that my - m-m-my performance wasn't good enough, like Y/N's always is."

You crept from the shadows, neither lad noticing; intrigued by the words being slurred, shouted, and weaponized.

"I think... I think you need to see somebody," Felix whispered, not willing to admit aloud that Oliver was scaring him. "You need help, okay? Seriously."

"No. No, I don't," Ollie sneered - sounding almost sober. "I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you."

And there it was - another confession. Your heart (or whatever was left of it) felt heavy, like it was being constricted and anchored to your feet.

Felix whispered, "I love Y/N, mate, you have to know - wasn't exactly a huge secret, except to us. To her and I, not you and I, Ollie."

You felt something akin to shock spark in your gut, blooming an unknown warmth through your body.

Oliver begged, "You're the only friend I ever had, Felix." His thumbs pet Felix's face despite him trying to wriggle away; being touched by the psychotic liar terrifying him - but no more than the feeling of dread he had watching you stumble away. "Okay... I mean, doesn't this just prove how much - how much of a good friend I actually am? How well I actually know you? I'm still the same person! Yeah?" He whimpered, "I'm still the same person."

"I don't know what you are," Felix whispered in reply. "But I do know you," he paused, confessing, "you make my fucking blood run cold." His head shook, "I know friendship - and it's not this, Ollie, it's not built on lies and deception. Y/N? She's everything to me, mate, and you tried to ruin that. You're a fucking liar, Ollie."

He gagged a little, releasing Felix to stare at him with a sense of defeat. Oliver gagged again, shoving the opened champagne to Felix's chest, muttering, "Wait there a sec," before stepping away to throw up on the opposite side of the statue. He knew the other boy wouldn't be able to resist an open bottle of alcohol.

However, Felix felt it was his opening to escape, and when he looked up, he caught sight of you.

Your finger rose to your lips in a silencing motion, glancing at a puking Oliver, and Felix didn't hesitate to drop the bottle and race for you. When his hands smoothed over either of your cheeks, he checked behind him - seeing Ollie still at a distance - stooping to scoop you in his arms, whispering, "We have to go, love, fucking now."

You agreed and let him rush away into the maze, and before you could exit, Oliver was heard bellowing, "FELIX!"

"What the fuck was all that?" You asked, hiding yourself in his neck; neither caring for the blood being stained.

"I'll explain everything in a minute, love, let me get you somewhere safe," he rushed, the party sounding around you once more. He deflected anyone who got in the way, shoulders bullying past people, ignoring his name being cried out. Up the stairs, down a hall or two, and he was rounding into your room. "All right, hang on," he deposited you on your bed, rushing into your restroom and locking all the doors except the one connecting your room. The main door was also locked.

"What's going on?" You asked.

"He's a liar," Felix panted, wrangling from his wings as he approached you. "But it doesn't matter right now - what matters is our truth. You were interrupted before, but I have to tell you, sweetheart, that your affection isn't one-sided. Okay?" He knelt before you, taking both cheeks in hand. "You're not alone in this, I-I should've told you so much sooner, but I love you, too. No, no, I'm - I'm in love with you and I'm so sorry I didn't say it. Hear me? I'm in love with you, Y/N, I'm so sorry I was selfish, that I didn't see the pain you were in that I was causing."

"Wasn't your fault," you whispered.

"It's all my fault."

"I should've said something, too."

"You're the one who's been suffering all this time, this is on me. Okay?" His head shook, wiping the streams of blood from your nose and lips. "You're a fucking wreck, darling, should've said something so much sooner - saved you from all this pain."

"I was afraid, and didn't want you to know."

"I made you feel as if you couldn't talk to me," his head shook. "Listen to me, I-I have to go warn Mum and Dad about Oliver, but you stay here - "

"You're not leaving," you insisted. "Call Venetia's cell or Farleigh's, tell them whatever you're worried about, and stay here, with me, where you're safe. I don't know what I heard, but I don't think Ollie's well in the head and he's gonna gun for you."

He sighed, "They won't answer. The party's - "

"Just try..."

He agreed and grabbed his cell phone from his pocket, dialing his sister as he got you a wet cloth. She answered when he was knelt in front of you again, wiping the remnants of your near-death experience from your face as he explained at a rapid speed a condensed version of events.

When Venetia assured she would tell Elspeth and James, he hung up and brought you in for a tight hug. "Should've told you," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"I am, too," you whimpered, holding onto his neck tightly.

"C'mon," he sighed, pulling back to gaze at you, "let's get you changed and in bed - 's been a fucking nightmare tonight."

"How fitting."

"How so?"

You half-smirked, "A Midsummer Nightmare's Dream, innit?" He matched your fleeting amusement.

That night, you and Felix slept beside each other in a secure and locked room; both unconscious when Oliver approached your door and tried to get in before being apprehended by two footmen. He was locked in the basement for the night, given the chance to sober up before morning, when the police would be phoned.

When the sun broke the horizon, Felix woke with a start. You were already awake, looking up at his pale face, begging him to tell you the truth behind Oliver. He looked as if he would be sick, giving you a detailed summary of what happened the day before - all the lies Ollie told, how his parents were alive, well, and very kind. How nothing he's told Felix was true - all some form of fucked up lie to make him seem more broken for Felix's endearment.

"Am I that bad, love?" He asked in a hushed tone.

"No, you're just... You just have an affinity for broken things," you answered. "And he gave you what you wanted, tenfold."

"I feel so stupid."

"For being kind?" You shook your head, caressing his cheek.

"Not very kind t'let you suffer in silence, was it?"

"You couldn't have known how bad it all was, I wasn't exactly truthful either."

"You protected yourself, while Ollie... Ollie put on a fucking show to get attention, to seem so different, make me feel like I'd be a fool to ignore him," he scoffed. "I'm so sorry, love," he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. "But I meant what I said - you're fucking everything to me and I'd throw everyone away if it meant being with you - keeping you."

It felt so good to assure him, "You have me, Felix. 'M not goin' anywhere."

He smiled gently, sighing in relief, asking, "Can I kiss you now? Please, love, think we've waited plenty long enough."

You didn't answer, you only lifted you lips to his and sealed your fate - meshing into one heart, soul, and one being. Two halves, made whole; cut from the same cloth and stitched together. His tongue swept across the seam of your lips, mingling with yours and never knowing when he had felt so complete while kissing a woman.

Because he hadn't. Everyone else before you was a place holder, temporary, a fleeting interest. You were a part of him, never wanting to experience life without the other, but as the house slowly woke up, you were both reminded of reality...

There was still a madman to be dealt with, and Felix wanted a front row viewing to ensure Oliver Quick was truly gone and your lives in a relationship could finally start.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

other Hanahaki Disease fics:

featuring: Eddie Munson from Stranger Things

Cherry Blossom Colored Kisses

Tears in the Rain

Gone with the Sin

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Time.

You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will all have their own ways of helping you heal.

Pairing - Santiago Garcia, Frankie Morales, Benny Miller, Will Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, mentions of blood, gunshots

Word Count - 4329

Author's Note - hi lovely people. i loved writing this one so much oh my :( those four boys in one movie together is a dream. and i don't know if you noticed, but i have a real soft spot for will. and yes, i did photoshop ben afflecks character out of that picture. more than happy to write for any of the triple frontier boys individually - just send me an ask! as always, lots of love x

my other triple frontier fics - Tethered, Tranquility and Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Masterlist. Requests.

It’s been 6 days since you were shot.

6 days of blood, pain, sterility, stitches, hazy memories that float into your consciousness like smoke in the air.

You somehow remember it both clear as day and blurry as night.

The metallic taste of copper in your mouth, clear as day.

The searing, burning pain in your side, clear as day.

The panicked looks on the boys faces, the yelling, the frantic scrambling – clear as day.

The rest of it? Blurry as night.

You can’t remember getting home. One minute you were bleeding out on the ground in Colombia, and the next minute you’re back on US soil, lying in a bed in Houston Methodist Hospital.

You can’t remember your discharge. You fell asleep on those sterile, crinkly white sheets, and woke up in a soft bed, wrapped in a navy blue comforter that smells like Will.

All you’ve known for the last 6 days is sleep. That molten sleep that moves like molasses, warm and slow and sticky. The sun rises and sets, and you’re none the wiser. Floating aimlessly through unconsciousness, just you and your dreams.

Unbeknownst to you, you haven’t been alone for a minute since you got home. The boys have taken turns sitting by your bedside, heart rates rising whenever you stir. All of them silently processing what all of this means, for you and for them.

It was damn close. Too much blood. Pints after pints after pints of it. Pouring over Will’s hands, soaking into Benny’s jeans, slipping beneath Santiago’s boots, choking the air around Frankie where his forehead was pressed to yours, begging you to stay awake. All of them wondering the same thing – where has all of this come from? Surely one person can’t have so much blood in them. It can’t all be from her.

The Doctor said that you got lucky. Any more blood loss and you’d have lost your life too. Your surgeon said that you owed your life to whoever stopped the bleeding.

William ‘Ironhead’ Miller. He’d shoved his hand straight into the wound, applying as much pressure as he could without breaking any ribs. It was the worst thing he’d ever seen, but he was in fight or flight mode. He knew it had to be fight. He hoped you were making the same choice as you were lying there, breath rattling in your chest like pennies in a tin can.

Some would call it a miracle. Divine intervention, perhaps. You shouldn’t have survived. Scientifically, statistically, you should have died right there on that floor, in a mission gone wrong. Tragic accident. Caught in the crossfire. Collateral damage.

But you didn’t. Now, you’re half conscious in Will’s guest bedroom, enveloped by his scent. Warm, cozy, safe, and alive. You’re struggling to stay awake for more than ten, fifteen minutes at a time. It’s all catching up to you. You had to fight so hard to take each breath, that now you’re exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that sleep can’t fix. No, it’s settled into your gut, wrapped it’s limbs around your bones. It keeps you weighed down and heavy, a reminder of the trauma. You’re alive, but you’re tired. So tired.

The boys are worried. Worried beyond belief. When the Doctor told them she was happy to discharge you, reality hit the four of them like a high-speed freight train. How do they navigate this? You can’t go home. You can’t be by yourself. They’re all back on Texan soil, which means work, and family, and bills to pay, and routines to carry out. How do they factor in the woman they call their best friend, who’s currently in the deepest sleep of her life with a healing bullet hole in her side?

“I’ll take her,” Will had said. “She can stay with me, in my guest room. You guys can come over whenever you want. I have the most space, anyway.”

That was true. Santiago and Benny live in apartments, bachelor pads really, and Frankie’s second bedroom is his daughter’s room. She was only with him on weekends, but she needed a place to sleep, so that was him out of the question. Having you stay with Will made the most sense. They all agreed to come and sit with you in shifts, so Will could go to the grocery store, or for a run, or to take a shower. The Doctor never actually said that you needed twenty four hour surveillance, but the boys thought it would be best. Just in case.

So that’s exactly what they did. You’re on bed rest, and they’re all happy to play nurse for a few hours during the day, and to leave you with Will during the night. He’s been sneaking in to sleep in the armchair next to your bed. His room, a mere ten feet away, feels too far. He wants to be able to hear if you need his help. Just in case.

None of the boys quite know how to treat you. They don’t want to act any differently around you, but it’s hard not to. They haven’t seen you like that before. You, a force to be reckoned with. The backbone of the group. You, with your sharp wit, quick humor, blinding smile. You, who always seems to be a step ahead of them. You, a pillar of strength, proving yourself just as capable in this world designed for men. Lying on the ground, painted crimson, you looked fragile. Small. Frail. You looked so… innocent. So afraid. That was the scariest part for all of them – seeing the fear in your eyes. They’ve never seen that before. They never want to again.

So, they all take their different approaches. They cope the best way that each of them knows how.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Frankie visits, he always brings a book.

Cracking open the door, he pops his head around the frame, smiling as he sees both you and Will asleep – him in the chair, you cozy in bed. He gently squeezes the blond man’s shoulder, whispering as he wakes.

“I got her for a while. You go do what you need to do.”

Will shoots him a grateful smile and stretches his arms above his head, before padding out of the room, softly shutting the door behind him.

Frankie opens the curtains, letting the soft morning light fill the room. It illuminates your face, catches on the strands of your hair, making it glow. You look like an angel, in this orange haze. But Frankie already knew that.

Your eyes flutter open, and land straight on the broad man standing next to your bed, trusty cap sat atop his head. You smile, and his heart stops for a second. God, he’s missed that sight. All of the tension from the last week leaves his shoulders, and he sinks into the armchair next to you.

“Hi, Francisco,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse from minimal use.

“Hi, cariño,” he whispers back. “You doing okay?”

You nod, golden smile still etched on your face. The wound in your side is a dull ache, and the psychological pain keeps washing over you in spontaneous waves. But you’re okay.

“You here to babysit me?” you tease.

He smirks, which is all the answer you needed.

“You don’t need to. I’m okay, I swear,” you insist.

He looks at you and quirks an eyebrow, the corners of his lips still turning up slightly.

“Well, you’re my baby, and I’m sitting,” he winks. “Now that we’ve established that, what do you wanna do for the next few hours?”

His abysmal attempt at a joke makes you chuckle, which in turn makes you wince, pain shooting through your abdomen. He jumps out of his chair towards you, placing a hand on your cheek gently.

“Shit, querida. I’m sorry. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

Breathing deep and slow, you tilt your head to meet his eyes.

“Yes. For you to stop fussing. Sit down, Francisco. Your nervous energy is making me stressed.”

He exhales carefully, and presses a kiss onto the top of your head.

“Yes ma’am.”

He returns to his original place, and grabs a book from the nightstand.

“Have you read this already?” he asks, showing you the cover.

You shake your head, and he flips to the first page.

“It sounds good, actually. You comfy, cielito?”

You nod gently, holding his gaze. He flashes you one of his signature smiles – the rare, genuine, time stopping ones – and begins to read softly, in that dulcet, honeyed voice of his.

He reads to you for hours. You were only awake for 45 minutes, but he continued reading aloud anyway. Morning becomes afternoon, yellow sunlight beating through the open window. A gentle breeze blows the curtains and ruffles Frankie’s hair that is ever so slightly too long for his liking. He’d be perfectly content to read to you like this forever. He’s gotten so into the plot of the book that he doesn’t notice Will stood in the doorframe, watching with those careful eyes of his. They gleam blue in the sunlight, his golden hair glinting like citrine. He eventually catches Frankie’s eyes, and the older man makes his way over to the door, both boys talking in hushed whispers so as not to wake you.

“Has she been okay?” Will asks, eyes scanning your sleeping form.

“Perfectly fine. She was awake for about 45 minutes,” Frankie replies, pride evident in his tone.

“That’s the longest she’s been conscious since. Progress, huh?” Will smiles. Frankie can’t help but smile too. A week ago, they were huddled around your lifeless body, hands deep and bloody in your wound. Now, they’re watching you slumber peacefully, life returned to you like a gift from the universe.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Benny visits, he brings comfort with him.

He uses his key to let himself into Will’s house quietly, aware that you’re most likely asleep. It’s been a week and a half since everything happened, and while you’re awake more and more each day, you’re also still on bed rest.

Creeping up the stairs and peeking his head around the door that’s ajar, he finds Will sat at the end of your bed. You’re awake, but barely. The light shines from the hallway into the bedroom, and illuminates your tear stained cheeks.

Will wipes your cheekbone with his thumb gently, and moves to meet his brother. The older Miller pulls Benny into the hallway, shutting your door momentarily.

“She’s having a real bad day. The worst since she’s been home. The memories are flooding back man, they’re drowning her.”

All the colour is gone from Will’s face. He looks helpless. His brother hates it.

“I don’t know how to help her,” Will continues. “The tears won’t stop. It’s like every time she calms down, another nightmare takes her by surprise. I don’t know what to do, Ben. I don’t know what to do.”

Will’s voice is shaking, tears threatening to spill from those cerulean eyes. He has a hand fisted into the front of Benny’s shirt, as if he’s grounding himself. There’s something unsettling about seeing the calmest person in the room start panicking. Benny doesn’t like it.

“Hey, it’s okay. She’s gonna have bad days, that’s a given. Go get some fresh air, go for a drive or something. I’ve got her. I ain’t gonna leave her.”

Benny looks pointedly at his big brother, and inhales deeply. They exhale together, and Will wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“Are you sure?”

Benny nods. Will trusts him.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything and I will come straight back. I mean it, Ben. Anything.”

Benny pulls his brother into his chest, holding him for a moment. Will isn’t used to being the glue holding everything together, he thinks. It’s usually you.

Will pulls away and starts his journey down the stairs, momentarily pausing to watch Benny straighten his shoulders and clear his throat before opening your door carefully.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he smiles.

You don’t feel gorgeous. No, you feel like you’ve shattered into a million pieces in William Miller’s guest bedroom. The weight of your trauma has come crashing down on top of you suddenly. It’s suffocating and it’s choking you and no matter how many times you inhale, your lungs won’t fill with air. Tears keep streaking down your cheeks despite your best efforts to stifle them. You wonder if you’ll feel like this forever – forced to carry around the weight of surviving something that you weren’t supposed to.

Benny’s never been any good with words. So he tells you what he needs to with his actions instead.

He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, throwing it on the chair. Then, he unbuttons his jeans and slides them off his legs, tossing them sideways with haphazard aim. The last thing to go is his t shirt, which he shucks over his head with ease, landing somewhere with the rest of his clothes. He moves across the room towards you and pulls back the comforter. He strokes your cheek with his knuckles gently, looking at you carefully to gauge your reaction. When he’s satisfied, he climbs into bed behind you, pulling you mindfully to sit in between his legs, his chest pressed to your back. He pulls the comforter back up over the two of you, and uses his arms to cage you in to him, enveloping you in his warmth.

Benny’s always run hot. You joke that he’s like a walking space heater, a radiator if you ever need one. Right now, it’s like having your own ball of sunshine, warming you gently from the outside in. You feel the safest you have in two weeks.

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. He pulls you in tighter, and nudges your head to rest in the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply – the first real breath you’ve been able to take all day. He smells like sunshine, and salt, and sandalwood, and safety. You relax into him and let all the tension leave your body. You let go of the flashbacks, and the fear, and the chaos, and surrender yourself to Benny.

He stays with you like that for three days. He doesn’t separate himself from you more than a few inches for 72 whole hours, keeping his arms wrapped around you from behind, as if holding you together. When he gets up to go to the bathroom, he takes you with him. You stay attached for three days, skin to skin, allowing his warmth to seep into your bones, to settle your nerves. You’re convinced that no medicine could heal you the way Benny is. Science doesn’t have a match for this. It never will.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Santiago visits, he brings his guitar.

The first time he came to see you, right at the beginning, he sat with you for 20 minutes before he careened out of the room, gasping for air. The silence was strangling him, sending him into some sort of panic attack. Then, the guilt settled, and he felt like he’d betrayed you so badly that he couldn’t bring himself to go back in. He sat on the floor of the hallway with his back pressed against the door for 6 hours before Will returned home, concern coursing through his veins.

When Santiago explained what had happened, Will looked at him knowingly.

“You don’t have to be deathly silent, you know. You can watch some TV, turn the radio on. Frankie reads to her. Benny talks her ear off - doesn’t stop fucking rambling. I walked in the other day and he was explaining the current state of the NBA to her, team by team. She’ll sleep no matter what.”

Santiago nods, patting Will on the back lovingly before leaving, weighed down by shame.

The next time he visits, he brings his guitar.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s hoping you’ll be asleep. It’s easier to play for you if you aren’t looking at him like he hung the moon with those big, bright eyes of yours. But, lo and behold, he walks into the room you’ve made your own, and you’re wide awake.

“Hi, handsome,” you smile. “Where you been?”

“Oh, you know,” he smirks, “just caring for all the pretty girls that need my help.”

“And here I thought I was special,” you tease.

That smile of yours wraps itself around his heart, tangling in the core of him. You’ve always had that effect on the boys. One grin from you, and all of their problems melt away, even if just for a moment.

“You staying today, or you gonna run away again?”

You’re joking with him. Why are you trying to make him laugh? You should be upset, telling him that he’s a bad friend, that all of the other boys have sat with you for hours, so why can’t he?

But instead, you continue.

“I’m kidding, Santi. I get it, you know. I don’t think I’d be able to sit in a room with you lying there all half dead and helpless if the roles were reversed.”

You’re looking at him with so much understanding in your eyes that he has to choke down the tears that are trying to escape from him.

“It’s not that. It’s just – it’s my fault, bebita. You wouldn’t have even been in Colombia if it wasn’t for me. I’m the reason you got shot.”

He’s crying now – heavy, ugly sobs crawling their way from his chest, up to his throat. His knees give out, and he sits on the side of the bed, hands fisting in your comforter.

“Santi, baby. Hey. Look at me. Please, Pope.”

Your pleading gets his attention. He looks at you with those red rimmed, watery eyes, and your heart breaks so hard you swear you can hear it shatter.

“It wasn’t your fault, Santi. I followed you out there voluntarily. We all did. You know I’d follow you anywhere. I still would. It could have been any of us that got hurt. I’m glad it was me. I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing any of you in a hospital bed. It’d break me.”

You’re crying now too, at the thought of one of the boys in your situation. The bullets, the blood, the makeshift bandages they shoved into your side, ripping their shirts and tearing apart anything they could find. You couldn’t have survived that, if the roles were reversed. You wouldn’t have wanted to.

You press your forehead to his, hands tangling in the front of his shirt. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, needing you as close as possible.

You fall asleep like that, face pressed into him, his heartbeat in your ear. Santiago tucks you back into bed gently and takes his place in the armchair, settling down. Pulling his guitar out of the case, he tunes it slowly, meticulously, before beginning to strum the strings carefully. He picks at the strings, playing you tune after tune, only stopping to stretch his arms and crack his knuckles. He plays for you for hours, time slipping by him like sand through his palms. When you wake, you keep your eyes closed, savouring his presence for just a moment longer.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Will doesn’t visit.

He sticks steadily by your side, day in, day out. If Frankie visits for 6 hours, Will sits with you for the other 18. When Benny holds you for 3 days, Will gets anxious, popping his head around the doorframe every few hours, checking in just in case. Since everything happened, Will’s whole universe has revolved around you. Which, he’s realising, is the way it’s always been. His whole world has always been you. He’s just been forced to confront that truth now, and it’s scaring him.

He’s suddenly aware of the fact that he almost lost you. He’s never felt fear like that before. He’s had men press guns to his temple, shoot at him from mere feet away, fight him with their fists. That’s nothing, now. He’d take that any day over watching you lie there, drenched in crimson, dripping with pain. His hands, twisted into your side, wet and slipping, trying to quell the dam that’s broken inside of you. Your eyes, looking into his, terror grasping your whole body like a cold chill. When he falls asleep at night, all he can hear is the way you said his name, like it was the last thing tethering you to the Earth.

He makes a silent vow to himself. A promise - to never let you go again. To protect you forever, no matter what. All of this trauma has just made him love you more. He’s not sure what the future will look like, for him, or for you. But he knows that right now, you need him.

And so he pours all of his love into his actions. He makes you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and sits with you as you eat slowly. He eats at your speed, too - always doing everything at your pace. He combs your hair every morning gently, brushes your teeth twice a day carefully. He tucks you in when you fall asleep, pulling the comforter around you, keeping you safe and warm. As soon as one of the other boys leaves, he takes their place, sitting in the armchair – making sure you’re never alone. Whenever you’re awake, he listens to you pointedly, nodding and smiling. When you have a bad day, he’s right there next to you, wiping the tears from your cheeks and murmuring reassurances gently.

He watches as slowly but surely, you come back to yourself. You’re awake more often, smiling more confidently, cracking jokes and asking for laughs. The two of you are chatting like you used to, about nothing and everything. And you watch as slowly but surely, he returns to Will. The frown lines in his forehead become less pronounced, the worry in his eyes fades slightly. The smiles he throws your way are bigger, more genuine. The scales balance out again.

You’ve been in bed for two weeks when you decide to ask him for a favor.

“Hey, Will?” you query, looking at the blond man who’s currently folding laundry on the dresser.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he replies instantly, ready to give you anything you could possibly ask for.

“Can we go outside? I think I might go insane in this room real soon,” you smile, bright and bold.

He beams at you, relief washing over him like an ocean wave. You haven’t left your bed for a fortnight. He’s offered a couple of times, but you refused, scared to leave the comfort of the safe haven you’ve created. But you’re ready now.

“Of course we can. You want me to carry you?”

His tone is light, jesting, but you know he’s being serious. Neither of you are actually sure if you can walk all the way outside.

“I can walk if you carry me down the stairs? Not sure I’m quite ready for those yet.”

He grins at you, and your heart stops. That smile of his seeps into your pores, lifts you up, sends energy flowing through your veins. You’re alive, and you’re okay, and Will Miller is looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You feel invincible.

Admittedly, it does take you 20 minutes to get from your room to the back patio. Will throws a strong arm beneath yours, holding you up as you take the journey step by step. When you reach the stairs, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you carefully. Before he sets you back on your feet, he nudges his nose to yours, still grinning.

The sun soaks into your skin outside, gentle breeze rippling your t shirt that you’re now realising is Benny’s. The leaves rustle in the trees, and you inhale the world, as if seeing it again for the first time. Will sits right next to you on the bench, hand holding yours tightly, fingers interlaced as if he’s worried you’ll blow away.

You glance at Will’s watch and see that it’s only 1pm. You have so much time left. So many possibilities to be fulfilled, so many people to love, so many places to see. But for now, you press yourself into the blond man’s side, settling in. You fit perfectly. Almost as if this is where you belong.

“Can’t believe I almost died without telling you I love you,” you murmur. It’s quiet, but he hears you, loud and clear.

“It’s okay,” he reassures. “You’re here now. We have time. So much time.”

“Forever,” you whisper. “We have forever.”

He turns to look at you in the hues of the bright afternoon. His blond hair is glowing gold, and his blue eyes match the sky, hopeful and full of promise. His hands come up to cradle your face, and he caresses your cheeks with his thumbs, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. He moves in closer, and nudges his nose into yours. He breaks out into a grin, and you can’t help but join him. Leaning in, he presses his lips to yours, soft and reassuring. You melt into him, running one hand into his hair, the other at the nape of his neck. He pulls you impossibly closer, until every part of you is pressed together. The sun is still beaming, and the birds are chirping, and you have time.

“Forever,” he whispers into your mouth when he breaks the kiss.

“Forever,” you murmur back. “We have time.”

You have time.

You have time.

[luveline]

jade!!!! i’m sure you get this a lot but i would die for some hurt/comfort in the steve zombie au universe 🫠🫠🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

hi!! ty for requesting ♡ steve zombie!au (pre-college / mutual pining). fem!reader, 1k

cw violence

Steve swears the chills come before you've even drawn breath to scream. His name, at the very top of your lungs and sharpened into a knifepoint, "Steve! Steve!" 

He drops the lockbox he'd been inspecting without thinking and stands from his squat, setting off at an all out sprint in the direction he thinks you came from. Your third scream cements your location, as does the sound of a scuffle, your pained shouting down the stairs and hiding behind the countertops. 

People are animals, and you're far more vulnerable to a living person than a dead one. There's a tearing sound, fabric stretched until it snaps. Steve thinks the worst. A greasy guy pinning you to the floor, a gun to the soft curve of your neck.  

Steve shouts your name. "Where are you?" he shouts, his throat burning raw. 

"Get off of me!" 

"Stupid bitch." It's a girl's voice, crystalline. "I'll gut you throat to cunt."  

Holy fuck, Steve thinks. Holy fucking fuck. He trips over an overturned postcard stand and slams into the counter, over it, into the room behind it. You have your hand wrapped around your backpack strap, a month's worth of provisions being yanked on by a girl with a knife in her hands. You're both grunting in exertion, the girl's leg slamming up into yours. You take the beating, throwing your hand into her face with a clout.

"Get the fuck off of her!" Steve shouts, barrelling for the stranger. 

The knife presses to your throat. No holds barred. 

"Y/N, let it go!" Steve shouts, a quick command. He'd rather lose the bag than you. A million times over.

You drop your hold on the bag. The girl flinches back, the curve of her knife leaving a dribble of blood behind, startling red that seeps unsympathetic into the grey of your t-shirt. 

She rattles out past fallen bottles, that ever present crunch of glass under her feet like compressed snow. Steve is torn. Two seconds of indecision. Should he follow her? 

He didn't get a clear look at what she did to your neck. He chooses you, he should've chosen you the second he saw blood, but a month of food is a lot. You might die without it. 

"Shit," he hisses, leaping forward to assess your cut. It's dark but not pitch, the line of your cut shining from the very last reflections of sunlight. "How badly does it hurt?" he asks, quickly dropping his bag down the length of his arm. He almost splits the zipper, digging for a clean scrap of cloth. He settles for his last t-shirt, shaking it out before bringing it to your neck.

"The food. The food, Steve, you have to go get it." 

Steve shrugs. He honestly can't think about it right now. He'll explode. "How am I supposed to get it back? We don't have anything to fight with. You have your pen knife, I have a kids baseball bat and a hand crank torch." He frowns and pulls away the cotton. Your cut oozes. He dabs it dry. It oozes more, but there's no white line of dermis peeking through. "I could shove it down her fucking throat." 

You wince. 

"Sorry," he says, though if he's apologising for hurting you or saying something vile, he's unsure. 

"I'm so fucking sorry," you say back, ignoring him. "I'm sorry, Steve, I'm so sorry." Your throat moves under his hand cupping the cloth there. "We're fucked and it's all my fault." 

He can't speak. He doesn't refute your claim, though you're wrong, your words striking a chord deep in the most terrified parts of him. Sometimes, Steve feels that crushing panic of childhood, the feeling of hiding under your bed with a little heart pulsing double time between sore ribs. You're fucked. 

You're a strong girl, but it doesn't take much of Steve's silence for you to start crying. You sniffle and tremble and try to do neither, gently shaking hands reaching for his elbow. "I'm sorry. I'll figure it out." 

Steve moves his fingers along the curve of your neck, lying to himself about what the touch means.

A tear drips down your cheek. He doesn't kid himself into thinking they're purely for him. You're shit scared, you're always hurting, and a minute ago someone was holding a knife to your throat threatening to split you open. He doesn't know if someone's coming back to finish you both off. He needs to do two things at once. 

"Let's find somewhere to sleep for the night." 

"I'm sorry," you say. His throat aches in sympathy. 

"She almost killed you. The last thing I want is for you to die over a couple of cans of tuna and arugula." He taps your jaw with his index finger. "Seriously." 

"I'm fucking useless." 

"Hey, hey." He cups your cheek. "Don't say that shit. Why would you think that? Would you think I was useless, if it happened to me?" 

Your ashamed look breaks his heart. He's in fucking deep shit with you. Lately, it's been getting worse. You break a nail and he thinks about stitching it back on. 

"You're not useless. I don't wanna hear you say that. Okay?" he says sternly. 

"Sorry," you mumble. 

"I'm not sorry. I'll take losing a bag of food over losing you any day." He doesn't give you time to understand what he's said. "Come on. Hold this to your neck. We need to go before she comes back." 

Steve wishes he could say he lets you hold his hand on the walk back to your latest temporary lodgings, but it's more like he takes yours and won't give it back, using the little trembling of your fingers to assess how upset you are. Squeezing when it gets bad. 

[unholyhelbig]

Obsessed obsessed obsessed with Firecrest 🥺

Title: Firecrest (Part 2/???)

Read Part One

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Parental abandonment, horrible parenting, slight mentions of blood, reader has villain tendencies, and horrible grammar because I never proofread!

[A/n: I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I'm honestly really digging writing it. If this is something you guys would like me to keep going, I'll do my best. Just let me know!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

A sting worked its way through your knuckles before dissolving into a dull ache at your wrist. Sweat had started at your hairline and the small of your back before soaking through the wicked fabric of your tank-top. You could feel your shoulders cramping up. But, you’d stopped crying an hour ago. You feared that if you stopped assaulting the punching bag, then the tears would spill over again.

Lance had told you to take it easy. Your ribs had been bruised after the situation you’d left the benefit for. While you were grateful, said distraction packed a punch and you’d taken a swift kick to the gut and the side of a fire escape digging painfully into your side. It took everything in you not to throw the low-level criminal onto the pavement below.

Instead, you’d cuffed him and left him there until morning, or until law enforcement showed up. You were projecting, you were sure. But if your mother looked at you with pity one more time, you would have shoved him to his certain death.

You’d gotten out of the house and came to the boxing gym. The owner had given you your own key and it gave you enough privacy. If you had any tears left, you’d be able to shed them freely. You clenched your eyes shut and threw a solid round of punches, a scream of anguish ripping through your throat.

Two more hits and the bag became stagnant. Not the same, rocking defense that you’d been punching. You were used to the rhythmic sway and your eyes sprung open at the change in density. You’d ripped a bag before, sand spilling onto the floor.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shouted, taking a step back. Kate Bishop was on the other side of the bag, holding onto it with a concerned stare on her features. Her annoying perfect features, despite the late time of night. You panted. “Shit.”

“I called out, but you didn’t answer. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sorry.”

She released the bag and it swung back and fourth between you both. The chain that attached it to the ceiling squeaked in a rusted effort. Her stormy eyes flicked up nervously and then back to you. You knew that Kate used to come here with her father, her biological father, but you weren’t aware that she had the same key privileges as you.

You worked a hand through sweat-soaked hair and closed the distance to the side of the boxing ring. You used your teeth to pull open the plastic nib on your water bottle, soothed by the cool swallows. Kate watched you carefully. Her eyes roamed over your form, coated in sweat and toned from years of physical exertion.

You couldn’t stop your shoulders from trembling. Violent attempts from your body to assert it’s emotions. You could give in, and you could do so easily. But you would not. Not with Kate Bishop relinquishing her hold on the punching bag that you’d nearly turned to a pulp of sand and shredded upholstery. This wasn’t your dynamic. This wasn’t how things worked.

It was easy to take a lot of things that Kate was willing to give; a ride home from the gym, a doll that matched hers when the two of you were young, soft touches and harder thrusts. But one thing you refused to take was her pity. It leaked from her expression like a broken faucet and for some reason, that angered you.

“What are you doing here, Kate?”

“I came here to work off some extra energy. What are you doing here? I figured I wouldn’t see you for a few more months after you left the benefit early like that.”

“There was no reason for me to stick around.”

The answer fell from your lips in a deadened, emotionless tone. She clenched her jaw and then unclenched it, mulling her thoughts. There was an apprehension to her stance, even as she closed the distance between you both. She stopped just short of your fingers twitching to press against her hip, holding her in place. You lifted an unimpressed eyebrow.

Another swallow of now-warm water seemed to stop the uncertainty of your movements. You hoisted yourself onto the edge of the ring with a sigh, pressing your fingertips to your temples. Kate moved silently and leaned next to you. The quiet she offered was something you took, just like everything else.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Kate asked softly. You looked at her in confusion, lilting your head to the side. “You watched me fawn over Clint Barton for years. I had his posters in my room, and replica’s of his bows, and every news story ever written about him cut out and saved in a shoebox.”

“Because he’s important to you, Katie.”

“He’s your father.”

“He’s not.” You snapped. It was harsh. You forced yourself to relax, softening your voice. “He’s not. Lance is my father, and Clint Barton is far more important to you then he is to me.”

Kate swallowed thickly and hoisted herself up next to you. Her heat was overwhelming you with comfort. You didn’t have it in you to figure out what that meant, past your petty rivalry. She smelled of fresh detergent, of the winter air that clung to her so heavenly.

Her hand tentatively moved to your knee, and you didn’t stop her. You were still trembling and stilled at her closeness. “I’m not going to see him anymore.”

“Kate,” you chuckled sadly. “He’s your hero, and he trusts you enough to take over the Hawkeye name. You can’t throw that out because of his choices, and you certainly can’t throw that out because of me. We hate each other, remember?”

A look of sadness flickered momentarily against her features. The two of you had been in a constant head to head race to prove yourselves since you were young. Kate always came in first, and you had settled with second place; in school, in sports, in forced family outings. It used to end in toe to toe screaming matches.

But, the two of you were older now, and all that built up tension was easily released with stripped clothes and thrown around insults that did nothing but stir the excitement in your gut.

Being a hero was the only thing you were better at, than Katherine Elizabeth Bishop and you were sure that was about to change with Hawkeyes diligent teaching. Lance and Bobbi didn’t need the glory that came with being an Avenger- no, they kept the secret in the term secret agent.

“Right, of course.” She sounded out, nudged you with her shoulder. “But… you can still talk to me.”

You leveled her with an unimpressed stare. Despite her suave playboy attitude that infuriated you, Kate Bishop was not subtle when she wanted something. She chewed her bottom lip, both of her eyebrows raised in an adorable attempt to ease your nerves.

“Right, you’re right, sorry.” She moved to push herself off of the mat, but you wrapped your fingers around her wrist and gave it a tender squeeze. Kate froze in place before scooting back up, even closer this time. Her words reduced to a whisper, as if trying not to scare you off. “Okay.”

“Do you know what Terrigen crystals are?”

“We learned about them last semester, inhuman history. It’s a catalyst chemical that binds with red blood cells that are receptive to change.”

“Impressive.” You gave her a wolfish smile. “When I was growing up, my mom gave up her solo-agent status and conceded to joining a team, and one of their first missions together was to find, and retrieve these Terrigen crystals, the only ones in the entire world. They were meant to contain them, and nothing else, but things rarely go as planned.”

You were sure that Kate knew about the broken crystals that had leaked into the push and pull of the ocean. Fish naturally consumed the microscopic agent and soon, the Terrigen properties were distributed throughout the world commercially. Coulson had called it untamable. You remembered the fear in his eyes, and you had squirmed uncomfortably in the same Inhuman History class a year back.

“The day that things changed, my Aunt Daisy was in solitary confinement in the team’s underground bunker. My mom was busy running tests on her blood after she’d been exposed to the chemical agent. I knew how to stay out of the way, but happened to be in the lab with her when everything started to shake.”

“Shake?” Kate quirked a brow.

You nodded “The Terrigen crystal gave Daisy control of vibrational forces, but none of us knew that at the time. We just knew that something was wrong. The shaking startled everyone and my mom, she grabbed every Terrigen crystal but one.”  

If not for Jemma, if not for her quick reflexes and wrapping her arms around Bobbi, sending them both from the lab before activating the safety seal, then neither of them would have made it. Indigo mist rushed from the shattered crystal and you remember the acrid floral taste that coated your lungs. It suffocated you.

“The last thing I remember about that day is my mother sobbing. She had both of her hands pressed against the glass surrounding the lab. She wailed like I wasn’t coming back, like she had failed me.”

Kate whimpered your name “Y/n,”

A tear drop hit the collar of your shirt and wicked nicely with the drying sweat. You used the base of hand to delicately wipe the rest away and came to the startling realization that Kate Bishop was one of the only people who had ever seen you cry.

“Everything went dark, then. I remember this hot, prickling feeling and it was hard to move. And then there was nothing. I know now that it was some… some type of cocoon of dirt and stone, but it crumbled away easily when the Terrigen had taken it’s effect.”

“That must have been scary.”

“Terrifying,” You let out a watery chuckle. “But in the end, I was in the best place possible for something like that to happen. I was surrounded by people who cared about me, who loved me, and who could teach me how to control the fire that’s always just below the surface.”

You pulled one knee to your chest and leaned your cheek against it, keeping a steady eye on Kate. She was already watching you. Fingers toying with the small brass zipper of her sweatshirt. She looked beautiful in the dimmed lights, and being this close, stopping to talk to her, had given you an even view of her freckles.

“Clint was on a mission in the Baltic Sea with Natasha, or at least, that’s how my mom tells it. Point is, he wasn’t there and even when he did return he took one look at me in solitary confinement and packed a duffel bag. There were arguments, I’m sure, but I wasn’t privy to them.”

The last time you had seen your biological father was when he knelt down at the sealed doors of the lab. His hand was massive compared to yours, it looked unnatural and alien when he pressed it against the glass. There was a finality in his stare. He’d called you Sparky, and you’d giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world.

You could see the turmoil in her stormy gaze. There was the sense of betrayal there, and the quiet contemplation of someone who had just found out the reality of their hero.  Clint was her everything, her mentor, her teacher. He was the father figure she needed, and that was a clear line drawn in the sand.

Kate’s cold touch against your cheek, hot and tinted red from your earlier exertion, pulled you from your thoughts. Pity had replaced any semblance of anger she held onto. A whine moving involuntarily past your lips. You hadn’t realized how desperate you were for someone to touch you. For Kate to touch you.

Your relationship with the archer had never been any more than a succession of first and second place. A deadly dance that had culminated in open mouthed kisses and wandering fingers. This was one of the few times you’d had a serious conversation with her, a raw one that exposed wounds.

“I’ll do it,”

“Do what?”

You were hopelessly and pathetically lost. She smiled at that, an animalistic grin that often fell over her when she knew she was winning. You’d seen in countless times and couldn’t quite remember when it stopped annoying you and started turning you on.

“Pretend that we’re a couple,” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, dropping her hand and hopping off the edge of the ring. You missed her warmth, but it didn’t last for long. Kate was suddenly posted up between your legs, her arms draped over your shoulders. She was so close you could smell the mint on her breath. “To piss off Clint.”

Your hands naturally found her hips, not daring to squeeze them, “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“First of all, you didn’t ask. You saw the way Clint reacted to us sleeping together and your instincts to make him angry kicked in. Secondly, I already told him we’re dating. I have way too much talent for him to drop me as a protégé just because I’m banging his estranged daughter.”

“Wow, you have such a way with words, Kate. Really, I’m just fawning over you here.”

She rolled her eyes, but you couldn’t stifle the phantom of a smile on your face. No one had ever offered to do something like this for you before. Especially not someone this close to the playing field. People had called you a freak for most of your life, an inhuman disaster that had a hot temper.

The anger you could control. It was the intensity in which you loved that got you into the most trouble.

Footfalls echoed against the rain-soaked streets of the city. A deep burn resonated within your chest, sweat forming against your collarbone and dripping down the small of your back. You’d never seen the benefit to tactical suits in the summer. They kept heat in like no other and by the time the night was over, your entire body ached.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You’d lost one of the targets. It wasn’t something you’ve done in years, but your mind was admittedly somewhere else. You hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past week and it was showing in your sloppy work. Your mother had given you a worried look that only lasted half a second before you’d taken off.

The man you were pursuing was faster than you anticipated, but it wasn’t hard for you to catch up. You never understood why people ran into alleyways. They’d most likely lived in the city for their entire lives and knew that most of them ended in construction zones, or the end of a brownstone.

His chest heaved as he felt the wall behind him, turning and pressing his back against the wall. If he was desperate enough to run, you knew that he didn’t have a plan past this.

The tactical suit came with a few benefits that staved off the discomfort. While your mother preferred her staves, you had always leaned more towards a quarterstaff, a hot, reactive, type of metal that would glow a dangerous neon orange at just your touch.

It extended with a mechanical whir, your head tilting to the side. “Dude, really?”

“Look, I’ll never do it again!” His voice cracked like he was adolescent, but the beard that splattered the bottom half of his face betrayed the effects of his fear. “Just let me go, please.”

You closed the distance that lingered between you both, using the end of your staff to push up his chin. Your voice leaked with mock sympathy “Really? You promise?”

Half of his face was dripping with the blue dye from an exploding pack in a bundle of bills. His hands were coated entirely, the lapels of his shirt smeared from his lackluster attempt to wipe away the pigment. The man nodded vigorously.

“Oh, thank God, that’s a relief. I really thought I was going to have to take you in. The nearest station is eight blocks south and that would be a load of paperwork.”

“Yeah, yes, a lot of red tape” He shakily replied.

You slammed the quarterstaff into his gut. His breath left him, curling into himself as he fell to his knees. In the same moment, an arrow whizzed past you and lodged into his shoulder. His exhale of air turned into a scream of pain.

You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose. The fletching was a dark purple, almost black under the light of the moon. Telling the difference between Clint’s arrows and Kate’s hadn’t become an issue until now. Knowing that he was in the same city as you made you feel ill.

“I had that!”

The staff retracted and you attached it back in place on your belt. So, what if you liked to play around with the perpetrators every once and awhile? You did good work, but there were long and deep lulls of footwork in the hero business.

Clint stood at the mouth of the alleyway. His stance was shadowed with the concise way he carried himself. You couldn’t tell if he was alone or not, but didn’t get the signature winter scent from Kate’s presence.

He strode up to the target, pulling the arrow from his shoulder with a gentle tug. He put it back into it’s quiver as if it wasn’t slick with blood. Clint cuffed him, dragged him into a sitting position by the arm. You watched his languid movements with a resentment you didn’t know you harbored.

“Yeah, it looked like you had it, Sparky.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

His blue eyes flicked down to your hands, watching for any signs of a dull glow. He didn’t’ find any. You balled your fists and clenched your jaw. You didn’t owe him anything. Tonight, he seemed to be approaching you with contempt, now that his initial shock had worn off.

Clint clearly didn’t’ know how to handle you, or the giant emotional elephant in the room. It was nearing midnight and there was a storm brewing, you could smell it. The last thing you wanted to do was stand by the dumpsters and discuss your feelings, so you started to walk away.

“Kid, wait. I’m approaching this all wrong. I’m sure you had it handled.” His words didn’t stop you, but he jogged to catch up and fell in step. You glared at him, shoved your suddenly cold hands into the pockets of your suit. “We need to talk about Kate.”

This stopped you in your tracks. He wanted to talk about Kate. All these years separated, living completely different lives and he wanted to talk about your fake girlfriend. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s talk about Kate.”

“You can’t continue to see her.”

You stopped, standing in front of him with your arms crossed. He had a few inches on you, but you carried his stance. One of the only things other than his stubbornness that you had inherited from him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Kate is persistent, I’m sure you know that. It took months of her poking and prodding for me to even agree to take her under my wing. She’s a good archer, but she’s reckless, thinks too much with her heart and not her brain. She can’t afford to have distractions right now.”

A brick dropped in the pit of your stomach. The flames seemed to lick viciously at your pulse points. But, you swallowed it back and let out a sad laugh. “You don’t think I’m good enough for her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to, you did all the talking when you walked out on me at eight years old. Then you come waltzing back after years of building the family you wanted. The family that wasn’t filled with freaks.”

“Y/n, I don’t-“

“Because that’s all we ever were for you.” You growled at him. “the accident was just the excuse you needed to leave, and you’ve spent your time trying to make up for it by parenting every single stray that shows up on your doorstep expect for me.”

He was rendered silent, something that Clint rarely was. He opened his mouth and closed it again, a few times as if he was a fish out of water. You were breathing heavy, the words stinging your throat. You’d been harboring that for years, burying it deep inside. He’d tripped the metaphorical wire.

When he did find his voice, it was cracked and morose. “Okay. You’re right, you’re right.”

“I’m… right?”

He nodded sadly “I haven’t been fair to you, or your mother. I was a different person back then. I just don’t want Kate to get hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have.”

A step back from him seemed to clear your mind. For a moment, you wanted to crash into his safe embrace, to breathe in the scent of his aftershave. He was your father, your biological father, and despite it all, you were drawn to his kindness.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, mouth tasting of metal and bile. “You’re afraid of me, Hawkeye. You always have been.”

“That’s not true” He said it weakly.

“It is. You wouldn’t have run the moment I became different if you weren’t.” another step back and he didn’t’ dare to follow you. You vowed not to cry in front of him, or about him. Not now, and not ever, but you couldn’t stop the tears from streaking your cheeks. “You don’t have to worry about Kate Bishop. She can take care of herself. And so can I.”

[c-e-d-dreamer]

I Can Take the Upper Hand and Touch Your Body: Epilogue

A/N: So I meant to post this yesterday for @acotar-omegaverse-week's Day Four because hoo boy are they "Getting Knotty" in this, but then I had to actually do my job? And didn't have time to finish and edit. Booooo. So now I'm posting this today! Hope everyone enjoys this once again very smutty ending.

Read on AO3 // Previous Part

Six Months Later

Nesta is already sweating when she opens her eyes. Her whole body feels like it’s on fire, molten lava pounding through her veins in time with the heart beating between her ribs, in time with the beat of her heart rushing and echoing in her ears. Her skin feels stretched uncomfortably over her bones, and Nesta clenches her fists to keep down the desire to scratch at her arms, to claw at her throat. She shoves at the blankets tangled around her legs, but the slide of the fabric against her skin only seems to make matters worse, the relief Nesta is desperate for still so far out of reach.

With a whimper, Nesta rolls over, pressing her face into her pillow. She tries to focus on her breathing, on taking slow, deep breaths in and out to calm her heaving chest. Each inhale draws out more of the scent that clings to the fabric, and that at least helps to soothe Nesta’s quickly fraying nerves enough that she can think a bit clearer.

Nesta has always been meticulous in her tracking, in her planning. She always knows exactly when to stock up on supplies, when to take off from work. She always knows exactly what to expect, and this is not it.

It’s too early.

But Nesta knows that denial won’t help or get her anywhere. Because there’s no denying the slick already sticky and coating the inside of her thighs. There’s no denying the cramping low in her gut and the way her cunt clenches in desperation to be filled. There’s no denying that her heat has started.

Keeping her face pressed firmly into the pillow, Nesta reaches a hand down between her thighs, pressing the heel of her hand against her clit. The too long sleeve of the hoodie she’s wearing catches slightly around her fingers, and Nesta whines, trying to rock her hips down and chasing some sort of relief.

Perhaps, she shouldn’t really be surprised at her heat coming on. She’s been wearing the hoodie for two days now after all. She had also swapped the pillow she used with the one from the other side of the bed. And just yesterday, she had gathered up more of the blankets onto the bed. The perfect nest, and it hadn’t even registered in Nesta’s mind. She just thought she missed Cassian and the heat he always radiated to keep her warm while he was off with his brothers to some family cabin they visit annually.

Cassian. Her alpha.

Just thinking about him has another whine pulled right from Nesta’s chest. She reaches blindly toward the bedside table, fingers fumbling to find her phone. Another cramp spasms low in her gut, a fresh rush of slick dripping between her thighs, and Nesta lets out a frustrated sob, nails scraping against wood as her fingers curl. She continues to lay there, breaths panting out, when the soft sound of tinkling keys reaches her ears, the sound of a door opening and closing.

“Nes, I’m home. And we stopped for pastries on the way.”

The sound of that deep timbre draws out another whimper from her even as it slinks along her skin like a cool, soothing balm. It takes all of her willpower to push herself up off the bed, her steps wobbling beneath her as she pads out of the bedroom.

She finds Cassian standing in the kitchen, his back currently to her where he stands at the island. He looks so good with his dark curls pulled back into a bun, a soft looking cable knit sweater stretched over his wide shoulders, and his forearms on display where the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. Just the sight of him has Nesta’s cunt clenching again, has a moan tumbling past her lips.

“Alpha,” Nesta sighs softly, pressing her thighs together.

Cassian whirls around, and Nesta moans again at finally having that hazel gaze on her again. Especially when those eyes flare, a flickering flame that echoes the fire in Nesta’s own veins. His nostrils flare, and even with the distance between them, Nesta can see the groan that reverberates in his chest as he takes in her scent.

“Oh shit.”

Nesta finally tears her attention away from Cassian at the new voice, surprised to find Azriel also standing in their kitchen. Cassian’s groan morphs into a growl, and he spins back toward his brother, fisting clenching at his sides as he firmly places his body between Azriel and Nesta. An alpha zeroing in on a threat, ready to do whatever it takes to protect what’s his.

“I’m going. I’m going,” Azriel assures him, holding his hands up in a surrender.

Nesta is sure that Azriel must be moving, that the front door must be opening and closing with his exit, but Nesta is no longer paying attention to him. All she cares about is Cassian’s attention returning to her, that darkened gaze of his pinning her in place. All she cares about is how strong his scent is having him this close again, how it floods her senses in the best way. All she cares about is the way he steps into her space, his large hands finding her jawline and lifting her face to his.

Cassian leans down, his breath skating across her lips, across the skin of her cheeks, and Nesta’s knees almost give out. She fists her fingers into the fabric of Cassian’s sweater, pressing her hips forward against his own and tilting her chin up higher still, trying to catch his lips with her own.

“Please. It hurts.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Cassian kisses her sweetly, humming as he trails his lips along her jaw and down her throat. “Let me take care of you.”

Nesta keens when Cassian’s teeth scrape over the scar on her neck, the remnant of his claiming of her, the mark of their accepted mating. His hands slide down to her thighs, hoisting her up and against him, and Nesta wraps her legs tightly around his waist. She tugs at the hair tie in Cassian’s hair until his hair tumbles free back down to his shoulders again, burying her fingers in the dark strands of his hair and using her grip to draw his mouth back to hers.

She sighs into the kiss when her back meets the pile of blankets she intricately arranged on the bed. Cassian presses her deeper into the softness of it all, his hips rocking against hers. She can feel the hard line of his cock through the fabric of his pants, and her hands reach desperately for the buckle of his pants. She slips her hand beneath the waistband, her fingers just barely grazing against his cock before Cassian pulls her hand away, pinning it back by her head.

“I thought I told you to let me take care of you,” Cassian tells her, grabbing her other wrist and pinning both her hands above her head with the grip of just one of his. “Now be my good girl and lie still.”

Cassian sits back on his haunches, Nesta legs splayed out over his thighs. His hands slide over her ankles, up her calves, along her thighs, but once he reaches the hem of the hoodie she’s wearing, they trace right back down. It’s a tantalizing tease of calluses against skin, Nesta biting her lip while she tries not to squirm, determined to be good for her alpha and keep still.

“And look at this nest my good girl made,” Cassian continues, squeezing her thighs on the next pass. “Did you make this just for me, sweetheart?”

Nesta nods her head before remembering herself. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Cassian reaches one of his hands behind his back, fisting in the fabric of his sweater and tugging it off. He tosses it aside and leans back down over Nesta. This time, his hands find the hem of the hoodie, sliding it up over her hip until it’s bunched at her waist.

“Nothing underneath? How naughty,” Cassian teases, shifting until he’s settled on his stomach between Nesta’s thighs.

Nesta whines even as one of her hands snaps down to bury amongst the dark strands of Cassian’s hair. It’s unfair, the sight of him. How far her legs have to spread to fit the wide berth of his shoulders and chest. How large his hands are where they grip her thighs, fingers digging into the flesh as he holds her open. The one curly strand of hair that falls forward and along his temple. That cocksure smirk and simmering gaze as he peers up at her and licks her lips.

Her hips try to buck up, her body keyed-up and desperate with every second that goes by without his touch where she really wants it, but Cassian’s hold is too firm. Just that display of strength has more slick dripping from her cunt, and Nesta is sure she’s already made a mess of herself and their bed.

But she doesn’t care.

All she cares about is the need thrumming beneath her skin. It writhes in her veins and begs. Begs for pleasure. Begs to be filled. Begs for her alpha.

“Want your knot,” Nesta pants, tugging at Cassian’s hair like that will get him to move. “Need it.”

“I know,” Cassian hums, nosing along Nesta’s inner thigh. “Let me take the edge off first.”

Nesta wants to protest again, but before she can, Cassian presses his mouth to her cunt, any words dying in the back of Nesta’s throat. His tongue is hot where it slides against her, his groan reverberating all the way down to her toes. Nesta tosses her head back with a moan when he slides his tongue over her again, tracing all the way up to her clit, but it morphs into a frustrated huff when Cassian pulls away.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. I want you to watch the way you fall apart on my tongue.”

Nesta whimpers, and she needs to take a few breaths before she’s able to tilt her head back down, to meet Cassian’s gaze, the hazel of his eyes already swallowed by his blown out pupils.

“That’s my good girl.”

Cassian leans back in again, and this time, he devours her with a fervor. His mouth moves over her cunt like he’s a man starved, like she’s the last meal he’ll ever taste. Each circle his tongue traces over her clit has Nesta’s toes curling, and each time he fucks his tongue into her, her cunt clenches at the promise of the way she knows he’ll match that movement with his cock. She can do nothing but moan Cassian’s name, nothing but hold onto his hair, at the mercy of the way Cassian’s grip keeps her pinned, keeps her just the way he wants to have his way with her.

With her heat in full swing, it doesn’t take long before embers start to pool and burn low in her gut. She can feel herself climbing higher and higher, the blissful fog of pleasure starting to cloud her brain, as Cassian continues to eat her out. It takes everything within her to keep her eyes open, to keep watching Cassian. But when Cassian sucks her clits between his lips, she can’t hold out any longer. Her eyes squeeze shut, thighs snapping around Cassian’s head as her release tears through her, more slick rushing into Cassian’s mouth to swallow down with a groan.

She slumps back against the bed, sighing at the feel of Cassian pressing sweet kisses along the inside of her thigh. Those kisses trace upward, up over Nesta’s hip bone and stomach. He pushes the hoodie she’s wearing further up until he can tug it off completely, all without breaking his mouth’s contact from her skin.

“Cassian…”

Cassian hums rather than responding, his mouth closing over one of her breasts. Nesta cries out, arching up into him as Cassian’s tongue slides and swirls over her nipple. Those embers still burn low in her gut, stoked by the scrape of Cassian’s teeth over the sensitive skin of her breast. But despite the pleasure his mouth continues to build, it’s not enough. Still she needs more, wants more.

“Please. Cassian, please. I need–”

Nesta’s plea cuts off into a loud moan when Cassian sinks two fingers into her cunt. The long, thick line of them drag along the walls of her cunt, drawing out more slick with every thrust of them. Nesta’s entire body feels like it’s on pins and needles, her heat only adding to the intense pleasure of it all. And when Cassian curls his fingers, her every muscle tenses, cunt clenching down around Cassian’s fingers.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Can’t wait to have you squeezing my cock the way you’re squeezing my fingers.”

He switches his mouth’s attention to her other breast, his fingers continuing to drive into her cunt and stretch her. It’s almost unfair the way he knows her body so well, the way he’s able to work her exactly the way she likes, the way she needs. Everywhere his mouth touches, everywhere his fingers reach, has sparks ricocheting through Nesta’s whole body. And when Cassian turns his hand enough that he can press his thumb against her clit, adding to the pleasure, those sparks turn into a blaze as she goes tumbling right over the edge again.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful when you come,” Cassian tells her, sliding up her body enough that he can drag his mouth across her throat.

Nesta tilts her head to give him better access, her eyes fluttering when he finds that spot behind her ear. She whines when Cassian pulls his fingers free, hating that empty feeling, that ache that starts right back up again despite two orgasms already. But then Cassian is raising his hand toward Nesta’s face, dragging his fingers across her lips and smearing her own slick there.

“Now be a good girl and clean her alpha’s fingers for him.”

Nesta is all too happy to oblige. She sticks her tongue out, eagerly sliding it over the pad of Cassian’s fingers before sucking them into her mouth. She moans softly at the taste of her own slick blooming across her tongue, dragging and curling her tongue over Cassian’s skin as she swallows down every last drop. He presses his fingers deeper still, until Nesta's gagging around them, but still, she doesn't stop, desperate to please her alpha.

It’s all she can think about, that single thought fogging her mind, and she panics when Cassian pulls back, when he clambers off the bed and out of her perfectly good nest. Her hands reach out toward him frantically, a whine building in the back of her throat, but Cassian merely catches her wrist in his grasp, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm.

He focuses his attention on the buckle of his pants, quickly shoving them and his boxers down his legs, and any and all other thoughts eddy from Nesta’s mind once his cock finally bobs free. It’s already hard where it rests against one of Cassian’s strong thighs, and Nesta can already see where his knot has started to swell at the base, see where a bead of arousal glistens against the head. Just the sight has Nesta moaning again, has her cunt clenching and aching to be filled. She spreads her legs wider against the bed, raising her hips in open invitation.

Cassian chuckles softly at the display, fisting his cock lazily. “Do you need my knot, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Please, alpha. It hurts.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

Cassian kneels back up onto the bed, between Nesta’s spread thighs. His calluses slide against her skin as he lifts her leg, hooking it around his hips as he settles. He drags the head of his cock across Nesta’s cunt, through the mess of slick pooled there, and Nesta’s entire body shudders. She can feel more slick rush from her, feel it coating Cassian’s cock, and she throws her head back with a moan when his cock presses teasingly against her entrance.

“Cass–”

She doesn’t even have to finish her plea, her voice choking off as Cassian snaps his hips forward and buries his cock. Everything within Nesta zeros to where they’re joined, the omega part of her keening at finally being so full, at having her alpha’s cock right where it belongs. But still, it’s not enough, still she wants more.

But if there’s one that Nesta has learned in her time together with Cassian’s, it’s that he always knows. Always knows how to play her body. Always knows exactly what she needs. He pulls his hips back just to snap them back again, grinding and pressing his cock deep with every forward thrust.

“Fuck you’re always so tight wrapped around my cock,” Cassian tells her, building up his pace. “But you were made to take it, weren’t you?”

Nesta can do nothing but moan, wrapping her legs tighter around Cassian’s waist and rocking her hips to meet each thrust. Every drag of his cock has her cunt clenching. Every deep press has her toes curling. Every stroke of his body working over hers has those flames burning through her veins cresting higher and higher.

“And you take me so well,” Cassian continues to praise, Nesta keening and arching at his words. “That’s it, Nes. Gods, nothing feels like your sweet cunt.”

Nesta claws desperately at Cassian’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer still. She can feel the tease of his knot, the stretch that it promises. The promise of being so completely filled of Cassian. And she wants.

“Please. Cassian, please,” Nesta begs, digging her heels into Cassian’s back. “Want your knot.”

“So pretty when you beg. Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need.”

A few more thrusts and Cassian keeps true to his word. He slams his hips forward until his knot breaches and locks them together. Nesta screams, her entire body seizing up with her orgasm. She clenches down hard around Cassian’s cock and knot, her thighs shaking, as the warmth of Cassian’s seed floods her deep, adding to the pleasure and dragging out her release.

Cassian groans, rocking his hips shallowly and pressing deeper still. “What a good girl milking my knot. We’re not going to waste a single drop, are we?”

Nesta shakes her head, locking her legs tighter around Cassian, keeping him, his cock, his seed, right where it belongs. She sighs happily as she sinks back into the mattress, reveling and all but purring at the fullness, the warmth, the comfort that settles in her veins. Cassian focuses his attention on her throat, pressing gentle kisses along her skin. Nesta cards her own fingers through the dark strands of Cassian’s hair, humming when his lips trace over the mating scar. She feels like she’s floating, feels like she could fall back asleep just like this.

But her eyes snap back open again when Cassian pulls his hips back, his cock slipping free. That desperation claws back up her throat, tumbling past her lips as a whine. She can feel tears beginning to prickle at the corner of her eyes, and she tightens her grip on Cassian’s hair, trying to keep him there.

“No no no. Need your knot.”

“Fuck,” Cassian mutters under his breath.

One of Cassian’s large hands settles on her cheek, thumb stroking gently, and Nesta turns her head enough that she can lean into the touch, the way it soothes some of her desperation. She can hear rummaging to her left, what sounds like their bedside table opening and closing. Then something cool glides along the inside of her thigh, and when Nesta looks down, she finds one of her knotting toys now in Cassian’s hand.

He drags the toy over her cunt, coating the silicone in her slick. When he reaches her clit, he turns the toy on, Nesta tossing her head back and gasping at the vibrations. He traces a few circles before bringing the toy lower, sinking it into her cunt. Nesta moans at the intrusion, at now feeling those vibrations along the walls of her cunt, but Cassian doesn’t move. With a huff, she decides to take matters into her own hands, moving her hips and fucking herself down on the toy.

“Gods, look at you. So fucking beautiful, Nes.”

Nesta moans at the praise, and she tries to work her hips faster, squeezing down around the toy. She tilts her head back down again only to find Cassian now stroking his cock, his gaze pinned on where the toy disappears into Nesta’s cunt over and over. She whimpers, her bottom lip finding home between her teeth, and Cassian must be able to feel her attention, his lips twitching up into that tell tale smirk of his.

“See what you do to me, sweetheart? I’m already hard again.”

“Want the real thing. Want your knot.”

Cassian groans at her words. He pulls the toy free, tossing it aside, but Nesta doesn’t even get a chance to see where it lands, Cassian’s hands gripping her waist and flipping her over roughly. He raises her hips and leans forward, plastering his chest along her spine and pressing his lips against her ear.

“Hands on the headboard.”

Nesta moans as she obeys the command, fingers curling against the wood. Cassian’s knees kick her legs further apart, really spreading her wide. He slams his cock back into her cunt, quickly setting a rough and brutal pace before Nesta can adjust again to the girth of him, to the way he stretches her. Her fingers scrabble at the wood of the headboard, trying to hold herself up against the pleasure of it all, sparked by every snap of Cassian’s hips against her own.

“Pretty mate taking her alpha’s cock so well. One day I’ll work you up to taking my cock and that toy.”

The imagery is enough to have Nesta clenching down hard around Cassian’s cock, and she drops her head down between her shoulders with a choked off moan. It just mixes with the groans and grunts of Cassian behind her, with the obscene sound of his cock sliding through her slick, of skin against skin.

She tries to move her hips against the iron grip Cassian has on them, tries to meet his thrusts and his knot. “Cassian…”

“Fuck, keep moaning my name. You know that’s my favorite sound.”

“I need… I need…”

He continues to fuck into her hard, turning Nesta into little more than a delirious mess of moans and whimpers of his name. She can feel him everywhere. Feel where his fingers leave brands across her hips. Feel where his cock spears deep within her. Feel where his knot teases and catches but never breaches. It has her cunt fluttering and clenching around him, has her heart pounding in her chest in time with every knock of his hips against her ass.

“Need my knot again? Need to be filled again?”

“Yes!” Nesta cries out, that desperation clawing up her throat.

Cassian groans, the movements of his hips becoming more erratic. “I’ll make sure you’re absolutely dripping. Make sure my seed really takes. But first, I need you to come for me. Come all over my cock.”

One of his hands reaches under Nesta’s hip, finding her swollen clit and tracing tight circles over the bud. It’s all it takes for another orgasm to wash over Nesta like a crashing wave, the force of it leaving spots dancing behind her eyelids. Her back bows, Cassian’s grip the only thing holding her up as she convulses and shouts Cassian’s name.

With a groan of his own, Cassian sinks his knot into Nesta’s cunt, only adding to the pleasure blazing through her. She clenches around Cassian’s knot, moaning at the feel of Cassian’s cock twitching in response, more of his release filling her. The stretch and fullness is everything, aftershocks still rocking through her body until just bliss remains.

Nesta slumps back down against the bed, panting against the sheets as she catches her breath. She feels sated for the first time all morning, the ache in her body giving way to a pleasant buzz. She doesn’t even whine when Cassian pulls his cock free again, settling beside her on the bed. Instead she merely sighs softly when Cassian’s hand finds her hair, fingers softly carding through the sweaty strands and pushing them away from her face.

“You back with me, Nes?”

Nesta hums, turning her head enough that she can blink at Cassian properly. “For now.”

Cassian chuckles softly, the hazel of his eyes bright in the light that pours into their bedroom. He shifts close enough that he can press a sweet kiss into Nesta’s hair before clambering back off the bed. Nesta can’t find it within herself to move, just following him with her eyes as he goes over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of sweats and tugging them on.

He digs around in another of the drawers, and when he steps back over to the bed, his hands reach for her and gently tug her up into a seated position. He pulls an oversized t-shirt over her head, and once Nesta has pushed her arms through the sleeves, his hands shift under her thighs, gathering her up into his arms. He carries her with ease out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, setting her down on the kitchen counter.

“How was your trip?” Nesta asks, watching as Cassian grabs a glass, filling it with water.

“Drink,” Cassian tells her instead, holding out the glass expectantly.

Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but she takes the glass from him, allowing the cool liquid to soothe her throat. Satisfied she’s staying hydrated, Cassian turns his attention toward the fridge, but he pauses his rummaging, turning back toward Nesta and squinting toward her. It’s almost adorable the way his eyebrows pinch, the way his lips quirk as he hums quietly, seemingly to himself.

But Nesta still huffs and crosses her arms. “And what’s that look for?”

“Trying to determine how long we have until the next wave hits. That will decide what exactly I can make for us.”

Heat floods Nesta’s cheeks, especially at that smirk of his now painted across Cassian’s face. It’s all alpha, male bravado and pride. She scowls at him, but that only seems to make his grin widen, hazel eyes sparking with amusement, with fondness. With love.

“I hate you,” Nesta tells him, even though there’s no bite behind the words.

“Love me,” Cassian corrects, grinning widely.

“Fine. That too.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies @freakingata

[notmyprey]

Guys, Im taking this into my own hands. There's not enough Ninjagº (sfw) vore writing, so I shall add to it :)

Context/Content Warnings

Contains: Some (SFW) Vore towards the end, a hella lot of g/t, bad injury (but not like- gory descriptions), and many many personal headcannons. One mainly being I kinda ship Zane×Cole. But if ya wanna see it as platonic, I have written it so it can be interpreted as such too.

This is very self-indulgent if you cant tell....

This takes place between seasons 4 and 5. I've not seen any season past season 10 or 11, I can't remember exactly, so yeah.

Also, important personal headcannon for this fic: Zane kept his more human looking form, not cause I dont like his titanium form. I just like my drawing design I made

Btw it's in first person, so it's hard to tell, but the person who is the pov is Cole-

Fic under cut:

It was a normal fight, honestly nothing special. Just defend the Bounty from a few wannabe villains. That's all we had to do. But it's never that easy, not for us.

Our ship wasn't soaring the clouds today nor parked near the city, but rather parked near a small mountain. We went there in search of a few caves that we were told housed a potentially dangerous artifact. Our plan was simple.

Get in, get out, and destroy the object.

But as we parked, and some treasure hunters flooded the Bounty, we didn't take the time to notice the ground beneath us, or rather lack of. That's where a large pit sat, unnoticed and waiting.

Among the commotion, I started a tussle with one of the bandates near the edge of the ship. She shoved me against the railing, knocking some air out of my lungs. I was quick to retaliate, sending a swift kick to her gut and sending her a few feet backward. Another swift kick, and she was out.

Before I had time to catch my breath, a panicked shout drew my attention. Zane had gotten cornered, 5 treasure hunters surrounding him.

I pushed myself forward, ignoring my still stinging lungs. Of course, they would go after Zane first, I thought bitterly. He was made of metal, and to them, an item practically begging to be sold. This is the third batch of these guys we've run into this week, and I still hated that was how all these treasure hunters and collectors saw him. I hated it with every fiber of my being.

As I got closer, Zane managed to kick one my way, prompting me to, instinctively, punch them, thankfully knocking them out. Now we were 2 against 4. This got the rest of their attention. I smirked. Something about it felt good, watching Zane fight back. It was almost like he was getting back at them in a way, but I knew that was very unlikely intentional. Zane had a heart of gold, with an intent to hurt no one if avoidable.

As these thoughts played in my mind, I didn't notice the large footsteps behind me. In an instant, someone behind me grabbed my shirt. They were much bigger, so much bigger than me. I couldn't even react before I was in the air. They flung me back but kept their grip on my shirt. I was slung forward, then their hand let go, and suddenly, I was flying in Zanes direction. Treasure hunters dove out of the way just before I landed on top of Zane, knocking him and I onto the ground. Due to the way I was thrown, my head took the majority of the impact.

My head started throbbing instantly. All of the aches and pains I had suppressed until now were showing full force. Each breath burned, making me think I broke a rib. I tried to get up, but I felt my consciousness slipping.

My ears were ringing, but I still managed to make out bits and pieces of Zanes' voice.

First, Zane muttered something I couldn't understand. But his next question was one I was all too familiar with.

"Cole, are you ok?"

I could only groan in response. With that, everything started to blur. I couldn't push myself off of him, and I knew the quicker he was back on his feet, the better this would be for the both of us. Thankfully, Zane understood what was happening and pushed me off himself. He didn't give me the grace of placing me down too gently, but I dont blame him. He had bigger problems.

Now that I was on my back, I could see bits of movement, a large figure was starting towards us.

I couldn't see anyone else, Kai, Jay, Lloyd, and even Sensei were all nowhere to be found. My blood went cold, and momentarily, my heart stopped beating. Had something happened to the others?

No matter how hard I fought to get up, how much I told myself I needed to keep fighting, I was starting to loose consciousness. My eyes started to close on their own, and I soon felt myself getting lifted into the air once more by the larger treasure hunter. The last thing I remember was falling. Between the pressure change and my pre-existing head trauma, I couldn't stop myself from passing out before I even hit the ground.

Where is Zane?

I shot open my eyes, a swelling sense of panic rushing over me, but to my surprise, I couldn't see anything. Where am I?

I felt terrible. I think I broke my leg, maybe my arm too. I rolled over, helping relieve the pressure off both of my most likely broken limbs. There was a light far above me, but I couldn't see anything else that would help me figure out where I was. I couldn't get up, I couldn't see anything, I couldn't even speak. All I could do was lie and wait.

For hours, the shadows jumped at me, making my heart race in my ears. I knew I couldn't do anything, and that made the dark that much more terrifying. It was sufficating, how dark and alone I felt. Seconds felt like hours, and hours felt like days. No matter what I did to calm my anxiety, nothing helped. All I could do was lie in the silence and pray someone found me.

"Cole?" I heard Zanes voice calling from above. My heart leaped out of my chest, tears forming at the corner of my eyes from gratitude. He had found me.

"Here." My voice barely even came out.

After a few long moments, I felt the ground beneath me shake, and a loud thud echoed beside me.

"Cole?" This time, Zanes' voice echoed through my very core. My good arm instinctively went to cover up my eyes and ears.

I felt the earth shake a bit more, then a gasp echoed somewhere above me. Slowly, a blue light was brought closer, one I recognized as Zanes eyes. I loosened up upon that realization, unfurling and opening my eyes once more.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. I sucked in a quick breath once I could finally see again. Zane towered over me, his meer hand was about as long as I was tall. I wanted to move away, but seeing that about half of me was broken, that was not an option. Slowly, he crouched down. Then gently he put one of his hands down and softly plyed his fingers under me. He lifted me up a bit, then placed his other hand under me as well.

"Cole?" He paused, a bewildered expression plastered on his face, "Cole, can you hear me?" His voice was a wisper now, but even his wispering seemed to completely surround me.

Between the shock of this whole experience and my hurt ribs, I was finding it increasingly harder to speak. I couldn't find my voice. The only thing that came out of my mouth was a pathetic squeak.

His thumb rose and started to brush over me. He didn't apply much pressure, but once he got to my broken arm, I couldn't help but flinch.

Zanes must have noticed that, since his eyes narrowed a bit, something he mostly did when he was annalizeing our 'injury status', as he tends to put it.

"Im going to get you back to the ship, alright?" I was grateful that he continued to keep his voice at a wisper.

I nodded again, to which he started to stand up.

Curling his fingers over me a bit, he suddenly shouts upward, "I FOUND HIM."

This sudden blast of noise hurt, making me return to the covered position I was in before. Zanes shout echoed through the pit, making me shutter in pain a few more times before the noise finally weakened.

Soon, Zane was lifted up, and as a result, I was too. As soon as I was out, noises boomed around me. One question seemed to come through the commotion in unison. "Where's Cole?"

I heard Kai, Jay, and Nya for sure, but Lloyd, I couldn't make out. Did he get kidnapped again? I knew Lloyd was another one of us that the treasure hunters tend to objectify, and that only increased my worry.

I felt Zane move his fingers again, this time unfurling them so that I would lay flat on his palm.

A series of gasps came from the group, and finally, I heard Lloyd. "What happened?" His voice, knowing he was ok, finally allowed my nerves to relax a bit.

"I dont know," Zane sighed in response, "but Cole is not in good condition. He has 3 broken ribs and a broken thigh bone. And his humorous bone is broken as well."

"Zane, now is no time for jokes." Jay piped up.

"The humourus is the bone in the upper arm, I am not displeased with Coles' humor." Zane said blatantly. I could hear the annoyance in his voice. If I had been able to speak, I would have tried to ease the tension, but unfortunately, I still felt too winded.

"Let's get him back then." Nya, the only one who seems to have more than half a brain cell most days, finally chimmed in. It was as if the same thought rung through everyones head, as everyone seemed to simultaneously start back towards the Bounty.

It was so strange. I never realized just how much I would miss the light until it was taken from me. I gazed up at the lamp above me, fixated on its lumosity. Most of my life, I had taken light for granted, but now, I couldn't be more grateful for it.

"How are you feeling?" The unexpected question made me nearly jump out of my skin. Zane must have come back into the room. It was only 15 minutes ago that he had left to take a well-deserved break, and honestly, I expected him to be gone for longer with how much work he put in to get me patched back up.

After I got back on the ship, Zane and Sensei both started to treat my wounds the best they could. With me being small, it was difficult for anyone but Zane to put my splints into place. He was the only one with such precision. Sensei, though he had tried, his hand kept shaking too much to do any good. This also was why they decided it was best for me not to get a cast since they could easily put it on too tight and hurt me more. They decided instead that no one would be allowed to handle me, but Zane.

This was something I found relief knowing. I had already started to imagine Jay coming in here to tease me over goodness knows what and getting too rough. It was strange how a part of me was now afraid of some of my friends. I didn't like it.

"Better." My voice was still weak, but at the very least, I had some painkillers now, so my lungs weren't on fire.

I had been set on top of a pillow, meaning I was a bit higher than I would've been on the bed. It wasn't too much higher than the bed, though it still allowed me a better view of the room. The pillow also meant I was more comfortable, which was a nice contrast to laying on the hard rocky ground in the pit.

Zane dragged his chair closer to me. He once again loomed over me, but in the light, now I was able to make out his face easier. I hadn't realized just how detailed his skin was till now. Even though it's not real, up close, you wouldn't be able to tell.

"Do you remember anything after you fell?" Zane broke the silence again.

"No," I shake my head, "I fell, and the next thing I remember is...." I fall quiet. Even the memory of how scared I felt sent cold dark shivers down my spine. "Waking up." I quietly finish.

"Is there anything that happened between you waking up and me getting there?"

"No..." I felt guilty for the fear I felt. Im sure they all were up on the bounty fighting, I shouldn't be pittied for falling in a hole. And I'm not lying, saying nothing happened since nothing did happen. But on the other hand, a lot felt like it happened. That fear was real. The pain was real. But neither of those should be anyone elses problem than mine.

Zane went quiet. He looked like he was thinking, but sometimes I can't tell with him. We sat like that for a while before Zane finally announced he was going to make dinner.

If I make a little in between part, I will link it here

Days passed. I was under strict orders that, until my bones were healed, I was not to leave the bed, save for when I needed to use the bathroom. It was long and boring. I couldn't play video games, nor could I even play board games. All I could do was watch TV and occasionally talk with one of the others. Zane came to check on me the most, but Jay made a point to seek me out a few times and mock me for my height. He made a point to remind me of the fact that I had called him short, and now the rolls are reversed and blah blah blah. I think he was trying to cheer me up, in his annoying Jay kind of way, but I honestly got tired of listening to him and zoned out most of the time.

The four days I lay in bed were practically tourture. I have never felt more lucky that my elemental powers also helped increase my bodies ability to heal itself. I may have gone insane if I stayed any longer.

Zane came in late on the fourth day of me lounging in bed. Once he announced that I could take both of my splints off, I did not hesitate to free myself from my confinement.

Once I managed to pry the splints off, it dawned on me. What was I going to do? I had been so focused on being able to leave this bed and the pillow that I hadn't thought much further than that.

Zane grabbed both of the splints I had set aside and placed them gently on the nightstand. Then, with a tired smile, he turned back towards me. "So, you're free now." He said with laughter in his voice, "Where do you want to go?"

"I dont know... I didn't think about it much."

"Well, I think I have an idea." A more sincere smile tugged at Zanes face, one that I wasn't sure if it was just friendly or one I should be suspicious of. His palm rested on the bed in front of me, but I hesitated to move myself onto it.

"I dont like that smile of yours. You're not bringing me somewhere to pull a prank on me, are you?" I narrow my eyelids, glaring right into his eyes.

He laughed at my suspicion, "No, no, I promise. This is a good surprise."

I climbed onto his hand, slowly, and still not feeling reassured. I found that sitting down is a lot less disorienting than laying down or standing, so I sit facing him.

I marveled at how large his hand was, even though he now had carried me many times, it was still something I could never quite get over. His hand so large that I could stretch my legs out fully and still have enough room to lay down.

He gave me a reassuring smile, then started out the door.

He carried me down the hallway and past a few rooms before turning into a doorway. I instantly recognized the room as the kitchen, even though it was now so much bigger. There was a delightful smell in the air.

"Mmmm, cake." I take another wiff, "Chocolate cake. " I specify.

"Your nose never ceases to amaze me, Cole." Zanes hand shook lightly as he laughed.

"I'm just that good." I smile, looking up at him.

A timer starts to go off, and with me turned towards Zane, I could see the exact moment he realized what the timer was for. He quickly placed the hand I was sitting upon on to the counter and gently nudged me off with the other. Wasting no time, he headed off, spinning around and rushing towards the oven.

Zane opened a drawer and pulled out two oven-mitts. I knew he didn't need them, and I'm sure he knew as well, but I guess it was a habit he had before discovering he was a robot. I also think that there's also a part of him that loves the oven-mitts since it was a gift we get him often.

Reaching forward, Zane opened the oven, sending a new wave of delicious chocolatey scents my way. I practically shook in anticipation as I saw him pull the source of the smell from the oven.

"One, Two, Three..." I mumbled as he took the tin of cupcakes out. He had made a total of 12 cupcakes. This means that if I take Zanes's portion, I get a total of 4 cupcakes! I big smile crept across my face.

I get up, still a bit wobbly from having sat mostly still for four days, and wander over to the cupcake tin. Zane was taking the cupcakes out and placing them on a rack to cool down faster.

"So I get all of them, right?" I give him the best pleading smile I could muster.

He rolled his eyes with a laugh, "No. You get two. Everyone gets two, or else they may need to make a movie about what happened when one of you got three instead."

Zane always had a way of making me laugh, "But I get your portion, right?" I step forward, closer to him and the edge of the counter.

"Not this time."

"Please tell me you're not giving them to the treasure hunters. You know they dont have a good bone in their body!" I joked.

"Ah, no matter how much I would love to see the look on everyones face at that, no. I am putting them away for when we get back to the city."

I furrow my brow, "But we won't be back to the city for a while! I mean, we haven't found the object thing, whatever it was - yet. And we still need to fix this!" I gesture towards myself.

"We have been looking while you were healing, Cole. Nia thinks she may have figured out where the object is. We're going to go tomorrow to try and retrieve it." My sholders slump. They have been looking without me?

"I thought you guys would wait." I mumble, on one hand, I was a bit bitter about it. They all went cave searching, finding who knows what cool objects and stuff, while I had to sit here and be on bed rest.

But, I could also see their side of it. They needed to get this done. If we didn't find this mysterious object, someone else would.

"Im sorry, Cole." Zane must have heard me muttering to myself.

"Well, at least I can come with tomorrow." I flop down on the counter, forgetting about my newly healed arm and leg. I let out a small shreak at the surprise pain. Zane reached forward to grab me but decided instead to hover his hands, ready to help me if needed.

"Cole," as Zane says this, his expression softened, "you aren't going to be coming with us tomorrow."

My heart dropped, "What?"

"You can't come with us tomorrow, Cole. It's too dangerous, and we can't risk you coming while you're..." Zane paused, considering his next words carefully, "... like this."

"I can still help!" I plea, I can't stay back again. I need to help. I have to help. "I still have my elemental powers! I can move some rock still! What if you get trapped? Then what? I am the Earth ninja! That's what I do! I move rocks!" I could see it. My words were doing nothing to convince Zane, and as I tried to reason more, I found I was grasping at flimsy straws, "I can still help..." I wisper.

"I am sorry, Cole. It's not only me who thinks you should stay. Sensei, he was the one who made the final decision. You need to stay here." Zane gave a sorry smile. "Rest up, maybe once we get back, you will be back to normal, and you can help us figure out what the mystery object is."

I sat there, defeated. I couldn't believe that I was being left behind. How could I keep them safe? How could I save them from the bounty?

The cupcakes started to sound less and less appetizing the more I thought of what tomorrow would bring for my brothers.

I woke up early the next morning. I had to get a good head start. I shuffle to the side of the bed, clinging to the sheets as I made my way down. Finally, once I reached the floor, I encountered my first obstacle. The door had been shut the night before, and I didn't know if I would be able to open it myself. The crack under the door was too narrow for me to fit under, so that wasn't an option. The door had a lever handle, so perhaps I could open the door?

I look around in an attempt to find something I could use to pry it open. The problem now I faced was that I was small, and I couldn't see much around the room. I walked back towards the bed, prepared to have to climb back up it so I could just see what was around the room. Just a moment after I grabbed onto the sheets, I saw something shiny under the bed. There was a clothes hanger under the bed.

I hesitate, the eery and mysterious shadows taunting me. My heart raced, I couldn't seem to look away. If I looked away, then it may consume me, the dark. My reason broke through my anxiety, telling me I had to go into the darkness, if just for one brief moment.

Shakily, I inched forward, feeling for the form of the clothes hanger with my feet. Soon, I felt the cold metal through my clothes. I quickly grabbed it and drug it back out to the light.

I had the clothes hanger, now to put it to use. I headed back towards the door, bringing the clothes hanger along with me. Once I reach the door, I swung the clothes hanger up, stretching my arms out and standing on my tip toes to give myself any bit of extra height.

The hanger caught at the handle, and I pulled down while also moving backward to open the door.

Finally, I was in the hallway. Though it was darker than the recovery room, it had many dim lights that fought off the dark enough for me to feel safe. Besides, the dark was the least of my worries now. I scurry along the edge of the wall, carefully listening for footsteps. I never thought that I would have to be so careful in my own home. But I had to pay attention, both because I dont want to get caught, and also because what would happen if someone didn't see me. The idea that someone could come along and accidentally step on me was one that I ran through my mind as I sped down the hallway.

I stopped at one familiar door. This is what I was looking for, my brothers room. Im sure right now they were still asleep, which was good for me. Unlike my recovery room, I knew that this door had a chip in it.

I believe Kai had said it was from Jay 'borrowing' my scythe. Whatever had happened before, it happened to work in his favor now.

I slunk into the dimly lit room. The only source of light was from outside the window where the moon was now lowering in the sky. Although it was difficult to see, I knew this room at least, and as such, I still found my way around. I creeped along the edge of the bunk beds, careful not to make a single noise.

In a heap on the floor, I saw my long-term goal, Zanes ninja suit. I darted over to the cothing pile, picking up and moving stuff out of my way until I found one of his pockets. I crawled inside, squirming to get comfortable as I did so.

A quiet but relieved sigh excaped my lips. Im going with them, whether they like it or not.

My brothers were too predictable. They woke up late, of course. Nia had already gotten dressed and was ready for them to start their search. Everyone was scrambling to put on their gear. Even Zane seemed to be unprepared, seeing that he didn't notice that his suit was a bit heavier today.

I bounced around any time Zane made any kind of big movement, including running, jumping, and turning. All of those being things Zane apparently does often. When Zane finally sat down to listen to Nia's brief, my head didn't seem to care and just kept spinning.

I couldn't hear much of Nia's ramble, but what I could hear clear as day was Zane. Normally, I tune out a lot of these long, borning, and often too elaborate plans. But today, I found it hard to disassociate. Any time I would finally zone off, Zane would ask another clarifying question. It hadn't dawned on me how many questions he asked before going on a mission. I swear he could write an essay just about the mission brief.

It took a while, but Zane eventually ran out of questions. Now, I thought, we could get on to the fun part.

A cacophony of chairs screeched against the floors as everyone stood at once. Once again, I started to sway and bounce. At one point, I think they were climbing down a rope, but it was hard to keep track. Everything was so disorienting that it was hard to even tell where I was. Were we in the cave yet? Or are we still on land? Did we even get off the Bounty yet? None of my questions seemed to be answered by the lighthearted chit chat that started from the group.

Once again, I wasn't able to hear what anyone else had to say other than Zane, which made it hard to figure out what was being said. The more I tried to fill in the gaps, the harder it became to understand what was happening. After about 15 minutes of me trying to decipher the illogical code, I gave up.

Who knows how long I have been in this pocket now. So far, they haven't seemed to run into any blocked paths, nor have they trapped themselves inside a cavern, which was a good sign.

How much longer will this take? All I wanted to do is get back to the Bounty, tell everyone I was here the whole time, and reassure them I can go on missions still. Maybe I couldn't walk by myself, but I was small and able to go places most cant. Imagine if I was this small when we got locked in the cage that one time. I could have gotten us out. I could be helpful.

We have to be in the cave now. There is a musty smell in the air, and I have to suppress the urge to sneeze every ten seconds. This could not be a worse time for my allergies to rear its ugly head.

We passed a particularly dusty portion of the cave. My heart sped up, I can't be caught now! They will just bring me back and go on without me! I hold my breath, hoping that if I dont breathe in the dust, I won't sneeze.

I had to breathe eventually, and as soon as I caught my breath again, I felt the overwhelming urge to sneeze. It started to rise from my nose and through my mouth. I had to stop it, I tried, doing everything in my power to stop the sneeze.

I breathed out once more, and the need to sneeze wad suddenly gone. I silently celebrated my victory.

I celebrated too soon. My sneeze snuck up on me. It was too late to stop it, so I tried to cover it up the best I could. But it was too late, I felt Zane come to a sudden hault.

"What was that." He asked, I heard the unease in his voice.

Some replies came from my brothers, but again, none that I could hear. My heart beat in my ears. Maybe Zane would write it off as the cave shifting. It does that sometimes, right?

An intense pressure shoved against my side for a moment before quickly disappearing. Zane gave an annoyed grumble above me.

Suddenly, a hand appeared, enclosing me in its grasp. It brought me up out of Zanes' pocket to be level with his face. He made sure to keep me facing towards him but didn't lighten his strong grip on me.

"Cole." The ice in Zanes' voice made my heart skip, I hardly hear him angry, and never is it towards me. His lips were thin, and his eyes were practically piercing through my soul. Normally, I can fight back, spit words, and defend myself. But his grip has become so tight that I was starting to struggle to breathe.

I wheezed a bit, doing my best to keep my composure. With my ability to breathe, slipping now, though, it remained difficult.

"Zane," I gasped in between desperate breaths, "Breathe. I can't."

The moment those words left my lips, Zane hand loosened, and so did his expression.

"What are you doing?" This was the Zane I knew now. He was annoyed, sure, but he wasn't the same as he was only a moment ago. He tilted me back a bit and set me down on his other palm.

"I -" Before I could get the sentence out, Lloyd brought up a finger to his lips. I turned to watch as Lloyd creeped towards a 90° turn in the cave. Just as quickly as he peered around the corner, he retracted his head. Turning back towards us, he wispers something. I couldn't hear it, I can't seem to hear anything lately. I turned to look at Zane, hoping he heard it. One look at his face told me he did.

I started to open my mouth to ask him to repeat what he heard, but shut it when I saw Zane already opening his mouth to reply.

(Start of events in comics here 1 + 2)

I watched as he didn't speak, but rather just kept his mouth open for a moment. One second, I was on Zanes hand, staring up at Zane. The next, I was shoved forcefully towards Zanes face. Suddenly, I was surrounded by a mass that glowed a light blue. Any time I tried to move, tried to reorient myself, I was pinned down again. I felt the confined space push me head first into another tighter tunnle.

The light followed me, and with this light came many new noises. There was a distinct ticking noise, along with the sound of what I assume was gears grinding together. Soon, blood started to run to my head, and my brain felt light.

(End of events in comic)

A few seconds after I thought I was about to pass out, I was pushed into a larger chamber. It was soft, and it had the same blue glow as the other one had before. It was definitely bigger and stretchier than the other two. That said, it was still very cramped. I was forced to lay down, as the ceiling was practically brushing against my hair, and the rest of my body was pressed into the sides of the room. Something about this place was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

A series of sporadic movements tossed me about a bit, but comparatively, it was not nearly as bad as it was in the pocket.

What would be my train of thought asking me where I am and what was happening got interrupted with a series of muffled shouts. I instinctively sunk into the rippling soft cloth underneath me, hopeful that it will keep me safe from this unseen danger.

The same sounds of gears and gadgets still were present but much more muffled now. The ticking was still audible too, but I had to strain to hear it.

There is where I stayed for a long time, trapped in the chamber. The pillow-like surroundings kept me in place for the most part, but every once in a while, there would be a bigger movement that caused me to fly into one of the walls. The walls, though, were soft and squishy, making the experience when I wasn't getting slammed into them actually kind of enjoyable.

After a while, the movement slowed down and finally came to a hault. Just as I started to bask in the peace, a loud voice from above brought me back. "He's fine. He's in my storage compartment." I recognized the voice instantly as Zane. I wonder who he was talking about? Who would even fit in his storage compartment? I have seen it before, it's small. No one was that small.

My breath hitched. I am that small. I felt the blood rush to my face as I realized just where I was. It was embarrassing how comfortable I had felt here. I lightly pushed at one of the folds around me, as if feeling it would help confirm.

I tried to push myself up, to put a bit of space between me, and what I now knew was Zane. My efforts were foiled as my back hit the top of Zanes storage chamber, and I flopped back down.

Zane started to speak again, "Is that all of them?" He must be talking to our brothers.

After a brief pause, where I assume someone had responded, Zane continued, "Then let's get moving again."

So they weren't going to bring me back. That was a relief. I can stay on the mission with them. Zane would let me out, and I could finally have some normalcy back in my life.

I felt Zane start to move again, this time, though it was more methodical, and the chamber only swayed slightly with each step. He wasn't making any sort of motion to let me back out. Did he forget?

I lightly knocked at the glowing pillow in front of me, "Um, Zane?" He didn't slow his pace. I waited for a few seconds, but he didn't respond.

"Zane?" This time, I raised my voice more in case he couldn't hear me the first time.

Zane started to slow his pace, meaning he heard me this time. "Yes, Cole?" He still sounded very annoyed with me.

"Are you going to let me out?" I poke at a spot next to me, hoping he would understand what I was getting at.

"No, I am not." He said matter of factly.

I'm a bit surprised. "What?" I scoff, not able to stop the word from coming out of my mouth.

"You not only disobeyed Sensei. But you also put yourself in danger and, by extension, could have put us in danger, and you still have no remorse for any of it." His tone reminded me of how he spoke to Lloyd when he was younger, something that hurt more than I thought it would.

"Im not a kid. I can handle myself just fine." The hurt seeping into my words.

Zane grumbled, a sudden pressure from the outside squeezed me to the opposite side of the chamber for a moment before releasing me once more. "I know you aren't a kid. But you need to listen to me, Cole. You aren't indestructible. You are putting yourself in more danger than I think you realize by being here. I dont want to lose you." He sighed, the previous annoyance in his voice fading. "There are bad people in these tunnels, and if you get separated from us all, it would take is for one to grab and toss you to..." The chamber pushed in again, "I can't lose you, ok?"

I couldn't think of anything to say to that. All the tension and defensiveness in me disappeared in an instant. How could I have been so neglectful. I know he cares about me. That's all he meant, and I should have known.

The pressure once again released, and I flopped onto the plush beneath me. I hadn't realized until then, but I had been tense. It had been exhausting, keeping that grudge. I relaxed, sinking furtherer into the pillow beneath me. Closing my eyes for a minute wouldn't hurt, right? I nestled my head down, and as I felt Zanes speed pick up to catch up with the others, my mind started to wander into the best sleep I have ever had.

[zvdvdlvr]

Ummm hiiiiii we need to talk more about the concept of "who did this to you" genre hotch because 1 you're so correct and 2 that's one of my favourite tropes

Also hello! 🤭

Hihihi :))

I’m literally a slut for ‘who did this to you?’ and the one bed trope so I have some things to say 😮‍💨😝😏

Probably not the most savory of ideas, but imagine Aaron accidentally walking in on y/n changing a shirt, seeing scars on her back that were trailing over to her stomach. Aaron knows that y/n hadn’t been kidnapped or tortured by any unsubs, so...?

You faced the window of the hotel, looking down on the civilians below. You had already changed your pants, but you wanted to let yourself cool down because of course you had to go Texas right after bring tackled by an unsub (your ribs and back are still sore).

“Agent l/n, are you re-“ Hotch asks, practically busting the door open without even knocking.

You fumble for your shirt and shove your arms through their respected positions, turn around, and pray your boss didn’t see what you think he saw.

“L/n,” Hotch started, voice lethally quiet as he walked slowly over to you. “Turn around. That’s an order.”

You sighed. “I don’t see how this is necessary.”

“I do. Compramization of my agent’s well being? Harrassing a federal agent? Physically assulting a federal agent?” He ranted, voice sharp.

You bit your lip, looking from Hotch’s eyes to the floor. That’s when his expressiom softened.

“Please, y/n,” he pleaded with that smooth voice of his.

“I- he was an ex of mine, Hotch. There’s nothing more to know,” you shrugged, clipping your badge to your belt and clearly signaling that you were done with the conversation.

“Let me see. I just…”

“You just…?” You prompted.

In all honesty, Aaron wanted to see the scars because he wants to know what you had to go through when he wasn’t there. Aaron wanted to see the scar tissue, run his fingertips over it, and truly realize how strong you are for going through that and still being one of the mentally and physically toughest people Aaron knew. “Please, y/n.”

Heaving a massive sigh, y/n turned around and let Aaron pull the hem of the shirt up. Yes, y/n scarred easily (Aaron learned that after y/n got burnt by an oven at Rossi’s), but seeing the marred skin felt like a knife into Aaron’s gut. He drifted his pointer finger of the skin, watching y/n shudder slightly at the touch.

“Who did this to you?” Aaron asked again, his voice softer now. “Please tell me.”

So you told him. Every detail. Everything that happened.

— 🧠

GOD BLESS IT id do anything to be one of hotch’s coworkers who got into a barfight, bleeding and bruised, and show up at his house because ‘he would know what to do’

my brain is braining, but hands are writing the way i want