#he is the one you want to help in any crisis

[angrenwen]

"

You took another deep breath and turned away from the mirror. Now was not the time to get into an existential crisis over your costume. You could always order a new one from the association later. You grabbed your phone, staring at the most recent message for a long moment, your heart pounding nervously.

'Ready when you are.'

You could hear Silver’s voice in your mind as you read those words, could see his reassuring smile, the kindness in his mercury eyes that didn’t quite manage to hide patient anticipation. He was looking forward to this, you knew. He had been there every step of the way, as you had dragged yourself out of the hole your failure and terror had shoved you into.

You didn’t feel ready to be a hero again, but you had decided that it didn’t matter. You would never feel ready. You could run those obstacle courses and simulations Silver built a hundred thousand times and not feel ready.

'Ready' you typed back and hit send before you could stop yourself. 

The hero association already knew you would return to active duty today. The substitute hero had left the city last night, looking relieved. His stay here had been exceptionally boring, since Silver had refused to challenge him in any way. Aside from bugging him a bit for fun, but his pranks were always harmless.

You flexed your hands and for a moment you felt all the scar tissue pull tight, stitched up wounds and surgery scars and broken bones that had taken months to heal. You weren’t ready, but you were sick and tired of sitting around at home.

You were sick and tired of being scared, of worrying. Of thinking about the next Class A villain that could show up with murder on their mind. You wanted to be a hero, still, even now. You wanted to protect people and help them where you could. You straightened your shoulders and walked forward, projecting a confidence you did not feel.

It was showtime.

*.*.*.*

You watched civilians cackle in delight as they were pelted with marshmallow butts the size of half your palm. Silver was bouncing a bit on his toes at your side, grinning so wide it must’ve hurt his cheeks.

"Well?" he said with a grin. "Aren’t you going to try and stop me? Oh no, darling, dashing hero!" He pretended to fall into a faint, hand theatrically pressed against his forehead. 

He tipped over with thoughtless trust, knowing you’d be there to catch him. And you did, hands pressed against his signature leather jacket as he draped himself over your arms with exaggerated drama. He continued, "Whatever shall I do, my evil soul quivers!"

You couldn’t help but laugh, tension you hadn’t been aware of sliding off your shoulders like water off a duck’s back. When you caught your breath again, looking down, Silver had the softest smile on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked far too sweet for someone proclaiming he had an evil soul.

He straightened from his pretend fainting after a moment and tugged his jacket properly back into place.

"Good first day back?" he asked quietly, barely audible over the huffing and puffing noise of his Ass Kicker 50, it’s wheel of used but thoroughly cleaned and disinfected boots merrily pelting butts into the growing crowd.

"Yeah," you answered just as quietly. "Glad to see me again?"

"Of course, darling." His soft smile got a mischievous edge as it grew into a smirk. "But you must be losing your edge, you haven’t even disabled my baby yet."

You couldn’t help but smirk back, tapping a piece of plating. "Dead switch is beneath this thing, isn’t it?"

He looked startled, then cursed and grumbled, actually looking like he had no idea if he was frustrated or delighted and instead settled on a weird mix of both. "I was hiding it so well! How the fuck did you know?"

You gave him a small shrug. "It’s the only place that works and from the way the thing’s set up and built, it had to be in this area to avoid messing with the machinery. And it’s the only plating that’s not bolted down. Pressure opens it, right?"

You pressed down experimentally on one side and the plate popped open easily enough, swinging aside to reveal the big red button. Because of course it was a big red button. That was so very Silver.

When you looked up, his mercury eyes were bright and intense and that elated-frustrated look was still on his face. "And you once asked me why I fight you," he said, his quiet voice carrying a particular tone that you couldn’t quite place. It made you feel faintly flustered, though.

You fiddled with the plate for a moment, before closing it again. "Yeah, well, I’m just glad I’m not boring."

Silver drew up to his full height, actually looking affronted. "Boring? How dare you?"

The smile tugging at your face felt far too earnest and touched by half, but it seemed to soothe his insulted affront.

"I’ll have a conversation with whoever put that thought into your head," he said, pointing a finger at you. "And if it was you yourself, we are going to have a long talk."

Hearing a round of loud, delighted noise from the side, both of you looked over to see a group of goth teens cackling as they pocked little holes between the cheeks of their marshmallows butts.

"Ah, I knew I had forgotten something," Silver muttered and you dissolved into helpless laughter, ending up leaning against his shoulder and gasping for air.

By the time you calmed down, you were out of breath, your belly aching in the best of ways and you reached up to wipe some moisture away. Silver looked very content and happy, standing there and watching the machine pelt away, people jumping to catch the butts wrapped in paper to keep things sanitary. So they could be picked up and still eaten if they fell to the floor.

He was always so thoughtful, you thought, still leaning against him and not moving away. You had no idea what he got out of being a villain - well, aside from tax fraud, a bunch of other illegal activities and some very, very strange substances you were not going to touch, ever - but you were happy to see him happy. He deserved it.

"They needed that too," Silver said in this moment, nodding at the crowd. "This city hasn’t quite been the same since that villain attacked. They’re relieved to have you back and seeing us fight harmlessly should put more demons to rest."

You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in your own trauma as you had been. You looked back at the people and you saw that he was right. There was a visceral relief on many faces, a giddiness that was born half out of the silliness of the situation and half out of a release of fear-filled tension.

They had been even more helpless than you had been. Civilians with no combat abilities and absolutely no chance to survive the Class A villain. All they had been able to do was run while they had to watch you bleed and break and still stand up again and again.

Oh. 

A quiet realization struck you down to your core. You had wondered why people had been polite but not overly warm with the substitute hero. He had sent you regular updates on villain activity and how his patrols had gone, even if it had taken you a while before you had gotten the guts to read it all instead of only the summary. 

He had mentioned that people didn’t seem all that curious about him and he had sulked about that a bit.

All this time you had thought that you had failed them, these people who grinned and waved when they saw you. Who didn’t hesitate to call you away from the street and ask for help or offer you sweets or lunch when you had been patrolling for hours. People who let you hold their babies or hugged you when you brought their lost pets back.

But they hadn’t seen a failure that day months ago. They had seen you, standing between them and certain death and refusing to give up, no matter what. All because you wanted to protect them with all you had.

"Hey, what’s wrong?" Silver’s worried voice cut into your thoughts and when you glanced at him, his brows were furrowed. "Why are you crying? Do you need me to switch off my baby and back up?"

"I’m fine," you croaked weakly, though you totally were tearing up. "I’m just glad to be back, don’t read too much into it."

Silver’s face softened with a quiet bit of relief and he hummed in understanding. "I’m glad, too, by the way," he said after a moment. "To have you back that is. I may have been a wee bit lonely."

You raised an eyebrow, glad that no tears had spilled over. "You saw me almost every day."

"But not like this," Silver said. "Don’t get me wrong, I love watching you destroy the machines of the obstacle course or absolutely ace the simulations, but I missed going up against you like this."

You rubbed the back of your neck, straightening from your slouch against him. "You always say things like that with a straight face." You both admired him for it and felt envious. Sometimes you wished you could just simply say what was on your mind as well.

Silver smiled, a little lopsided and crooked. "Life’s short, so who cares what others think," he said. "All I care about is living every day the best I can."

You knew what he meant by that. He had told you a bit more about his fight against Terra after modifying some more simulations for you. You had even seen a glimpse of the patchwork of scars that fight had left on him, many of them surgery scars. He had barely survived his debut as a villain. His ever first fight and it had been against Terra.

"You know, I wanted to make the butts bigger," he said before you could say anything, smoothly but obviously changing the topic. "But there was only so much I could fit into Ass Kicker 50 and that just wouldn’t do."

"Are you going to run out of butts soon?" you wondered.

Silver hummed thoughtfully. "I guess there is a minute of pelting left at most."

The two of you waited until the machine stuttered and began to slow, the wheel of boots no longer finding marshmallows to kick into the crowd. Silver gestured grandly for you to go ahead and you pressed the dead switch with a small smile.

"Well then." He clapped his hands together. "I guess I should say hello to my favorite warden. He is ever so happy to see me every time."

You couldn’t help but snort, then you hesitated. "You know, you could just…go."

Silver actually looked a little insulted. "Don’t ruin my date with prison, my dear." He beckoned you closer with a finger, presenting his hands. "I want to see if I can walk out the front door dressed like a futuristic clown."

You blinked, in the middle of pulling out your cuffs. "What would that look like?"

He smirked as you reached out towards him. "I guess you’ll have to find out." He leaned in as your hands closed the cuffs around his wrists, warm skin pressed to warm skin and cold metal between. "I’ll make sure to make the news for you."

"Alright," you said, bemused and curious in equal measure. You noticed how warm he was, this close to you, your hands covering his. His breath smelled faintly of peppermint. "Come on, there are two new officers on the roaster who are eager to prove you can’t slip past them."

His face lit up. "Oooh, fun." He chuckled, low and menacing and for once sounding like the villain he was. "I do love ruining their day. Shattered dreams taste ever so delicious."

You rolled your eyes fondly, waving the waiting police over. They hurriedly hid the marshmallow butts they were snacking on and bustled over, trying to look important and menacing. Even if Silver was a very polite and very wonderful villain, he was still wanted for a number of crimes and the state really wanted to prosecute him.

"Be gentle with Ass Kicker 50," you told the clean-up crew who came in to tow the machine away to a storage facility. "She’s done good service."

When you looked back over to Silver, you caught the warm, unbearably fond smile as he watched you on his way to the police car. He cast you a wink as he got in, mouthing, 'Clown'. You playfully wrinkled your nose at him and saw more than heard him laugh as the door was closed.

"Um." A soft, hesitant voice made you look over and you immediately recognized the girl who had approached you. The teenager who had nearly died at your side months ago. "I’m very happy you’re back and that you made a full recovery." She thrust out a small gift. "Thank you, for saving my life."

"And mine." One of her friends bustled over, holding a little wrapped gift as well. "If not for you, I wouldn’t have made it."

You felt speechless, accepting the gifts hesitantly and that seemed to open the floodgates. You were swiftly surrounded by people thanking you and expressing their concern and relief in equal measure. Your arms soon overflowed with gifts, flowers from the elderly, drawn pictures from children and baked cookies from grateful parents. It nearly made you cry.

You did cry a little when you got home, sniffling as you sat in a pile of gifts, reading letters and smiling at the graceless but enthusiastic scribbles of a five year old. Suzie was curled up in your lap, fast asleep as a small bundle of warmth.

You taped all the pictures to one wall and pinned the letters to an old, large pinboard you had gotten a few years ago. You put the food away and the flowers into a vase and scattered the rest of the gifts across your flat in a smattering of decorations.

It had mattered. Ever single moment you had felt helpless and terrified had mattered. You hadn’t been a footnote on some document, lamenting a too early death. Because of you, so many futures still existed, those bright, burning lives not snuffed out by a cruel hand.

You would continue growing stronger for them all, you vowed to yourself. Even if you needed Silver to end the fight and save you again, you would be there. Standing between evil and everyone else as many times as it took.

For the first time in months, you felt like a hero again, too.

You dozed off with the news channel on and jerked awake sometime in the early morning hours just in time to blearily watch a repeated clip of Silver, dressed as a sparkly, futuristic clown, moonwalk dancing out of prison. There it was, his famous, Class A skill of getting out of trouble in the most ridiculous ways.

You were chuckling softly to yourself, reaching out to fish your phone from your coffee table. You already had a message waiting for you.

'Watch me, darling.'

You were still half asleep when you answered, a golden feeling like honey on warm bread filling your chest, 'Always.'

You hesitated, then tapped out one more message, 'If you have any more inventions, I’m ready.'

He answered immediately. 'Oh, darling.' It read and you could hear the glee in his voice in your mind, could imagine the way he brightened. 'I was hoping you’d say that.'

You loved this ridiculous, wonderful man so much, you thought, still bleary and half asleep. Your heart felt so full with good things it felt as though it was spilling over to the point where you had to squeeze a pillow, hiding a wide grin against it."

A Hero’s Return

Continuation of this little short story. No particular warnings, but let me know if I should tag something.

***

’Ready when you are.’

It felt as though the message was burning a hole into your pocket as you stared at your hero costume. Freshly laundered, repaired perfectly after your fight with that telekinetic villain and just as practical and flashy as before. It shouldn’t be scary.

Your hands weren’t trembling when you put it on, but it was a near thing. It helped to know that Silver was waiting on the other side, not a floating terror ready and willing to kill. If you failed, no civilians would get hurt or killed. You would not die knowing you had been utterly useless, or wake up miraculously to find hundreds of people dead because you hadn’t been strong enough.

You had grown stronger, you knew you had. Enough so, in fact, that the hero association had recently bumped you up to Class B. Which was a little frightening, you had never played in the upper leagues before and while you knew you were part of the bottom crowd of Class B, it was still very different to your comfortable, quiet little Class C.

You took a few deep breaths after buckling the last of your gear in place and you stared at the mirror, realizing that the costume didn’t fit like it used to. You had gained muscle and a bit of weight and…it didn’t look right anymore. The colors seemed too bright, the little fluttery accents you had once added to the design on a whim too useless.

Keep reading

[sordidmusings]

WIP TUESDAY - Sugar Daddy Headcanons with Shanks and Garp

Saw Schoute's wonderful art WIP and writing and wanted to join the fun! Have some ridiculous Blorbos as Sugar Daddies headcanons that have been on my backburner LOL I've got Shanks and Garp ready for y'all 🫡 They're pretty much done, I moreso have to fill out everyone else on the list 🤡 No warnings really! Just some allusions to spice but nothing explicit. Lots of silliness. I believe they're gender neutral but I'm going to tag as afab just in case because I fear it may be in the subtext since that's the perspective I wrote it from and the one people generally expect for sugar babies. Might be fun to subvert sometime by writing them with explicitly amab sugar babies. I will Ponder lol I'd also love to see what everyone is working on so please take this as a sign to post something of your own!!

The song I blame for everything (I love u Thot Squad):

“This fine old man, he played three

He can knickknack this coochie

With an Amex black card, get a girl a Benz

Reset and do it again”

Word Count: Shanks ~750, Garp ~400 (sorry about the favoritism Vice Admiral 😬)

Shanks

shanks absolutely pursued this type of relationship with you

Your pretty face and open smile snagged his attention but the way you easily met and fed his energy had him at you like a dog with a bone

He’s no stranger to helping people laugh their way into his bed, but the journey with you felt different. He took extra time simply because each moment with you was too good to keep from savoring

You didn’t hide your attraction at any point but he did appreciate that you would try and prod back at him in good humor to test his will and want

You found he had both in excessive abundance

It felt nice to have someone so attractive, established, feared, and adored seek your company and watch him become more interested with each minute he got of you. It also felt nice to see that while he certainly had an abundance of confidence he held no arrogance with you - he played no games in making you question his interest or to assert his importance to you. He treated you as a person (one he mainly wanted to turn to his bedroom tenant but still-) and it made him feel more like a man than a myth for you both too

And holy hell did you like that man - he made you laugh even if at his own expense, he impressed you when he’d let some of his cunning slip through the jovial pirate shtick, he kept your interest with how he could entertain any topic you brought forward, he made you feel beautiful with the way his eyes and hands soaked you in, and he made you feel wanted with the way he treated everything about you with genuine interest. 

The only thing that made it better is how he made sure you wanted for nothing. The first night it was making sure you didn’t pay a cent for anything, you always had food and drink right before you realized you wanted it, his coat found your shoulders the moment you felt a chill, you found yourself in fresh air right when the heat and the noise of the bar became too much. 

After that it was an endless stream of trinkets, from priceless to silly but sentimental, all coming with letters that had you laughing, blushing, and swooning.

Every time he’d visit you (and it was at first as often as he thought he could manage but that managed to get even sooner and sooner because of his need for you) you’d indulge in each other like it was the first and last time

He stopped wanting anyone else - there were enough people across the seas he had to apologize to after explaining why he’d gasped the wrong name and they were never right to scratch the new insatiable itch he had anyway

When it dawned on him how much you had him wrapped around your finger, not just physically and financially but also mentally, emotionally, and he’s pretty sure even spiritually, he may have had a crisis (the crew was very torn between amusement and true wory watching it unfold, especially when the usual rum and patented Beckman Shoulder Pat with Nod didn't ease his turmoil)

It wasn't because he didn’t want to love you, but he truly never thought he’d ever find someone he wanted and needed the way he does you. It was such a foreign concept to him that he felt like the world had tilted and left everything slightly unfamiliar. Especially coming from a relationship he stapled together with riches. Sure, there was also joy, camaraderie, and intimacy holding it together, but he found it harder to trust that someone such as you wouldn't find someone younger and more present to belong to than to trust that you could need him to sustain a lifestyle of ease and abundance.

If he couldn't be sure you'd want him, he'd try and find solace in you needing him, even if it was only for what he could afford you

When he finally told Beckman of his plight, he was slightly offended by the “it took you this long to figure it out?”

He’s currently trying to figure out how to convince you to live on his ship with him. He needed to let you know you’d be safe regardless of your experience level with the seas or battle. 

He’d bring the world to its knees if anything touched a hair on your head

Luckily for him, you knew. Anyone with eyes would from the way he smiles at you.

Garp

Garp was decidedly not in your plans. Yes, you wanted someone older, someone with wealth, someone with influence, someone who would take care of you, but you thought Gilfs were an urban legend told to see what face it would get out of freshies

You’re not complaining tho

He has certainly convinced you that the rarity of his kind just pointed to what a prized role it was to shack up with one

He was rough around the edges to be sure - brash and loud and stubborn - but he used all those traits to get you both exactly what you wanted

All your needs were met without you having to even think of them anymore (you were surprised that needs in the bedroom were included in that, but you supposed you shouldn’t have underestimated a man who could still punch apart battle ships, nor one with such a lust for eating)

Neither of you had any illusions of sweeping romance

You were more than happy with the care and respect that built between the two of you in your roles, growing with each act of service to each other, each piece of comfort, each unintended moment of vulnerability

Don’t get me wrong, the vulnerability ain’t common; most of your time is this man having fun watching you light up when he took you out and tossed his money around for you before taking you home to have multiple courses of dessert

You’ll never get over his gruff voice and curling accent - they helped your brain turn to mush while he coaxed and praised you through happily giving him everything he wants as a thank you for all his care

That voice along with all that burliness and age, which you thought would’ve been a turn off not on, ended up making you feel small yet so protected

Garp didn’t think he’d enter a relationship like this that went on so long and so easily but any reservation or second guessing was lost the moment he saw you and everything just felt natural

Tho he’d still make jokes that always make you groan about how you keep him young better than his troublesome recruits (that he is stuck between wanting to parade you around to see their jaws drop and wanting to keep you hidden away from any young bucks who may try to get your attention before he’s ready to let you go)

Thank you for reading 😘🤍🤍

Masterlist

[afreakingdork]

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine - Chapter 20 - Finale

RotTMNT x Reader

And here we have @sheep-turtles-and-pizza with the final chapter art that pretty much encapsulates the fic, dont'cha think?

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You

Warnings: POV Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Anxious Reader, Introverted Reader, Stuttering, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Romance, Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Aromantic Asexual Michelangelo (TMNT), Bisexual Donatello (TMNT), Pansexual Leonardo (TMNT), Lesbian Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Demisexual April O'Neil (TMNT), Implied Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/April O'Neil/Sunita, Endgame Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Romantic Love, Platonic Love, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Agoraphobia, Social Anxiety, Happy Ending, Fluff

Synopsis:  You’ve lost most of your life to anxiety and fear. Now, in your late 20s, you are desperate to reclaim it and during one such outing you encounter the sun personified. With his and his similarly celestially inspired family, will you finally reach your goal or will you lose yourself along the way?

I want to take a moment and acknowledge what today has been like. For many of us, it has been unending hours of shock, rage, and terror. It feels weird, in a way, to post this now, but at the same time I can't help but want a bit of normalcy. I'm hoping a dash of light and hope might be a comfort and if not, I understand, but I still present the finale of the fic I've worked so hard on.

Also available on Ao3

First 💛 Previous

He could do this.

With his phone alarm blaring, Mikey fought his lids.

He had to get up. If it wasn’t for this alarm, then he needed to before the next. He had been the one to set them in order of growing and grating noises, but that didn’t make it any easier. With little thought he hung there in stasis and listened to the first chime time out. There was exactly five minutes to the next, but he didn’t care to count. Instead his mind slipped and brought him closer to a dream when the second blare scared his lids up.

With the curtain drawn that meant it was time to move.

It came with liquid limbs which he threw without mercy.

They weren’t asleep so when one banged the wall, he was forced to wilt in weary pain. He brought his wrist, the wounded soldier, back home, and held it to his chest. He allowed it to rest there for the duration of the war which he traveled in leagues to the bathroom.

A splash of ice water to the face took him the rest of the way to wakefulness.

He preened after that, washing up and fixing his hair. He’d need it out of his face for the day and secured for the antics that would ensue. That meant extra fixing and Raph soon wandered in where Mikey had left the door open. The larger acknowledged the challenge his little brother was facing and brushed his teeth off to the side, giving Mikey the full span of the mirror.

Spitting became the real issue and Mikey refused to give up real estate. With Raph’s size though, there would be no victory, so Mikey took to the air. It meant the older brother ducked down to drink from the tap and Mikey got his last lock in place just before the other came up. It perched the younger brother on his older’s shoulders and they rode together to the kitchen.

Donnie was there facing the coffee pot with shut eyes as it spat and churned bean juice.

Greetings were exchanged with grunts and Mikey floated down to his feet to take up meal duty. This was his moment of zen and his favorite part of his morning routine. His mind immediately shut off and he only moved through the memorized motions.

Preheat pan.

Eggs.

Butter.

Gently melt.

Crack as needed.

Whisk.

Season.

Cook.

Mikey could make omelets in his sleep.

He might have done so once or twice if he trusted his brother’s stories.

He still wasn’t sold.

Going for a classic and simple French-style today, he dished up four of a normal size and one enormous one.

Donnie picked the crispest fold.

Leo sauntered in and grabbed the one with the most chives sprinkled atop.

Raph got the behemoth choice.

Mikey divided his portion into bites first and allowed his dad’s to cool for storage until whenever he woke.

They ate with minimal conversation that mostly related to the day.

“They’re gonna be fighting.” Leo pointed with his fork.

“How can they be fighting about the same thing, again?” Raph pressed, still chewing.

“Give me the count, D.” Leo turned to his fellow middle child.

“The visor versus sunhat debacle has played out twelve times that we know of.”

“Today is the baker’s dozen!” Leo tried to fold Mikey in with a glance.

Mikey raised his hands off the matter.

“A baker’s dozen!” Leo didn’t seem deterred and tried with a different connotation towards Raph.

“That doesn’t mean it’s a pattern!” Raph rolled his eyes.

“‘That doesn’t mean it’s a-’” Leo mocked before turning toward Donnie. “Do the stats, stats man!”

“I both relish and resent that you use me for data.” Donnie quipped and rolled his eyes over to Leo. “As little as two events establish a pattern with more solidifying.”

“They don’t keep having the same fight!” Raph cleaned his plate first.

Leo threw his hands out to Raph and sent his disgust at Donnie.

Donnie commiserated with a tip of his head.

“What’s that!?” Raph banged his plate.

Leo took his last bite and hopped to his feet. “Nothing, brodeo.”

“That ain’t nothing!” Raph frowned with his hands on his hips.

Donnie scooped his last bite and Leo stole his plate before he got it to his mouth. “Excuse you!”

“It’s too early for this!” Leo chirped and rounded past the sink without depositing his load. “Michael?”

“Not done!” Mikey had been carefully sectioning off bites to make it last.

If he kept eating then he didn’t have to move again.

He wasn’t quite awake yet which he would admit was his fault. He knew today had been coming up for a few months now, but he neglected to get his sleep schedule in line. The night before he had been nagged about his movie’s start time, but it was hard to battle the urge when he was in the mood for a particular one. His attention was fleeting enough that he usually chose to listen.

Which was something he should have been doing then because he had missed quite a bit of the current conversation while he was ruminating about his mistakes.

“Right now! You’re doing it right now!” Leo was flapping a hand at Raph.

“I do not! Donnie, tell him!”

“Two dost make a pattern…” Donnie petered off.

“Dost nothing!” Raph bumped Donnie’s chair.

“Alright, alright…” Mikey left his last quarter of his omelet and got to his feet. “How about that coffee?”

“Almost…” Donnie held up a finger and everyone paused.

The last few drips fell and the pot registered as full with a blink of a light over to a warming plate.

“Done.” Donnie spun and lifted out of his seat in a perfect rotation.

“Coffee.” Mikey reiterated and moved past to pat both Raph and Leo’s shells.

There were relenting grunts and mugs were split.

Donnie took his to-go in a thermos of his own making and departed with words of packing.

Leo sipped a mug loudly on purpose which summoned a growl from Raph.

Mikey gestured for Raph to drink.

The oldest almost did before he remembered cream and sugar and went for that.

The moment he was gone, Mikey shot Leo an irritated look.

Leo raised his hands as if he held no blame.

Mikey narrowed his eyes.

Leo tried to exaggerate his pose, but his coffee sloshed and dripped onto him. “Dang it! Come on!”

“That’s what you get.” Mikey spoke proudly.

Leo sneered and repeated the line. “I didn’t like this shirt anyway!”

“Liar, you picked it out last week.” Raph rose with an oversized mug to his lips.

“For shame! Picking on your brother like that!” Leo scoffed with his entire form.

Raph cocked his brow ridge.

Leo fled immediately with excuses on his lips about needing to get a detergent pen.

“You good?” Mikey checked on the oldest.

Raph said nothing and only gurgled with a thickened honey as he drank down his coffee.

Mikey gave the oldest’s arm a squeeze before he went in search of his phone. The object had been left behind due to its relation with alarms. It sat dutifully still plugged in and Mikey allowed unplugging to wake the screen. There were already a litany of messages from you lined and he tabbed through them lazily.

He penned replies and hobbled back to the kitchen where he’d forgotten to put dad’s omelet up. Raph had left so it was a tug of plastic wrap before it was lovingly slammed into the fridge with a sweet orange note applied. The fridge door closed and Mikey puzzled over what he had forgotten. It took a full rotation of his body to find his coffee and that it was now lukewarm. His tongue lolled out at the temperature and he dumped it.

Microwaving such things was sacrilege and Mikey instead messaged you asking about beverages.

You had a list seemingly ready for him and he smiled at it while saying you should take your pick.

Your response bubble disappeared and he could see you dropping everything to scroll the presumably tiny menu on mobile.

He could see you struggling with the page’s optimization and he shook his head.

Mikey would say he couldn’t believe how much he loved you, but that was patently wrong.

He knew the exact lengths.

He walked them one step at a time while holding your hand.

He treasured those times.

They also felt like something from a million years ago even though it had at most been a year.

Or maybe more.

Mikey wasn’t that great at dates outside of birthdays, but that was because he’d set reminders.

He should set another one and fiddled over to the calendar only to forget when he saw Piebald’s birthday coming up.

He already had a gift, but her party was one that split his attention.

You would be there too.

His best friend in the whole world.

Probably soon to be in-law with that recent geology expedition Donnie had gone on.

Rocks usually bored him to tears so the connection made sense.

You would say yes.

You would become family.

You would always be more.

You held a place in his heart that no one else dared get close to.

He had fallen in one love and then into another with you.

He was forever grateful and more so that you would always be by his side.

You responded back with your drink order and an updated file that Mikey didn’t bother opening. The last time he tried the text was so microscopic that it made a mockery of some online menu board. You would explain it to him when you met up anyway and he already knew the basics. You were overprepared and that was your normal song and dance. You would fret and he would find a way to make the day’s plans even better.

Assured, Mikey’s phone chirped with a new message and it was Leo’s final boarding call.

Realizing then that he had done nothing else to prepare, he made a literal hop, skip, and jump across the lair and back into his room. He placed himself in the dead center of it and took one deep breath before his ninpo charged. He was then off like a rocket, doing calculated slips through space to grab everything.

Comfy shorts for walking.

Cool vintage tank top he found to stay cool.

Fanny pack in a blinding color so he wouldn’t lose his belongings.

No hat because his hair was already done.

A lather of Donnie’s special sunscreen that was matched for his exact pigment.

A pair of sunglasses that he planned on losing.

He came to a halt and flicked off residual orange sparks totally ready to leave.

“How’s that for prep work!?”

The room didn’t respond.

“Exactly!” Mikey whooped and spun out of his room.

He continued to do twirls all the way until he reached the TV room where Splinter was groggily looking up at Donnie.

“There are thrill rides in New York!” His dad scoffed and flapped his hands.

“Not like these.” Donnie tried to reason with him.

Splinter made a disgruntled noise.

Mikey jumped over to him. “Omelette in the fridge, daddio!”

“Thank you, orange.” Splinter held his head up for a kiss.

Mikey obliged him. “Where’s Leo? Didn’t he say it was time to go?”

“I did.” Leo’s voice drifted in from the side. “And I perfectly timed how late you would be.”

“And didn’t bother to tell anyone else.” Donnie folded his arms.

“Pattern.” Raph grunted.

“Okay that was funny like an hour ago, but I’m over it being a whole day thing.” Leo cocked a hip.

“Another pattern!” Raph held out his arms in accusation.

“That was my point-!” Leo threw up his hands to stop himself. “Nope. Breaking the cycle!”

A beat of silence went through the room.

Raph didn’t take the bait and only looked over at Leo.

Leo shined him an honest smile.

Raph gave him a nod that said this version of apology was acceptable.

“Alright! Now that that’s over, choo-choo! Leo train is now boarding. Please line up single file. That’s hands and feet inside the line at all times. Some universal mishaps possible so try to keep within the portal’s boundary, please and thank you!” Leo moved to an open space and manifested a sword.

Donnie led the line behind him.

“Have fun wasting time with your loopsie loops! The premium entertainment is right here!” Splinter rubbed the remote against his cheek.

A few affectionate goodbyes were tossed and Mikey joined to be last in line.

“Three total stops, and here-!” Leo sliced a portal that went straight into April’s apartment.

Everyone stepped through in a continuous line as if they weren’t walking straight through miles of land and two people were added to the queue.

“We-!” The next portal cut through your apartment.

You joined in line with a wave.

“Go!” The last blue disk sent the now larger group to an amusement park’s gates. “Thank you for riding the Leo Express, we knew you had a great trip so do send over that five star review as soon as possible!”

Everyone warbled out of the rigid placement and reformed in a circle.

This was it.

Everything would devolve into that Hamato chaos from here.

Mikey smiled at the prospect.

Raph was the first to break with a barely withheld snort.

“Sing it, big guy!” April crooned.

“Don’t… you… dare…” Casey lowered her posture and prepared to launch herself if necessary.

The barest twitter emerged from Raph who had lifted to his full height and was fighting strain with all of it.

April bounced behind Casey’s back. “What’s it look like!? How about now!? You see it, you say it!”

“O’Neil…!” Casey threatened.

“You look like an old timey lamp in human form!” Raph blurted out.

April cackled and cut through the circle to laugh against the oldest brother. “I asked if she was going to share her poker chips!”

That garnered more giggles.

“Fools!!!” Casey hissed and threw up a defensive finger.

“Watch out, s-she’s gonna have to recount the m-money!” April barely managed.

Raph slapped April’s back so hard she fell over.

Casey stormed straight towards Mikey.

Mikey assumed the position and was immediately held up in display.

“Look at this one! Pathetic! He has no cranial protection at all and the covering for his eyes impedes his vision! My superior visor blocks UV, reduces eye strain, and will not be lost in our conquest of delights!!” Casey shook Mikey so hard his sunglasses came off.

He chuckled all the way in leaning down to pick them up. “I’m team sunscreen.”

“Sunscreen!?!” Casey threw him up into the air.

Mikey altered his trajectory with a kick of his foot and landed by Leo. “You put on sunscreen, right?”

“You cannot put sunscreen on your eyes!!” Casey seethed.

“Huh? Sure. Yeah.” Leo spoke dismissively with his gaze over his shoulder.

“This is a hat versus visor debate!!” Casey stomped at being ignored.

Mikey’s grin grew at the sign of more mischief.

Leo was up to something else entirely.

Mikey bet he stoked the debate fires this morning to throw others off his trail.

Today was shaping up to be extremely entertaining.

Donnie openly thought.

You tacked away with a flurry on your phone, no doubt looking up some park policy about the recommended sun protection.

“Goggles is team visors, don’t try to ‘hotdog is a sandwich’ your way outta this one!” April shouted.

“They are their own category!!” Donnie bristled.

Casey rushed Donnie. “Join me!! With your brain and my all around balanced skill chart, we shall make the hat wearers rue the day they trifled with secure headwear!”

“No. I’d rather not.” Donnie speed walked out the way.

Casey chased after him. “Give in!!”

Donnie went straight for Leo.

Leo had to double take before he realized Casey was now heading towards him. “Wait, no! I’m not part of this!”

In a speedy grapple, Donnie and Leo fought over Leo’s bag.

Donnie came out victorious with a pair of blue rimmed sunglasses that he slammed onto Leo’s beak.

“A turncoat!” Donnie exclaimed before sidestepping toward Mikey.

“You fiend!” Casey caught the loops of Leo’s tank top before he could run. “As leader you should be setting an example!”

“Of dork-i-tude? I think not!” Leo’s sunglasses slid down his beak and he looked at Casey dismissively over them.

She shook them straight off of him and yelled so loud her words became unintelligible.

Raph helped April back to her feet where the two were still snickering.

“Was the new sunscreen formulation tolerable?” Donnie leaned against a guard rail and regarded his youngest brother.

“Oh yeah, went on good! No lasting goopy feeling!” Mikey chirped.

“And a hotdog is a sandwich!” Leo clawed Casey off of him and threw her at Raph and April.

The pair squealed as Casey switched to a fighting stance in the air.

“That’s good, I analyzed new products on the market and found-” Donnie droned on.

Mikey pretended he understood anything his brother was saying.

“And meet up squabbles… Check…”

Mikey turned at the comparatively small voice.

It was obviously you and you smiled at your phone before looking up.

You met his eye and your gaze softened.

He returned it.

He needed to ask you about those drinks.

He was about to when you suddenly broke your gaze away.

He watched with a falling smile as you built up determination and took a single step forward.

Your body language read sturdy and your lips parted. “Alright… L-listen up!!!”

It took a bit of tapering, but as each person caught on to the owner of the voice, they all quieted in different forms of awe.

Your eyes didn’t leave your phone, but you didn’t look like you were reading from something. “I thank you all for coming today! It m-means a lot that you would join me! You p-probably already know about my, um… trouble with anxiety. I’ve been working really hard and today is a culmination of breaking that down. I… never thought I’d ever go to an amusement park, let alone leave New York, but I’m here now, t-thanks to each of y-you, so… thank you, truly…”

Your eyes rose in gratitude and everyone shifted with emotion.

April opened her mouth to respond, but your expression shifted to a threatening one.

Again, the group stiffened in surprise.

“That being said… This is my plan!” Phones started to ping around the group, but no one dared go for their device. “You’ve just been sent a copy of today’s itinerary. If you do not follow it, you will be left behind! T-that said, I did a ton of research and took as much into account as I possibly could! I t-think it’s doable…” You checked your phone. “My spiel is done, you now have 15 minutes to look and decide before the g-gates open…”

Hands flew for their phones.

“It really is 15 till…”

“How…?”

“Woah, what…?”

Mikey’s entire body tipped to the side.

He was only one of two people not acting on your instruction.

You had returned to checking something on your phone and swipes of your pupils said you were moving things around.

Mikey looked around.

“We’re being split up…?” April was sharing her phone between Raph and Casey. “Ride team and prize team…”

“How did pipsqueak know I was going to make the carnies cry?” Casey rubbed her chin.

“You’re not supposed to make them cry! You’re supposed to win cute prizes!” Raph tutted her. 

“Victory tastes sweeter when seasoned with tears.” Casey only nodded appropriately.

“I did only want to do coasters…” April remarked, still studying her device.

Leo chuffed and immediately tried to muffle it.

April caught wind and started scrolling on her phone with purpose before she lit with anger. “Hey! Now, hold on! What’s up with this!?”

Leo pointedly looked away.

“’Leo and April shenanigans!?’ Why do I get moved off the ride rotation?! What does that mean!?” She threw her phone out and walked it into Leo’s face.

“Oh, nothing!” He failed to conceal his laugh. “Y/N wrote it!”

April’s eyes narrowed.

“Leo’s meeting up with someone.”

A few pairs of eyes shot to you, but you were still working.

You gave a sly smile to mostly yourself. “He’s the only one I couldn’t figure out so I asked for his help.”

“Smart move. I would have gone rogue otherwise.” Leo shrugged.

“What’s that got to do with me!?” April rounded on Leo.

“Nothing!” Leo raised his voice and ducked around April in a smooth twirl that sent his mask tails twisting like a graceful pair of ribbons. “Just maybe I have a hot date with someone you just so happened to know and might not approve of…”

“What?! Who!?” April spun around with a low center of gravity to latch onto him if need be.

“Oh, is that the ticket guy!?” Leo skipped away.

“Leo! Leonardo Hamato, you get your ass back here right now! Who!?” April chased after him.

“I’m kinda glad…” Raph pressed his fingers together. “Takes the stress offa trying to get on the rides with the weight limit and all… Y/N even scheduled me tram time. How’d you know?”

You gave a slight wiggle at the praise, but didn’t respond.

“It is rigid, yet a lethal plan of attack.” Casey smacked her phone approvingly. “I may have to reevaluate your position in my ranking board of weakness if the outcome is favorable.”

Leo laughed loudly as he dodged April in the parking lot.

Mikey felt like he was out of his mind.

That was it?

You suddenly did something he would have never guessed in a million years and everyone only cared for a few minutes’ tops.

This was more than your progress.

This was something completely new.

It made no sense.

In a slow swivel, Mikey looked at the only other person who had yet to move.

Donnie was right next to him and lounging against the rail he was leaning on.

On his face was an expression that was nothing less than love struck.

“My nova…” Donnie mooned quietly. “Ever expanding destruction. Stunning.”

He then moved over to you and it was only for him that you parted your attention.

You shared your screen with him and he curled around, not quite touching you, to take it in with all his adoration.

Mikey was still leagues away.

His limbs felt clunky as he went for his phone.

There at the top of his notifications was your itinerary. It was clearly labeled and he clicked on it. The day was laid out before him in exact measure. There were blank fields ready to be filled in with approximate ride wait times. As soon as entry to the park was granted, the tables were divided into two clear columns for those who sought thrills and those who preferred less stomach churning activities. Along with scheduled drink and bathroom breaks, the snack segments were drop down lists that had food stand opening times along with full menus.

One of which was highlighted in orange and was sporting a coffee bar menu.

Mikey shook with a dry laugh.

“Time!” You clapped once and moved straight to the ticket counter with purpose.

You hadn’t purchased the tickets ahead of time, he knew this.

There had been something about an in-park discount. You were the first person in line and ended up buying for the lot with a quick card slip from Leo. Mikey identified that as the Hamato joint account. It had alleviated many petty squabbles. You dutifully went to each person and gave them a ticket like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Mikey accepted and the otherwise boring slip seemed like it glowed in his hand. He tucked it into a particularly safe pocket of his fanny pack as everyone moved inside. There were sounds of interest as soon as you entered the gate. The fracture split the group and there were no hard feelings.

You parted from Donnie with only one solidifying glance.

You two were always like that.

Donnie’s pet names were seemingly the only overtly romantic thing of note. Otherwise, the two of you displayed next to no PDA. It wasn’t just Mikey; Leo had questioned if you two were still dating more than once. It made Donnie furious every time and he declared your relationship was healthier than ever with each prompting. Mikey never saw it as a bad thing, but he could admit his bias. 

Mikey was also closer to you than anyone else. 

He knew your looks and the way you talked about Donnie. 

You were not left romantically wanting and Mikey would bet his existence that you two were in it for the long haul.

It felt like an odd rumination to end on as you left your boyfriend and headed straight towards him instead.

“Ready for that coffee?” You pointed in the direction of where it presumably was.

“Uh, yeah…” Mikey responded dully.

Casey yelled charge and jumped on Raph’s shoulders.

Raph pretended to rear before setting off.

April tugged ruthlessly on Leo’s mask tails and walked with Donnie towards growing metal pyres of rollercoasters.

“You okay…?” You tilted your head. “Need motion sickness meds?”

“No. I just didn’t… What… what team am I on…?” Mikey couldn’t remember where his phone was.

You tapped it where it was sticking out of his fanny pack. “Mine.”

“Yours… being…?”

You took a leading step and he followed after.

“Team duo!” You held up eager fists.

“Duo…?” Mikey pointed between him and you.

“We’re the only o-ones who want to do both!”

“Both…?”

You looked out fondly at the park. “Our special designation. I’m m-making the most of it… I… I’m n-not sure about the whole… coaster… adrenaline junkie thing. I think… I’ve had enough fight or flight for one lifetime, but… you can’t come h-here and not ride a coaster!”

Mikey nodded along.

“We’re d-doing two rides for sure…” You held up two fingers. “The f-fastest one and the o-one you were talking about…”

He thought and got himself a little straighter. “The one that free falls…?”

“Exactly!” You hopped a step.

“Huh…” The corner of his lips quirked.

“My heart’s already racing…!” You squeezed a hand to your chest. “Coffee w-won’t help, I think I’m gonna get something less caffeinated. Tea…? I was thinking tea…”

“Tea’s good.”

“Iced.” You agreed.

“I’m…” What was he doing?

Was he going to spend all day like this?

You were clearly over the moon with excitement.

You’d made this incredible list.

Everyone had split up, but seemed to be having a blast.

This was the final item on your mega list.

He was going to be your buddy for the day.

Was he going to miss that chance?

Never.

“I’m…” Mikey repeated and then jumped forward to block your path. “I’m going to get the most sugary thing and drop four shots of espresso in it!”

“M-Mikey!!” Your hands came up in a worried flurry.

“Try and stop me!” Mikey cheered and ran towards the only food stand that was open.

It was clearly the coffee station and you chased after shouting his name.

He placed his order before you reached him and you panted yours out when you got there.

The person moved to make them after taking payment and you scolded him for what would definitely happen. While the hyper-dose of caffeine would momentarily settle him, it would also eventually process along with the sugar. The resulting stimulation would send him bouncing off the walls until he eventually crashed. You added notes about forcing snacks on him to prevent that and he breezily accepted.

You got your drinks and headed out.

He found Casey by her voice alone and found her arguing with a worker in the carnival area. Raph stood by, unable to do much other than apologize and Mikey swooped in to get her away. The woman griped around having won and Mikey told her to get the next one. A huddle was had and there was discussion on how the games were rigged. It broke apart with an agreement that a little mysticism would go a long way and games were then chosen in a rotation.

It started with you picking a water gun game where you won nothing more than a bouncy ball.

Mikey and you played with it as Raph took his turn next and drove Casey up a wall because he had trouble deciding. You had a great time walking around and talking amongst it so when Raph finally picked it almost seemed like an interruption. His stall of choice came with ring toss and extra fuzzy looking plush prizes. You all took turns throwing, but no one got close enough to win anything.

Casey went next and immediately chose a stall that had balloons to pop. She forewent the weapon to throw kunai which spooked the employee. It took the manpower of the rest of the group to calm the man down before Mikey casted a small memory shifting spell. It had come in handy more than once for removing blame from his dad, but he kept the origins of the spell to himself. The mechanics of which he happily shared. The employee lost five minutes at most and Casey was removed from the stall kicking and screaming by Raph.

That left Mikey, who stopped at the sight of a giant spinning drill bit. It was an oddity amongst the other dime a dozen games and he felt compelled to ask. A kind man offered him a metal rod with a hole in it and explained that the game was one like Operation. If Mikey could get the hole all the way down the twisting and turning piece of metal without making contact with it then he would get a prize.

Raph was staring straight at a teddy bear the size of him and of a much higher quality than any other stand.

Mikey pretended to push up his non-existent sleeves before he claimed this was the game.

The buzzer of failure rang within 15 seconds.

Casey shoved him out of the way and screamed about how she would be the successful one amongst them all.

Her alarm came in seven seconds.

She spit about cheating and Mikey held her back so Raph could go.

Raph was sweating bullets as his giant hands meant it was more difficult to hold the rod.

He maneuvered the hole as far down as he could before his mass impeded him twisting along with the moving drill and he was outed around the 25 second mark.

That left you where you hopelessly grabbed the rod.

Without a drop of faith on your face, you studied how to best approach it and threaded your rod against the drill.

Moving slowly and methodically, you worked down the corkscrew that had taken out both Mikey and Casey.

You then rounded a looping arch that had removed Raph.

Down into a rectangular area that had you making snap gestures with your wrists, you then cleared it for a final flight straight down until the rod sat flush with the base of the game.

There was a beat of silence.

You then looked up at the employee.

“T-there was a mistake…” The man uttered. “The top there. You touched it, but the machine glitched and didn’t go off.”

This time Casey wasn’t the only one who fought back.

Mikey shot forward with the other two to bowl the mean man over with complaints.

Your praises were sung.

The man was bitter in gesturing to the wall, giving up on the matter and letting you pick a prize.

“Raph… which was it…?” You checked with him.

“You sure?!” Raph’s eyes watered.

“Very.” You nodded for him to choose.

He hugged the bear so tight there were waning stitches.

It was Casey who urged him to back off and with that you were off for your first snack break.

The sugar and caffeine were commingling in Mikey’s stomach so he launched himself forward with purpose. He ended up getting too far ahead and bet a random employee about guessing his weight. The man ended up being wrong and gave him a superhero cape for his troubles. It was a far cry from his cloak, but Mikey ran around making it soar nonetheless. You eventually caught up and purchased a variety of popcorns. They had a ridiculous amount of flavors and the pot was shared amongst the group. One selection was tossed while another was fought over and after you forced Mikey to down a bottle of water, you were on your way to the ride of his choosing.

The freefall ride was immediately selected and you were soon led to a shaky basket. It sat ready to be lifted up a set of tracks. Raph bowed out as there were three seats and he couldn’t fit in any of them. He seemed more than pleased to watch with his stuffed animal cradled tight and you were moved into the middle position. Casey complained about not needing shackles which the park attendant ignored as he made sure everyone was strapped in. Mikey looked all around in obvious excitement while your anxieties heavily contrasted him. You politely asked the man to double check your safety bar. He did so without complaint, but tacked on that you should be ready because the ride dropped at a rate of 30 feet per second which did nothing to quell your concerns.

As the man moved away to start the ride, Mikey caught a glimpse of teeth. 

It unnerved him and he continued to stare long after the guy manned a control panel. As far as Mikey could tell, he didn’t do anything else out of the ordinary which left him wondering if he had been mistaken. The ride began to ascend the tower and you clung to your safety bars with white knuckles. Mikey switched to soothing you by wondering if you’d been able to see the ride team when you achieved your maximum height. You stunted out a question about what coaster they were on and the ride clinked to a halt at the very top while Mikey tried to guess.

The entire park was laid out in front of you.

Mikey watched over it with a huge smile before turning it to you and finding the same awe inspired twinkle in your eyes.

“These are the best seats…” Casey mumbled.

You nodded in agreement.

“Nice pick, orange peel.” Casey tipped her chin to Mikey.

“Thank you!” Mikey beamed.

The moment lingered on.

A little too long. 

Casey squirmed and grunted about the wait. 

Mikey’s eye wandered before he peeked over the carriage to see what was going on below. 

From this angle, he couldn’t quite see the ride operator. 

You mustered up the courage to wonder, “Isn’t it… s-supposed to fa-?”

The beams holding the cart released with a chunk and whatever was left of your question went up into an outright scream as you rocketed down the ride. The basket then tipped and flipped over at the end, cutting off the intense inertia and churned the contents of everyone’s stomachs. Casey belched loudly and Mikey weakly thanked you for the water. You only shivered in your seat and didn’t move a muscle until the cart was righted and you were allowed to exit. There you made it a few feet before you wilted into Raph. “I-I l-lifted!”

“Lifted?” Raph offered you his stuffed animal.

You grabbed it with a might that rivaled its owners. “I-In m-my s-seat…! I-it w-wasn’t t-tight t-to m-my b-body. I l-lifted up i-into t-the a-air!”

Mikey spun around to glare at the employee, but he was strapping new guests in.

“Let’s go!” Mikey grumbled and ushered the group along.

You nodded shakily and it took walking halfway across the park before you steadied a little. It was there that you met up with the ride crew fresh off their coaster and oozing adrenaline. April was hollering about going a third time and tackled Casey. The former recruit hoisted her up and paraded April around. Mikey passed you off to Donnie who animatedly regaled you about the ride they’d just been on. He had the history of it and listening to him seemed to take your final edge off.

It was only to be built back up as this reunion was so you could hit your coaster.

The park capacity had grown as time wore on. It meant a lengthy wait in the line which was happily filled with conversation. Catching up on everything that had been missed, you updated the schedule before it was your turn. This time it was four in a row and Mikey high fived Leo to signal he’d ride with him. The couples took the first car and Donnie had words about how being in the front had its advantages.

You didn’t seem to agree, but you were soothed when this park attendant didn’t have the same odd edge. She secured you into place with a heavy click and pulled so hard on your seat belt that you appeared to have the air squeezed out of you. Donnie prattled on about how you would achieve 50 miles per hour and an employee joked about you losing your shoes. Mikey used his last free motion to zip his fanny pack up tightly and there was a ticking counter for takeoff.

The entire train shot like a bullet out of the station. Without a single building momentum, it instead bounced with turns and rotations that mimicked a balloon caught in a wind tunnel. Mikey screeched with excitement as he saw ground, then sky, then ground again, in a seemingly endless loop. His body was rocked violently side to side, but little of him went anywhere with the safety equipment.

With its hurtling speeds, the ride appeared over as fast as it began and Mikey was giggling his head off.

Donnie disengaged first, but you didn’t move.

He immediately rounded back on you and the employee came along with alarm on her face that immediately shifted to outright laughter. “Omigosh! Look at your hands! You made indents with your f-fingers! I’ve never seen that!!”

“Let go, nova dearest…” Donnie urged you.

You made a weary noise and didn’t seem to know you were safely docked.

“You’re alright. You can let go now.” The attendant joined in.

“You’re all good! Still got your zapatos on!” Leo cheered from where he was already back on solid ground.

Mikey followed after him. “The schedule, Y/N!”

That got you and you disengaged your fingers.

The attendant and Donnie helped you to the platform.

Your hands were out and stuck in a claw-like positioning.

“This is when you-!” Casey caught a finger and pulled hard.

It popped the joint and you squeaked in pain.

April immediately went on both attack and defense.

She kicked Casey down a short flight of stairs and helped you check your finger. “It’s not out of socket… You good?”

You nodded, teary eyed.

“Alright, alright…” April shushed you and slung an arm around your shoulders. “Where’s Raph? I bet he wants to do tea cups!”

“Tea cups! Spin off, bro!?” Leo whooped and turned toward Donnie.

You murmured out Raph’s location.

Donnie shoved Leo away and moved into yours and April’s shadow.

Casey butted up to Mikey’s side. “Was that… a grave mistake…?”

“No…” Mikey turned to her with sympathy. “Too much at the wrong time? Yes, but you’ll be forgiven, I guarantee it.”

Casey didn’t seem convinced.

“How about this…?” Mikey ducked his head down to share a secret.

Casey came with severe attention.

“When we have souvenir time, pay close attention to what Y/N looks at. If they pass on something, but look back at it, you know they actually want it. Get them that and say sorry then. It’ll be perfect.”

“You are sure?”

“I…” Mikey softened. “… know Y/N better than anyone. Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I see… Understood.” Casey gave a nod and broke the walking huddle.

Raph was back with the gang and had a churro that was almost as long as him. Apparently a cart man had taken his size on as a challenge and made this one special. Raph was unfazed at having not ridden any rides yet and munched happily. Your spirits raised and by the time you were at the tea cups, you asked to sit out. April offered to join you, but you urged her to go as you wanted to watch and take pictures.

That was enough of a go ahead and everyone smashed themselves into a single cup even though there wasn’t enough room. The attendant at this ride didn’t seem to care as no one else was on and started up the cups. All six cup members grabbed the center wheel and began to turn it with reckless abandon. The cup immediately exceeded some upper limit and the resulting g-forces forced Mikey to let go first.

He slammed, carapace first, into the wall and found he couldn’t pull his limbs back to return to spinning. Leo’s lips flapped as he challenged Casey who was directly across from him. She took him on with a wild expression and April was the next to hit the wall. She seemed to suffocate on the oxygen being spun away from her and Raph’s clambering claws slipped.

He had little space to fly and only seemed to open up more room for the final three. Donnie held out as long as he could, but he too was knocked out by the rotations. That left Leo and Casey who, to Mikey’s eyes, were never going to stop. The ride continued to spin longer than Mikey thought possible. Though it was only in millisecond clips, he sort of caught the vision of you talking to the employee. You pointed towards them and he thought maybe it was to stop you, but Mikey also caught a clip of the employee laughing.

The ride wasn’t going to stop until someone won, he realized then.

“Gonna… be… sick…!!” Donnie retched.

“I’ve been puked on before!” Leo cackled, not backing down.

“Try cleaning up frosting vomit!” Casey matched him.

“Been there, done that!” Leo seethed.

Raph’s eyes spun and his head lolled.

“We lost Raph!” April screamed.

Donnie and April latched onto the arms of the largest half-conscious brother to keep him from flying out of the ride.

The tea cup began to wobble.

“U-uh… G-guys!?” Mikey squeaked.

“Give it up!” Leo’s words slurred.

“Never!!!” Casey screamed.

A bit of spit exited her mouth.

As if caught in the middle of a vortex, it seemed to slow around the tornado.

Mikey watched as it hung before choosing a direction.

It hit Leo directly in the eye.

The slider let go and flew back with enough force that there was an audible bang against the metal cup.

A song played that signaled the end of the ride and no amount of gentle slowing could adjust everyone’s equilibrium.

“I… win!!!” Casey managed before collapsing right out of the cup.

The others similarly fell to the floor and half crawled their way in different directions, unable to tell which way they were going. You rushed into the ride and helped the best you could. It meant you flew from April almost hitting a guardrail to Raph who regained consciousness, but could barely speak. Donnie dry heaved and the attendant had to use a crowbar to remove Leo from the cup. There was light conversation about paying for damages which was turned into an elaborate lie instead so the park employee wouldn’t get in trouble for his various infractions.

Something convincing was agreed upon and half the group took a break.

Leo said he was fine otherwise and said he’d be hitting the restroom. April checked her phone as he was walking away and screamed at him about the time. He immediately took off running and she pursued him all while asking why he felt the need to flee. Raph said something about needing to move since his ear drums thought he was and he gravitated towards a nearby slide. Mikey watched after, nursing a new water. He glanced at his companions and found you soothingly rubbing the back of Donnie’s neck while Casey lay in a limp pile.

“It’s two to a carpet…” You told Mikey without looking.

“Isn’t Raph the two?” Mikey chuckled.

You smiled and flicked your eyes to give him permission to go.

He returned the grip and tipped his water in gratitude before chasing after the oldest. This line moved swiftly and Mikey and Raph butted together to walk the straight line between the bars. They were soon sitting on a soft rug and then pushed down an enormous snake. Black, red, and yellow flew by and it was oddly grounding as they slithered through twists and turns. By the time they were off, the vertigo had lapsed and Mikey ran back to you with the good news.

You had moved over by a trash can where you were patting Casey’s face with a wet towel.

“She get sick?” Mikey asked.

You opened your mouth to respond but the women in question cut you off.

“N-nev-!” Casey belched wetly. “-er… yes…”

“Don’t worry… Even warriors throw up sometimes…” You passed Casey the towel.

“Thank you…” Casey showed a moment of vulnerability and leaned into you.

You helped her up and back over to where Donnie was still sat.

“Lunch is next…” Raph spoke nervously and his stomach growled.

“How!?” Donnie threw out a limp wrist.

Raph chuckled sheepishly.

“Food can help… Something light?” You asked Casey.

She only groaned and moved to walk herself towards the larger food court.

“How are you fine?” Donnie asked Mikey.

“Hmm…” Mikey wondered aloud. “Y/N has been pumping me full of dry food and water so I guess I’m hydrated and the food ate up my stomach acid kinda thing?”

Donnie thought it over before stopping at the next closest cart to get a water.

Mikey watched him sip on it and the group eventually gathered at an outdoor dining room flagging a congregation of food stalls. Mikey took orders and Raph offered to carry the trays while everyone else rested. You darted away for napkins and condiments and there was soon a spread on a large wooden table. April joined back up just as food was served and when asked who Leo was with she would only grumble out that she didn’t want to talk about it. No one pushed and she left to momentarily get her own food.

Eating slowly recuperated everyone and there was talk of how to proceed. The tram ride was technically next and Raph was full and eager to ride the train around the park. You urged the others that this was a good thing and there was a stuffed trudge over to the platform. It was an agonizing staircase up, but once inside, the AC pumped through the cabin. Each person laid out on their own bench and slipped into a dreamy daze as the tram made routine pit stops.

For several cycles, the transport was yours. Mikey sat across the alley from you and watched you stare at the way the sunbeams sparkled through the rides. They seemed to be the only light penetrating the calm and darkened car. It added to the mood and it was only when another person finally got on that you all moved to disembark.

You were on the far side of the park and there was a divide on what to do next. A certain coaster was here that could apparently fit Raph and he seemed eager to try it. Meanwhile, April and Casey had their eyes set on a log ride on the other side of the park. Raph looked on expectantly at the rest of you and Donnie agreed to go. You and Mikey said you’d wait in line, but not ride and everyone separated. The queue was shorter here for the distance from the other rides and the line curled through the trees. It offered a delightful flush of shade and conversation was pleasant.

Raph was allowed on after some adjustments to his seat and Donnie bid you and Mikey adieu.

You showed Mikey the tea cup pictures you had taken and Mikey couldn’t stop laughing at all the ugly wind blown faces. You regaled him on how you asked the ride attendant to keep spinning and how the man thought it was a hilarious contest. He apparently had a speed gun and caught a top speed of 89 miles per hour which seemed absurd, but you had evidence of that too. You then readied yourself and snapped a photo as the coaster shot by with Donnie and Raph. You shared that shot with Mikey too and it painted Raph the picture of terror and Donnie something a little more lighthearted than neutral.

You were both laughing and turning the images into memes when the other two brothers joined you.

Donnie appeared in good health, but walked a small distance from the group to slouch against a bench instead of sitting on it.

Raph got his phone out, laughed at the first meme in the group chat, and then was obvious about getting the itinerary up. “Oh, there’s a break in the schedule here. We can either rest, go to a show, or shop!”

“What kind of show?” Mikey perked up.

“Uh…” Raph fiddled with the drop down and his large fingers. “Dance show!”

Mikey debated openly.

You were looking at Donnie.

Donnie didn’t seem to notice.

Donnie looked like he was sulking. 

You turned to Mikey with a sort of expectant look.

Mikey tilted his head and wondered if he should prod his brother.

You instead moved closer to him and gestured for him to lower his head.

He brought it down to listen. “Mind shopping with me? I don’t think he’s had enough protein…”

“Sure!” Mikey bobbed. “Raph, you going to the show? We’re hitting the vendors!”

“Think I’ll be good alone…?” Raph weighed his options with a swing of his head.

“I think you’ll run into Leo and his mystery date.” Mikey wagged his brow ridge. “What’s more romantic than dancing?” 

Raph lit up. “Dance show it is!”

You waved Raph and his stuffed animal goodbye and went to flank Donnie with Mikey.

He moved listlessly with you and Mikey thought you were spot on in your guess.

He hadn’t seen Donnie eat anything other than a plain baked potato at the concession so it was highly likely that his brother hadn’t had anything with protein in it since his morning omelet. With all the walking and excitement, that meant he had little more than carbs to work off of and it was the likely culprit for his dip in mood.

You rounded in and out of several open air shops where Mikey clocked a keychain for Casey to get you later.

He covertly snapped a pic and sent it off along with a location and received back a flurry of emojis.

Mikey rolled his eyes affectionately and followed you into a shop with jerky.

Donnie turned his nose up at the stuff, but the employee there was a proud one. They went on and on about how tender it was which Donnie openly scoffed at. Samples were passed out to prove him otherwise, but he refused to partake. You and Mikey clinked paper cups before downing yours and Mikey drilled the employee on how they’d done it all while his mouth was still full. It was far too tender for what it was and the employee laughed haughtily and only agreed.

Donnie tentatively took a corner shred as a bite as if there was a chance it was poisoned and was struck by how easily the meat tore away from the piece. He then ate his fill and picked up several bags which he snacked on while you and Mikey debated flavors. The employee threw in a discount and you exited with several bags and a much happier Donnie.

A piece of jerky stuck out of the corner of his brother’s mouth and you pulled the group aside to look at the park map. There was clear conversation of where to head next and Mikey’s attention wandered. He was no longer wearing his cape which meant he had lost it at some point. Instead of wondering where, Mikey accepted the disappearance and fiddled with the zipper of his fanny pack. You and Donnie were still talking and he was about to interject in case you had gotten off topic when a man walked by. 

Mikey stared after him for a long moment and placed him as the man from the freefall ride. 

A small spark of resentment flicked in Mikey’s chest and he decided this walk by had occurred for a reason. 

“I’m… I’m gonna be right back! Do whatever… yeah, whatever…!” Mikey ran in the direction the employee went.

You shouted out questions behind him, but didn’t pursue.

It took a bit of winding as Mikey lost track, but around a curve of fence, there was an obvious park worker entrance that said ‘KEEP OUT.’ It was also very obviously wide open and Mikey popped his head in to check. There was a long hallway of built up fence that disappeared around a bend. He walked cautiously down the path until a sliver of an open area became visible. Stopping there and hunkering down in learned scouting, Mikey saw the park employee walk into frame with another following him and yanking his hat off.

The offensive man slapped his coworker and the other man complained that he almost dropped his headwear.

Mikey chewed his lip at the first bubbles of anger.

The mean man laughed. “Aw, did I scare you?! Careful now, don’t wanna shit yourself!”

“Get lost, Zach.” The second man waved him away.

“Don’t be like that, Nevan. Whatcha doing?”

“Taking five, beat it.”

“Aw, come on! We’re both hiding out” The jerk who was now dubbed Zach leaned on the wall beside the other man.

“No, dude. I just need a second and I’m not getting written up for you again.” The nicer guy who was apparently named Nevan sneered. 

“Jerry’s a jackass! He hands out write up slips like parking tickets!”

“No, you’re always breaking code.” Nevan waved Zach off to leave.

“Come on! You’re already here! I just wanna tell you about this nutcase on the free fall!”

Nevan put his fingers in his ears and sang.

Zach tackled him and bumped a nearby trash can that buzzed with the jostling. 

Mikey caught his fingers in a wood plank to keep from interfering. 

Zach soon had Nevan in a headlock. 

“What the fuck is your problem!? Get off!!” Nevan struggled. 

“Listen and I’ll let go!” Zach cooed. 

“Screw you!”

Zach squeezed.

Mikey seethed, ready to step in.

“Fine! You know what?! Fine! Just let go!!”

Zach threw his hands up.

The other man rubbed his collar. “You fucking suck. I hate you so much…”

“Nah, you love me!”

“Just say your stupid shit so I can go, man!”

“Stupid…?” Zach burst out ugly laughing.

Nevan used the cover to inch toward his escape.

“This morning, you shoulda seen it!”

Nevan knew to pause when Zach looked.

“There was this grade A scaredy cat with these inhuman freaks. I’m telling you, we need to round them all up so we don’t gotta look at ‘em!”

Mikey slid his foot forward.

“Dude!” Nevan shoved Zach. “No! Fuck you! I’m not listening to that! My sister is dating a Labrador dude and he’s the best! That’s it. I’m out! I’m reporting you!”

“No! Come on!” Zach tried to pursue.

In a flick of his hand, Mikey manifested a chain in front of Zach’s foot.

Zach tripped, but Mikey pulled hard on the mystic energy.

It snapped tight and momentum pulled the man in the other direction.

He stumbled the other way with flailing arms and Mikey was careful in manifesting individual links under his feet so he wouldn’t be able to catch a grip on the ground.

Zach slammed into the trash can and it fell over alongside him.

There was a dull thrum before bees burst from their hive inside.

Nevan scrambled away as Zach was immediately attacked by the swarm.

Zach screeched and Nevan puffed with one shock of worry before he straightened. “You know what?! Serves you right!!”

Nevan turned and Mikey bolted back down the path and out into the park proper. He made a few sharp strides to make it look like he was walking by and he glimpsed Nevan emerge. The employee slammed the ‘KEEP OUT’ door behind him and the distant sounds of Zach’s attack melded in with screams from coasters. 

Nevan disappeared and Mikey was left relatively alone to cheer. He pumped a few happy fists before skipping back to where he’d left you and Donnie. The pair of you weren’t there and Mikey knew he could check his phone to find your location, but instead chose to wander. Misters had been turned on for the heat and he slowed by the spray to let it douse him. When his shirt was thoroughly soaked, he continued to meander.

It took him past happy families that were making memories, couples who tittered cutely to one another, and friends who snapped photo after photo. He felt honored to be privy to all these people’s special moments. This all came about because of you. You and your determination brought him here and he couldn’t be happier. You would have each other for the rest of your lives and it was with that vision of you old and grey that Mikey heard your laughter.

Donnie’s voice predictably followed and Mikey moved forward at a leisurely pace. He came upon a small unused pavilion behind some trees that he bet was great for kid’s shows. Now, it was currently empty and on the closest row to the top, Donnie was seated and you were hovering over him. Your hands were placed on either side of his head and you leaned forward to dot the tip of his beak with your nose.

Donnie reached up and steadied himself by grabbing your arm. “Y/N…”

You hummed curious in response and pulled away to run your thumbs soothingly over his cheeks.

 “Y/N, my beloved Nova. My darling . My luminous explosion of which all other ceases to be in light of you…” Donnie spoke again, sounding a little dopey.

“What is it?” You giggled and curled your fingers under his chin. 

“I need you.” He turned inward to nose and kiss one of your palms.

“You have me.” You kissed his forehead. 

“That’s not near enough. Do you know how long it’s been?” Donnie grouched lightly. 

You shushed him and shuffled until you were between his knees. “You’re having fun today.”

“I suppose that’s true...” He tested light brushes of his fingers against your waist. 

“You’d do it again, I bet.” You nodded to him and, in a happy trill, he pulled you flush to him. 

“Yes, well…!” His head dove into your shoulder as you settled in his arms. “How can you use my equally adored logic against so callously?”

“Callous, huh?” You still had his head and thumbed one of his cheeks.

“Yes.” He puffed them out so you had more to press.

“When you didn’t have to ask…?” You led him.

He peered at you curiously. “Ask what?”

“For my attention.”

He thought for only a moment before his expression went especially gooey.

“I could tell. You missed me. I missed you… It’d been a little too long, but I’m here now.”

“And you’ll… stay…?” He appeared anxious and quickly tried to mop it up with haughtiness. “I’ve yet to have my fill and my Y/N battery can be quite large so who knows how long it will take the receptacle to refill when-!”

You nuzzled down into his cheek.

His lips stalled out at the affection and gave up to lounge against you.

“Of course, I’ll stay. Maybe I’m not as exciting as those coasters, but we’ll have just as much fun together. We always do.”

“True, you aren’t enjoyable as a thrill ride…”

You were unmoved.

“You’re a far greater excitement.” He nudged for your full attention. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.”

You gave it with a flush of your lids. 

He somehow turned up his affections. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” You responded immediately and moved your head to meet his lips. 

Mikey stood quietly for the exchange before he lowered his gaze. It didn’t exactly feel like a revelation that you and Donnie were indeed some form of hopeless romantics, but it had been interesting to see it play out. You were a specific type of bold for your boyfriend and Mikey reached up to press a fist to his plastron. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point the cat in his chest had leapt away. It left warmth in its place and Mikey found that no matter how much time had passed, that heat lingered. There was perspective there and Mikey was glad he had stumbled upon this display. It was a signal that all was right in the world and, after giving you love birds a few more moments, he moved to make his presence known.

You squeaked out apologies for modesty, but didn’t flee from your partner.

Mikey waved you off and called himself a creeper before he tacked on that he could make that twofold.  

The specification caught Donnie’s attention where he loosened his grip on you to press what Mikey meant.

Mikey openly regaled the pair about the nefarious employee Zach.  

Donnie rose gravely and paused to break his character to ask you something with his eyes. 

You were still clearly processing Mikey’s story and only blinked at him blankly. 

Donnie’s lids dripped with adoration and he pecked your cheek before stepping free of the bench. 

It took two steps for him to shift into rage and announce that he was heading to an information desk. 

A formal complaint was about to be logged whether either of you liked it or not.

You and Mikey barely kept up with Donnie who tore a path towards his destination.

You shared a hopeless look with Mikey about how your boyfriend couldn’t be stopped.

Mikey responded in kind as he knew his brother.

You both laughed and highly contrasted the darkened aura of his sibling.  

It was a joyous light. 

It was one he shared with you that you had made all your own.

💛 THE END 💛

My greatest gratitude to my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 for joining me in the completion of another work.

[nezuscribe]

(i was the nonnie who asked about how america works) i don't really wanna keep going back and forth with this cause i dont wanna be annoying or anything, but i did a little bit of research and... that's not really what i've seen??

for all the economy stuff, Biden still had four (or is it five? idk how long your presidents stay in office) years to fix the economy he got from trump if it really was bad, and what ive seen from gas prices and grocery prices in america, he clearly hasn't done that

kamala also had four years to fix the issues she was talking about, so there's that

also, from what i know (pls correct me if im wrong) all of those sexual assault cases and other charges placed against him were proven wrong. i dont think hes actually been indicted or placed in jail for anything (which ig you could sum up to the unfair legal system over there, but wasn't there that hole issue with the Clinton guy?? maybe im getting things confused, idk)

from my research didn't he also provide a lot more jobs for people of color? ive never heard him say anything explicitly racist during his rally's (i havent watched all of them) or with his legislation. ik that whole thing with the border wall was going on, and i do think that was 100% rash way to deal with the border crisis, but the Biden guy also didn't do anything to help that situation

for reproductive rights, i remember tuning into the kamala v. trump debate and he explicitly said that he was pro-abortion in the cases of rape, incest, and life of the mother (if you think that abortion should be okay in any circumstance, the ig its just a different morality, where i live thats very not okay)

for the banning books thing, ive seen plenty of clips where in elementary school library's theyve been putting out books with porn and smut in them, which i think is not okay for little children to be leanring. from what i understand, that's probably what he was trying to do with banning books (again, pls correct me if im wrong)

and i've also never really seen him display any sort of homophobic tendencies.

pls keep in mind that this is all very basic level research, as i dont really have time to go that in depth, but im majoring in politcial science at my uni, so i think this is an interesting and important topic to discuss (sorry for making this so long)

so you seem pretty pro trump at this point but I’ll still humor you if you want to be so forgiving of him.

Who told you those sexual assault cases weren’t true? Those victims still stand by their stories.

And I said I’m not saying that Biden is great. But he was still working with Trumps fuck up. Also idk how much you know about a vice president, but they can’t really do much when they’re not president. I’m not saying Harris did everything she coudlve done, but being a vp has a lot less power than you think.

And for reproductive rights, yeah right. Those fuckers don’t give a DAMN about any cases. Even if they say they do. They want it gone, point blank period.

And one of his first days of office he took away trans people from the military. He spews homophobia.

Do more research. This is embarrassing

[slowd1ving]

Hi! If you're not taking reqs then feel free to ignore this but could you write Kim dokja angst? Maybe we're switching the roles and the reader is dying instead of dokja for once lmao

HOUSE OF CARDS ゜・KIM DOKJA

"A house made of cards, like the fools we are." In which a gambler finally pays the price for his bet. never actually written angst so I hope this is good enough anon art creds to kim28_dokja on twt! pairings: kim dokja + gn reader warnings: blood, injury, death, references to child abuse/dokja's past wc: 2.4k

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Dokja is shit at games. 

It’s clear to the dealer. Even on the best day, those omnipotent palms that allocate fate will grow clammy (which they never do) and that ever-present smile slowly turns into a profound grimace. They know. They feel it instinctually, on a cellular level: that hand was terrible. 

It’s clear to the people around him. The salaryman stumbles into the building as though he’s just learned to walk: in never-polished shoes, slacks that perpetually crease further with each nervous wipe of his hands, and the clinging scent of smoke that preludes his entrance. He’s not got his life together, they observe, behind stony poker faces he can never quite master. That’s why he’s here.

Most of all, it’s clear to Kim Dokja himself. Every irregular heartbeat pulses in his throat as he gazes at his cards—two seven offsuit. In his sweat-streaked fingers is the short straw urging him to enlist. On the table before him are all his chess pieces, lined up neatly: spectators to the constant check, his inevitable downfall. 

Despite his atrocious luck, the thin red string binding him to this world never quite severs. A fire befalls the casino. A bullet embeds itself in the shell of his helmet and not a hair further. The chess game is postponed by a phone call and the poignant sound of shattering glass—and Dokja is left to shoulder the limbo of an unfinished game.

He’s shit at games, but never truly loses. 

Is it simply up to chance? A coin is tossed into the air: another foolish plan devised, another chip placed that equates to one of his lives. Crisis after crisis—Dokja, that harbinger of misfortune—yet each time, he resurrects. He bets on it, in fact: quite literally gambling away everything. 

It is just how things are. He cuts corners. He smooth-talks the fates into letting his transgressions slide just a little longer. For once, he’s winning, and the grand prize is something beyond his wildest dreams—an ending, to mark the indefinite uncertainty of chapters that seem to grow like nebulae. 

“Dokja.” It’s a sigh each time when he defies the end. Anyone else would interpret it as exasperation, but he likes to think he knows you better than that; it’s relief you greet him with, no matter how many times he sacrifices himself. “You idiot.”

It’s nice to know his long-time friend cares about him. 

No matter how many times he places his bets, the value of his life never seems to deprecate for you. Sacrifice is something you’d rather avoid (so does he, but it cannot always be helped, right?). If Dokja’s life can be used to save more of the people he cares about, all the better. 

In fact, he’d rather keep you away from any front line. 

There’s a story of its own between the two of you: years of scraped knees and violence, of gazing up at your shoulders while you bruise your knuckles with whoever bruised his eye, of friendship pacts forged with spat-on palms and corded bracelets. 

Your very soul is entwined with his scrawny one from years past, and it’s always been the case that yours has fought the battles in his stead. ‘Why?’ he’d once asked, and he still vividly remembers the cool response you attempted to give, only to end up fumbling the words. 

Because I can. Because I want to. Because you deserve it. 

It’s his turn to repay his debts. These fights are no longer about a bloodied mouth and spitting red onto the asphalt. They don’t end with bruised ribs and broken noses. 

You sit out. This one, he thinks grimly, is his fight—one that will guarantee both you and him turning the page on ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼. Every factor has been considered. Each risk is carefully mitigated at the expense of himself. None of the contingencies fail to prioritise his oldest friend. 

These are chips he cannot afford to bet on. 

Naturally, he keeps them close to his chest. 

゜゜・

Dokja is shit at games. 

His friends know it all too well. Those disbelieving laughs they let out, their fists clenching and unclenching as they debate whether to hit him across the head—Dokja, the herald of despair, he is—and finally the rush of words leaving their mouths like air deflating from a balloon: “Never do that again.”

All in, his chips go—each and every time. There is no other way about it: not unless you shackled Dokja to you in vain to make him listen—to stop the endless deaths he goes through. Over and over, until you feel his mind wear into recklessness, until you see the emptiness that taints his eyes as he slips into quiet contemplation.

How will Dokja die this time?

You’d rather erode into nothingness than clip his wings, though. That book he gushed about to you (syllables rushing over themselves in his excitement each update) gave him back his life—if you ruin his painstaking ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼, you don’t think you could forgive yourself.

Even if he’s ratcheting to Icarian heights. Those feathers of his are beginning to streak wax-hot down man-made frames, made of pages upon pages of a book obsolete to all but one dedicated reader. 

You think he can see the pain in your eyes, before he turns away with lips pressed together tightly. You’ll be safe, he reassured you. You’ve got me. I’ll create an epilogue for you to witness. 

Dokja’s changed. 

Those scrawny shoulders have become something that the very sky settles on: ones that no longer shake behind your own arms. The world has bruised you, and Dokja shall bruise it back. Every favour, repaid tenfold. 

Dokja’s changed. 

He’s still got the same facade of the boy you’ve called your oldest friend. If it weren’t for that, you’d think the man who coldly settles his death were a stranger. Someone you never shook hands with, childishly grimacing at the remains of a spat-upon pact rubbing into small palms. 

Dokja’s changed. 

He thinks he no longer causes misfortune with each risk he takes—as if his life were a mere trifle, as if each shred of news about him doesn’t shatter your heart over and over. 

When will it end? 

You haven’t seen him for months. 

Is it finally time to grieve?

゜゜・

Dokja is shit at games. 

It seems you are too. He turns the page of his book, and beside him the house of cards is carefully stacked on the glass table. It’s a precarious matter: high stakes against yourself, an unsafe tightrope that threatens to give way any moment now. 

Your eyes meet his. 

Like magic, the house collapses. 

゜゜・

You are shit at games. 

You take a deep breath, and begin organising what could be the final legacy of Dokja. It’s something he treasured even over his life, evidently: the ending, which you allow into your soul in the Kim Dokja-shaped hole left behind. 

It’s the first time you take a gamble: carefully picking up the shards of his ideas while rivulets of blood run down your fingers. It’s your turn. 

The battlefield in the scenarios is a sanctuary: white noise washing out Dokja’s ever-persistent voice in your head. There’s a perpetual, acrid smell of ash and smoke—a reek that is far better than the dust of buildings Dokja leaves you behind in. 

It’s hard. 

Gambling is not for you; in the sense that it sickens you, rather than just invoking disaster like it does for Dokja. The only good thing about it is that Dokja’s dream is finally being realised—a tribute to your oldest, dearest friend. Like funerary wine, metallic iron fills your mouth (a once-familiar taste) with each battle, every step closer to the story Dokja wove for you. A fabric so salient you couldn’t help but be entangled in it. 

I can do it. That is your gamble. 

You do it. 

You cut down monsters the size of buildings. You cling to life with bleeding fingernails, scraped raw with tenacity. Tentatively, you begin fleshing in the husk of yourself: talking with the friends you made in the apocalypse once more.

And like Dokja, you begin defying death. 

It starts off small—an arrow that you saw coming but didn’t feel like dodging. Jung Heewon almost blew a gasket when she took a glimpse, but then her eyes met yours—filled with the same distance that Dokja’s were, as though you too were peering through an impersonal screen—and she looked away for a brief moment. 

“Idiot,” she whispers. “Don’t treat yourself like Dokja.”

Your chips pile up. 

Except, you don’t quite have the same privilege that your dearest friend has. 

You will incur the cost, rather than somebody else. There is a reason Dokja is called a harbinger of ill fortune to others, and you are not. In the end, your downfall will be at your own hand. 

“Fool,” Yoo Joonghyuk grimaces as he cuts down a wolf you let claw your arm. The coppery stench is thick in the air, but there seems to be a manic grin on your face as you slice and chop and stab: a madness that slowly spreads like illness through your body. “There is nothing more worthless than sacrifice without cause.”

The debt accrues. 

Kim Dokja dreams of your knuckles, bloodied once more as you stand to face the world. But, it’s just a dream. 

He bets on it. 

゜゜・

You are shit at games. 

Bitter, arterial blood congeals on your hands as you try in vain to staunch the flow. There is nothing quite as caustic as the realisation that you fucked up, because now all the signs of your hamartia are clear. 

The house has long collapsed—it’s that final card that still hasn’t hit that glass table yet. 

Is this what Dokja feels? The thought runs wonderingly through your sluggish mind. Is it what he felt, you mean to say, but your throat grows thick whenever you speak about him in the past tense. You can’t quite accept the reality that he’s gone. The shock anaesthetises your mind: cradling your neurons with such gentleness that it’s hard to conceptualise you’re about to follow him to wherever he’s gone. 

Will I see him again?

Everything reeks of iron: from the massive corpse on the ground, to the claw impaled through your abdomen. It was inevitable. You’ve grown tired of the endless fight, and it’s cost you dearly. 

Your chest heaves desperately. 

Dokja. 

“Dokja,” you croak, collapsing onto the rubble freshly decimated. Despite the rough surface, your blood-slicked hands scrabble for purchase on the concrete—something that doesn’t quite feel like you’re the one puppeteering your strings. 

Deliriously, you watch as the same hand urgently attempts to apply pressure to your wound; it goes against rationality, but then again you’re not really yourself anymore. 

“Dokja?” you try again. Perhaps if you speak loudly enough—syllables soaked with sanguine that dribbles from your lips—you’ll be able to reach your dead best friend. 

There is a pressure behind your eyes. 

It may be tears; it may be an unwelcome guest in your head. 

It’s too late, you think. He’s dead, and soon I will be too. 

“Dokja,” you whisper, and there is salt on your tongue as you feel your limbs grow colder. Everything hurts—your pounding head, the thrum of your pulse as you marr the asphalt with crimson, and finally that stupid bleeding heart of yours that swears you can hear the spirit of your oldest friend. 

You can’t die, you think he says—a quiet scream drowned out by the static of your mind. 

“I’ll see you soon, though,” you slur, and the weight in your mind lifts—blurring and coalescing into a mirage you could recognise blind. 

Frigid fingers pass through the hologram, and you smile, bittersweet. 

“Dokja,” you breathe. “It’s been almost a year since I last saw you.”

His hands grasp your shoulders desperately, though his frantic mouth goes unheard upon your ears. You… can’t… die, his lips read—but that’s silly, you think. Doesn’t he want you to meet him again?

Horns curve out of his head, while his wings fluff out—shoulders shaking, with an expression you’ve only seen once on his face before. Utmost grief, when he came soaked in congealed blood and a haunted look in his eyes: murmuring she killed him, over and over. 

He’s your best friend. He was your best friend. 

Kim Dokja has lost his final gamble, and the bullet in the chamber has finally been spun into place for you too. 

“I can see you soon, right?” you murmur—there are cold fingers brushing against your forehead, and you think death is unexpectedly gentle. 

His lips wobble. 

Incorporeal fingers trace the tear tracks on your face—ones that mirror the slow stream of salt from his own eyes. You didn’t even notice—too caught up in the gradual greyness that spreads through each vessel, weaving through sinew and bone and brain. 

“I did a good job, right?” Your sword rests across the ground, heavy after almost a year of fighting. “Maybe it’ll help with the ending that you wanted.”

Dokja’s face crumples, and you can feel your own throat growing thick. Dokja, I’m scared, you want to admit. For the first time in your life, there’s a choking fear that grips you as the red surrounding you blooms into a field. 

Your own wings are rapidly coming apart. 

“Dokja, I don’t want to die,” you mumble. Struggling, you curl and uncurl your hands into fists, but you can no longer feel them. 

“Dokja,” you try again. You can no longer see him, but whether it’s from the salt clouding your vision, or the haze of limbo, you cannot tell. 

There is a phantom pressure that lingers on your face. 

“Dokja,” you gurgle, mouth iron-hot with arterial blood. “Don’t leave me alone—please.”

No response is given, but that sepulchral presence seems to remain—this time, those hands brush and cradle your face. 

You cannot tell if it’s him or death itself, but you don’t think death would kiss you like that. 

As if he could possibly breathe life back into you, his ghostly lips move against yours. Desperately, so urgently you half-wonder at his panic. 

Dokja, you want to ask. You’re already dead, right?

Right? 

With the final scraps of your vision, you watch as he pulls back—his tears pattering across your face—watch as his mouth moves for a final time.

I can’t live without you.

But by then, it is too late.

The words go unheard, and Dokja is alone once again.

[geralts-yenn]

Baaaaabe! You know I've been begging you to post this for weeks. I was so excited about this, and it turned out to be even better than expected!

I loved the scene while they were having dinner. They all function so well together, the boys and reader. I love how those guys care for each other and know how to handle situations when someone of them needs to be taken care of.

I love Melot so much. He's this delicate little flower who just can't handle all his emotions. Makes me go all aaaaw 🥺

And honestly, I couldn't think of a better way to answer all this drama as Mike being Mike. It's ridiculous and a little mean but also so very sweet. If this makes any sense. I just love those two together.

“You’ll have plenty of time for the whole identity crisis later,”

This right there! It's such a Mikey thing to say and he's right! Just let go and be happy, Melmel!

“I like at least one boy.”

🥺🥺🥺

“Do they know?” Melot asked, his voice soft and brittle. “Who? The mind-reading bunch of vampires, most of whom you’ve been living with for multiple centuries?” Mike raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. It looked so silly that you couldn’t help but laugh

🤣

For real! He's so clueless. It's too cute

Melot's backstory was a little heartbreaking. He struggled for so long with being a responsible leader. I'm so glad he finally gets to be himself.

Ancient vampires are widely known for having the impulse-control of a toddler on crack.

Like we didn't notice 🤣

I always knew there was a special bond between Charles and Melot. And no matter how rude Charles behaves, I'm glad Melot has him.

“And two of the things you want to do are in your bed right now,”

He really just can't stop being his silly self, right? I love him!

“I promise that I am trying my very best to behave!” Mike huffed. “I really am! But he’s reacting to visions he’s having of things that will probably happen and it’s driving me insane! Mel is really making this hard for me — interpret ‘this’ either way.”

This is really funny somehow. Mike is in this gift loophole making him hornier and hornier 🤣

Those three together are so incredibly cute, and I am so hyped about all the possibilities for the future!

Also, can they finally start to make out with each other, dammit?

Part 31

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 30 🟣 Part 32

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August, Sherlock, Charles, Melot and Napoleon

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: ongoing vampire shenanigans, Melot's ongoing identity crisis gets worse (courtesy of Mikey), lore (buckle up)

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: Alright, as promised! Major thank you to @geralts-yenn (as usual) and @wa-ni for putting these babies back in my brain. I hope they're there for the long run because OH BOY did I dream up some filth that I'm desperate to share with everyone...

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo @mysweetlittledesire

Melot didn’t show up for dinner. He’d kicked you out of the room too, seconds after Mike had left, and now you were sitting at the dinner table, opposite questioning looks from the others.

“He wants to be alone,” Mike said. It was easier to get everyone to believe stuff like that when Mike said it. After all, the man knew what he was talking about.

It came as no surprise, then, that everyone dropped the subject. You ate dinner, mostly in silence, with ‘pass me the salt’ being virtually the only exception. It was hell.

Then, a flick of a switch. Off, on. Off again, and back on. Fast as lightning, and it sure as hell wasn’t the light. The feeling had come from somewhere inside you…

“You found him.” Marshall nodded approvingly from across the table, casting a few quick glances between you and Sherlock.

“Sherlock?” you asked. He looked at you with raised eyebrows and hummed by means of a reply. “Do that again, please.”

A smile spread across his handsome face at a glacial pace while a sigh of relief escaped you.

“As much as I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t mind you couldn’t find me, I must admit I am quite glad that you did manage,” he confessed.

“Where did you go?”

“I brought Melot a plate,” he explained. “Whatever Mike did — Mike, don’t bother — it shouldn’t keep Melot from August’s exquisite risotto.”

Dessert was the richest, creamiest and probably only homemade chocolate mousse you’d ever encountered in your life so far. It didn’t taste anywhere near as good as it should have.

“We should go talk to him,” Mike said. He'd practically inhaled his own dessert. You slid what was left of yours — about half — over to him. He made quick work of that, too, and then got up.

“I thought he wanted to be alone,” you said.

“He does,” Mike responded indifferently. “But just because he wants the sky to be green and the grass purple, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

“He’s already working himself into a frenzy,” August added.

“Being alone is not good for Melot.” You were surprised that Charles even cared enough to weigh in on the situation, but you kept your mouth shut. Seemed like the smart thing to do.

“Absolutely correct.” Marshall threw a knowing smile your way.

Mike dragged you out of the kitchen, picking you up without asking to rush you to Melot’s room. He didn’t bother to knock.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Melot was lying on his bed, curled up in a ball, knees tucked tightly into his chest. His shoulders moved, although he didn’t make a sound. As soon as Mike spoke, Melot was on his feet, and in a split second the two were standing toe-to-toe with each other.

“You,” Melot snapped. “What did you do to me?”

Mike burst out in laughter. “What did I— you’re joking, right?”

A sharp smacking sound, Mike reaching for his cheek… Your eyes opened wide at the sight. Before Melot could strike again, Mike grabbed both of his wrists.

“I know you’re not seriously accusing me of what I think you just tried to accuse me of,” Mike snarled, baring his teeth. “It’s fine that you’re not sure how to handle this, but this” — he made a general gesture with his arms, dragging Melot’s along like he was a puppet  — “is not it.” He let go, his eyes suspicious.

“This is not who I am,” Melot stammered, his voice tired and broken.

“Oh, but it is, Melmel,” Mike said with a taunting grin. “You like boys.”

He what? You hadn’t seen that coming, that’s for sure. Okay, maybe a little, but you’d written off your interpretation of that strange, tense moment between the guys as a projection of a kind of fantasy you never even knew you’d had. Only it hadn’t been a fantasy. You’d simply seen that for what it was.

“I don’t—” Melot started, but Mike put a finger on his lips to shut him up.

“It’s the twenty-first century, baby!” He pulled his hand back again, draping his arms loosely around Melot’s neck. “Say it. I promise you’ll feel better.”

“I guess I’m… not gay, I mean, but maybe—”

“You’ll have plenty of time for the whole identity crisis later,” Mike said. “Just acknowledge what you know you’re feeling right now. It helps, trust me.”

“I like…” Melot’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “I like at least one boy.” As soon as the words left his mouth, a sense of calm washed over him: he let his breath out on a dramatic sigh that turned into an exasperated chuckle, his shoulders dropped half a mile, and he leaned his forehead against Mike’s.

You’d watched the whole thing in silence, with an open mouth, and afraid to breathe or do anything to draw attention to yourself, but when Mike leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss on Melot’s lips…

“Aww.” Christ on a bike, what an award-winning response…

The boys turned their heads towards you. Mike raised an eyebrow, Melot looked shocked — as if he’d completely forgotten you were even there to begin with.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “But you two are surprisingly cute together.”

They both glared at you — Mike’s face morphing into a grin well before Melot’s did.

“Do they know?” Melot asked, his voice soft and brittle.

“Who? The mind-reading bunch of vampires, most of whom you’ve been living with for multiple centuries?” Mike raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. It looked so silly that you couldn’t help but laugh.

The whole situation felt strangely comfortable, yet at the same time you felt incredibly out of place in it. Should you leave them to it? There was clearly a lot to unpack here, still, and you weren’t sure if you had any business being there to begin with.

“Don’t leave,” Mike said, once again grinning like a fool. “As badly as he wants me, he wants you more.”

Melot let out a frustrated cry before launching himself onto his bed in the most dramatic way. It was adorable. He scrambled to get under the covers, and hid his face in a pillow.

“Too bad those aren’t going to keep me away,” Mike said as he slowly stalked towards the bed.  “Come on, sweetcheeks. He needs cuddles!”

You hesitantly walked over to the side Mike hadn’t claimed, and looked at Melot. He pulled the covers back, inviting you into the bed. A wave of relief rushed through you as you got into bed with the guys.

It was quiet for a long time, in which Melot kept looking back and forth between you and Mike, unsure what to do, what to say… “How can I want you both?” he finally whispered on an exhale.

“Sexually, the answer is easy,” Mike said. “We’re both smoking hot, and you like that, so—”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Melot muttered, his cheeks slowly coloring pink. “Okay, for her, sure — no offense. But you…”

“None taken?” you half-said, half-asked carefully. Mike chuckled.

“You’ve never been attracted to me, actually,” he said casually. “Not until last week, anyway. You were always so distant, so… high above all of us. Why?”

“I was the eldest — in a way. I had a responsibility,” Melot explained. “It always felt unnatural” — he considered his words for a moment — “well, not always. It’s complicated. I felt incredibly out of place in the old, authoritarian coven I was a part of before Charles and Sherlock… And when I turned them, I was able to finally break those bonds, but it left me with this strange power over them.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I took care to use that power as little as possible. Charles fought me for the position more than once.”

“But, why?” you asked. The story didn’t exactly provide great publicity for Charles… Not that that surprised you.

“He thought I lacked experience,” Melot said. “He wasn’t wrong, per se. Charles and Sherlock both managed to hold onto their positions at court, even shortly after they were turned. I was constantly plagued by my visions, starting to discover my healing ability… Ancient vampires are widely known for having the impulse-control of a toddler on crack.”

Mike coughed — a poor attempt to cover up his laughter. Melot glared at him and continued: “I had spent five centuries staying out of everyone’s way, living in a large coven, away from human society.”

“Why did you leave?” you wondered.

“Remember what I said before? About you making me kneel by your feet like a dog?” Yeah. You remembered. “I didn’t make that up. Catharine — the Queen of that coven — kept me as one of her personal pets. I was her prized possession. Or rather: my gift was. She’d seek my counsel, and proceed to ignore it, punishing me when things invariably went completely sideways. I’m sure she cursed herself for training us and our gifts so well, when I finally ran. It allowed me to stay out of her hands for nearly two centuries before I was finally able to sever the bond with the help of Charles and Sherlock — mostly Charles.”

“How did you do it?” You snuggled closer to him — Mike did the same on his other side.

“I’m not proud of it,” Melot said, tears forming in his eyes. “She came after me once again, sweet at first, begging me to come back, pulling the strings with all her might. I thought she’d pull my heart right out of my chest. I’d only ever been able to resist her pull and run, but with Charles and Sherlock behind me, helping me… When I refused, the bond snapped. That’s when she attacked me. Charles took her out — he almost died doing it… If she’d come around a decade sooner, I wouldn’t have been able to save him. I owe him my life, in more ways than one.”

“That still doesn’t explain the high and mighty attitude from before,” Mike joked — was it a joke? Not completely…

“We agreed on a fairly democratic structure. It became more difficult when Sherlock created Marshall, and August somehow found his way back to the coven. You can’t imagine the amount of fighting I had to shut down between Charles and August.”

No, actually you could imagine that perfectly well.

Mike laughed. “You really can’t. They’ve been very civil since you got here.”

“And they’re more afraid of Sherlock than they ever were of me,” Melot added, finally smiling again. “I can’t say I mourn my involuntary resignation. I finally have the opportunity to see who I am, and who I want to be, and what I want to do.”

“And two of the things you want to do are in your bed right now,” Mike said, pressing his lips to Melot’s shoulder.

He shrugged him off. “Don’t make it sound so lewd,” he snapped. You ran a finger down his cheek, hoping to calm him as well as get his attention. It worked; he turned his head to you.

“Don’t listen to Mikey, you know he means well. He can’t help it he’s such a mess,” you said softly. Melot chuckled — it turned into full-blown laughter when he saw the adorable frown on Mikey’s face. “What do you want to do?”

Melot stared up at the ceiling. “I think I want to go to college,” he said slowly, chewing on every word.

“Hell yeah! You could probably start next semester,” Mike immediately chimed in cheerfully, a grin stretching across his face. “I mean, it’s too late to get a dorm but we can be roommates, and—”

“Mike!” you said, reaching over Melot to put a hand over his mouth. “Don’t scare him!”

“Why would I want to live in a dorm to begin with?” Melot asked, surprised.

“For the experience,” Mike explained.

You virtually begged for an explanation. What experience could he possibly mean? Constant noise, people everywhere, having a tiny bed in a tiny — and shared — room that always smelled of microwaved whatever?

“Yes! That experience!” He rolled his eyes at you when you pointed out he himself hadn’t been staying in a dorm last semester, either. “Sweetcheeks, this is my third degree.”

What? As it turned out, Mike had degrees in journalism and computer science. You stared at him when he told you, trying with all your might to keep your face in check.

“I'm not as much of a clown as you think, Sweetcheeks. Just mostly.” He grinned at you before nuzzling Melot’s neck. “I think you should talk to the others, Mel.”

“What if they think it’s a bad idea?” he said softly, pulling you closer. “What if they think I shouldn’t leave this place? That I'm not ready?”

“Just apply to a few schools. Enroll in a few community college classes, even. You can always cancel if you really don’t feel ready by the end of summer!” Mike was clearly excited about the idea of Melot going to college. “Talk to Sherlock first, if you want to be certain of support! There’s no way he won’t let you go!”

“Quick question,” you interjected before Mike or Melot could start another monologue you wouldn’t be able to break in to. “Why wouldn’t you be ready?”

“Think back to ‘follow the teeth’ for a moment,” Melot explained. “They’re always on the lookout for human blood. I’m an incredibly powerful vampire who has been shielded from humanity for an incredibly long time. To set me loose in an environment packed with humans — a school, for example — would be…”

“A choice,” Mike finished. “And a particularly poor one, too.”

“But with you around…” Melot smiled apologetically. “Please don’t think you’re no more than food for me, I… It’s not fair to ask this of you already. Any of it. I’m so incredibly sorry.” He tried to turn away from you, but Mike pushed him back.

“Melot, when I offered to let you feed earlier, I was not planning on that being a one time thing,” you said, stroking his cheek. “We may not know each other well yet, but I’d love to change that. Let’s take some time to hang out this summer, and you can feed with the same freedom as the others… And we’ll see how it goes. But please, at least keep your options open when it comes to college.”

Melot nodded slowly before pulling you in for a hug that Mike joined in on as soon as he could. “Thank you. Both of you.”

You cuddled in silence for a while. It was amazing — Melot finally felt warm, Mike let out a chorus of happy humming sounds, sometimes interrupted by adorably disgruntled ones as you and Mel both kept reprimanding him every time he tried to get handsy.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be in bed with two people and knowing they both want to fuck you, and to then just… get nothing?” he finally grumbled.

Melot almost jumped out of bed listening to Mike’s complaint. “What? I never said— I don’t… I—”

 “It’s okay, Mel,” you said. “Sometimes” — you glared at Mike — “our brain needs a little time to catch up to whatever carnal desire Mike already picks up on. And that’s okay.” You hissed those last words specifically at Mike.

“I promise that I am trying my very best to behave!” Mike huffed. “I really am! But he’s reacting to visions he’s having of things that will probably happen and it’s driving me insane! Mel is really making this hard for me — interpret ‘this’ either way.”

“How do you know they’re visions I’m reacting to?” Melot wondered.

“There’s a difference between a simple desire and anticipation,” Mike said like it was supposed to explain anything. One look at your — and Melot’s — confused face made him roll his eyes. “It’s like… We always want blood, right? Well, that desire feels differently when we’re about to sink our teeth into someone. It becomes more present, heightened…”

“That doesn’t explain how you know he’s reacting to visions — which, by the way, you told me weren’t actually visions, Melot?” you noted.

“Call them visions for simplicity, I really couldn’t explain it. You’ll see for yourself, at some point.” Melot’s confidence when it came to this statement was haunting. “Back to the question: Mike… how?”

“You react in a similar way to immediate anticipation,” Mike explained. “It’s subtler — duller, almost — but it’s distinct.”

You both looked at him in awe. “How is your gift stronger and more sophisticated after four decades than mine are after fourteen centuries?” Melot exclaimed dramatically.

“I use this gift all the time,” Mike explained with a big, goofy smile. “It’s not like seeing the future, which isn’t a stable gift to begin with — yeah, I pay attention to the things Sherlock says sometimes — or the healing, which you literally just admitted to not practicing for the first few centuries of your existence. Bet you could get into med school with that…”

“I don’t want to,” Mel whispered.

“See? You can’t complain about not developing a gift you refuse to use.” Mike saying something that smart and logical was a phenomenon that just never got old. “Right now, what we should be developing, anyway, is your ability to function around humans.”

You just so happened to have an idea on how to do that…

[triangle-ears]

dashboard: the second fictional character on your pictures roll is your new roommate.

me: ah i'm not on my ffxiv blog but i-- wait.

there is no reason not to put g'raha tia on my catblog. actually i saved this screenshot because i wanted to say his teeth creep me out by being too human looking and too realistic to ignore... please i just wish seekers could have a little fang. as a treat. i know i know keepers have fangs but listen. keepers should have ENORMOUS fangs. nobody plays a cat person to have bland human teeth

[sleebyconfy]

..

[owlheartt]

I'm losing my mind can anyone help me find what naive Samoan opinion was on John Martin Poyer in the early 1900s

[drev-the-procrastinator]

i can't believe.... it's been... very nearly ten whole years... ten whole years near to the date.... for a sec i was like oh yeah i'm over that whole thing... and then there's a couple new chapters.... and the thing is as if it never left.... ten years of this brainrot...... ei perkele......

[eddiesxangel]

1-800-HOT-TO-GO | E.M

Anonymous asked: Can i request a fic where either the reader reveals during a pizza and beers hangout she was a phone sex operator for a brief time and everyone is shocked and one of them jokingly asks if she was any good and she whispers something dirty in their ear and it changes their friendship

Cw: fem!reader, allusions to male masturbation, dirty talk 1.7k words

“Come again?”

“I used to work a sex hotline,” you shrug like it was no big deal.

“No way,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”

You hear Steve and the others giggle around you, also in disbelief.

“Wanna bet?”

“Try me.” He wants to call your bluff because no way in hell did he not know this about you. You always were reserved when it came to talking about sex; you never had you seemed promiscuous.

You hold up your hand to your ear, pretending it is a phone, and Eddie follows your lead.

“Ring ring,” he giggles.

“Hello.” You changed the pitch of your voice to be more sultry.

“Hi,” he smirks.

“Can I get a name, handsome?”

“ Eddie”

“Mmmm, hi, Eddie. I’m Candy.”

“Candy?”

He breaks character, but you don’t.

“the boys say it’s because I’m so sweet.” You fake giggle.

“This is my first time calling. I’m not sure what to do here.”

“That’s okay, I’ll walk you through it… you want to get comfortable for me?”

Eddie looks around the room at the others, who are trying to stifle their giggles. This night was supposed to be chill, with pizza and beers. He wasn’t really sure how you all ended up here.

“I’m comfortable.” He says without actually moving.”

“I wish I could see; you sound so sexy.” You sigh.

Another giggle leaves Eddie’s lips because who is this person who’s taken over your body?

“Yeah? you wish you could see be, Dollface?” Playing into it more.

You lean in to whisper so only he can hear it this time. “oh yeah, big boy; I bet your cock is already nice and hard for me. Such a good boy, I want you to fill me.” You sit back, take a loose tendril, twirl his hair around your finger, and watch Eddie’s eyes widen at what you just said.

“Oh-okay, that’s enough.” He chuckles, trying not to give away how turned on he just got. “I believe you!”

You sit back with a giggle and grab another slice of pizza like nothing just happened.

Everyone looked at you with shock.

Eddie quickly gets up and excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

“What did you say?!” Robin begs.

You shrug in response like it was another day at work… which it has been.

“Damn, is it hot in here?” Steve pops the collar of his shirt.

“You guys need to loosen up, my god.”

While you were still enjoying your pizza, Eddie was having a crisis. Never had he thought of you in that way until moments ago, listening to those filthy words slip from your lips.

“I bet your cock is already nice and hard for me. Such a good boy, I want you to fill me,” your words replayed in his mind while he tried to fight the blood rushing to his stiffening cock.

He can’t go back out there like this. Eddie splashed cold water on his face to try to snap him out of it, but it didn’t help.

A quick rap on the door startles Eddie out of his inner monologue.

“You okay, big boy? You’ve been in there fifteen minutes.” He hears you laugh from the other side.

Had it really been that long?

Eddie’s issue had not been resolved; in fact, it had worsened as he tried to push down the thought of you naked and spread out for him… talking to him like that.

“Yeah-I-uh- just a minute.” Eddie wanted to pull his hair out at how frustrated you had made him.

You were just pals, bubbies, amigos.

You weren’t attractive… were you?

Eddie never thought to look at you in that way; you’re just a friend, always had been, always will be… unless?

The more Eddie thought about it, the more he realized he did think your hair looked really pretty tonight. The way you always did your makeup really brought out your beautiful features…and when he got a whiff of your delicious perfume when you twirled his hair, he thought his.

“You sure?” You try to jiggle the door handle, but it’s locked.

“Shit,” Eddie curses under with breath.

“Come on, Ed, talk to me, please?”

You hear the lock unlatch and watch the doorknob slowly turn as Eddie pokes his head out.

“Hi,” he’s short and sounds a bit out of breath.

“I hope what I said didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Ed saw the worried look in your eyes.

“No! Well, I mean, yes, but…no.”

“Yes, but no?”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. He didn’t see a way out of this. He stepped aside to let you in and shut the door behind you.

“Eddie?” You look up at him.

“Hm?”

His eyes snap to your concerned face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was a big deal! It did it all the time for work; I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. clearly, I overstepped a boundary-“

“You’re not the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

Eddie moves his strategically placed hands to reveal the tent formed in his jeans and watches as your face falls into amused shock.

You cup your mouth to stifle an unexpected giggle.

“That’s not the reaction a guy wants when he shows a girl how turned on he is.”

“I’m sorry, I just!-didn’t think?”

“It’s okay. I’m just trying to get rid of it, but it’s not going away.”

“You mean?”

“I’m waiting it out.”

“Oh, ok.” You nod awkwardly.

An awkward silence washes over the both of you as you try so hard not to stare at his crotch.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for your help if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Ok…”

Another very uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, trying to do everything in your power so as not to look down.

“I um… I guess I’ll just.” You point to the door that he’s blocking.

“Uh. Ok,” he nods and steps to the side.

You close the door behind you but don’t leave. You lean against the door and take a deep breath, trying to make sense of the evening.

Why did the thought of turning Eddie on excite you? He’s a friend. Just a friend. I always had and always will be.

With a deep breath, you go to push yourself up off the door, but before you’re able to, you hear your name being moaned from the other side of the door.

You froze. You knew you should move, but your feet were locked in place. More heavy breaths and the sound of muffled moans seeped from under the door gap, and you pressed your ear to the door.

Eddie was jerking off because of you… and you liked it?

Eddie bit back screaming your name as he finally released himself into the bathroom tissue. Finally, he could return to rejoin everyone without being physically uncomfortable.

He discarded his release, tucked himself back in, washed his hands, and unlocked the door, but he was ambushed when you fell onto him when he went to open the door.

You let out a squeak as you lost your balance, falling into Eddie as the door was opened from under you.

“Woah,” Eddie catches you before you’re able to fall. His rage hands wrap around your biceps, gripping tightly to brace your fall.

“Were you spying on me?”

“Oh god, sorry” you’re so embarrassed. The whole evening has been one shit show. You scramble to find your fitting to create space between you and Eddie.

“You were spying on me!”

“Shhhhh! Keep your voice down.”

“You totally were spying on me!” He accused.

“You’re the one who moaned my name!” You defend.

Eddie’s cheeks reddened.

“You’re the one who said all those… things!” his hands flailed.

“You’re the one who egged it on!”

“So!”

“So?”

“Yeah, so!”

“Woah, guys, what’s going on here?” Steve pops his head around the corner.

“Nothing,” you both glare.

“Ohhhhhkayyyyyyyy,” Steve turns a heel and walks back to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“Eddie,” you sigh, “I don’t want to argue. This is dumb, and we can pretend it never happened.”

“We could, but I gotta know.”

“What’s that?”

“Did you like it?” He took a step closer, filling the gap between you.

“What?” You look up at him.

“I asked if you like listening to me?” he brushed your hair behind your shoulder.

You gulp, not expecting Eddie’s demeanour to switch on a dime.

“I… I don’t know?”

“I think you did, and you’re too scared to admit it.” You can smell him. He is so close to you.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” You watch as he leans in closer.

“Just trust me.” His hands find the back of your neck, pulling you close.

“Eddie?”

“Let me try something.”

“Kay,” you whisper.

Eddie’s lips graze yours ever so lightly before he presses them fully.

A million and one thoughts run through your mind as Eddie kisses you.

You blame the cheap beer for letting this happen. You blame the beer for liking it. You blame the beer for kissing him back. You blame the beer for the tongue slip and the beer for how you wanted to moan when he pulled away.

“Woah”

“Yea woah,” you repeated dumbly.

“um… did you like it?”

“Yeah… did you?”

“Yeah.”

“cool… now what?”

“go out with me,” Eddie states confidently.

“Like a date?”

“what else would it be?” He chuckles.

“I don’t know?” You shrug, embarrassed that Eddie is getting you all flustered.

“You’re cute when you don’t know what to say.” He smirks.

“I’m cute?” You never thought hearing Eddie say those words would send butterflies fluttering through your tummy.

Eddie doesn’t answer verbally; he leans in to kiss you again to confirm his statement.

“We should get back to the others.” You sigh as you pull away.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“You didn’t ask me anything.”

“Yes, I did. I asked you out.”

“No, you said go out with me. That’s a statement, not a question.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No,” Yes, you were totally messing with him.

“Will you go out on a date with me?”

“Just say yes! You’ve been gone for half an hour!” You hear Robin yell from the living room.

“Robin!” You hear Steve scold.

“What?”

You can’t help but laugh and can’t believe the next world’s coming out of your mouth.

“Okay, I’ll go out with you, Eddie.”

[sunderwight]

I love thinking about how a Shen Yuan reveal would go from Luo Binghe's perspective, maybe even especially in cases where Binghe doesn't actually get to see Shen Yuan's world or understand it very well.

Imagine finding out that your husband is some kind of interdimensional alien spirit/angel who saw your fate and got so upset about it that he died. Then he came to your world, even though he didn't know that was possible, but since it was he immediately set about making your life less shitty and trying to change your fate. Except he couldn't change all of your fate because some kind of godlike being, the same one that brought him here, didn't want to let him. He's haunted by the fact that he couldn't figure out better ways to help you. He never expected any of his regard to be reciprocated, either, in fact he assumed you'd hate him. You never had to convince him to love you or respect you. He has always loved and respected you. There's basically nothing you can do to lose that love and respect either, because the first version of you that he even knew about was your edgelord comphet idiot mirror universe counterpart.

The bar has been at the earth's crust this entire time.

The fluffy parts of this reveal are obviously good, but I also think Luo Binghe deserves to know just how fully terrible his husband's judgment is. Also that Shizun has been dying for him since before they even met.

I think it'd be fun how often that would probably keep him awake at night, quietly trying not to have a crisis over the fact that his husband has made an honest to god habit of dying for him.

[jin0]

Of Love, Lust and Wasted Time - Nicholas Alexander Chavez

Pairing : Prince!Nicholas Alexander Chavez X Princess!Reader

Summary : It had been a month since your wedding to Prince Nicholas. He hadn’t performed his marital duties yet. Was there a problem ? Yes. Would you communicate ? No. Would you sneak into his chambers at night in your sleeping gown ? Yes.

Warning : 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, p in v, fingering, lots of making out, titty sucking, clit sucking, pussydrunk nicholas, virgin reader, experienced nicholas, arranged marriage, cussing, slight pussy eating, slight size kink (I review the story and funnily enough, their was nothing slight about that one), slight cervix abuse, marking, talk of bedding ceremony, talk of traditional medieval marriage I guess, meant to be vanilla, don’t know if I got there.

A/N : that man’s a slut, love that. also, I promise she’s not a pick me, just really sheltered.

_______________________________________________

The customs would have it that on the very night of a maiden’s wedding she would perform the act of consummation first in front of the highest members of the court to prove her purity and then proceed with the act for her lord husband’s eyes only.

But this wasn’t a fucking barn, and people would learn to do things with manners.

Or at least, that had been the way Prince Nicholas had put it when the councilmen had insisted upon it during the wedding preparation. Their insistence upon watching the soon to be queen being defiled could’ve been equated to regular old traditions and care for traditions. The princess herself believed it to be what it was, old men hungry to devour with their eyes and feast on the most embarrassing moment of her life.

She would curse her mother and maids for the rest of her life for not having taught her the basics on what was expected of a wife or what would go into these “nightly performance” she would have to endure. Part of her knew better though, not only because her mother would pull her by the ears until they pealed off and not only because it was unbecoming of a young girl to complain but also because she had done everything in order to not follow the regular education that highborn ladies had to follow.

Because the princess had chosen to be none other than a prince.

As overly simplified as it was, it was the clearest way to express the life she lived or life as she lived it. Less than a choice, it was simply what made sense. From the moment she could stand on her two feet she was made to run after her brothers rather than walk slowly and with poise like a lady would. She was meant to chase and scream and throw herself at the nearest danger because what was danger for the crown but the daily life of any of the people they ruled over ?

While she learned to wield the sword, mount the horse and shoot arrows, she also learned what it would entail to be a princess, one day to be married. And seeing some of the men offering themselves to become her husband, she did regularly wish a battle would kill her first. A battle, or the trouble her mouth would get her into. Of course, she had learned and knew all there was to know. All except that. Sex.

With a father like hers, with a mother like hers, she was almost certain she would never marry so why waste her time learning about sex, right ? Luckily appearing like a good omen, Nicholas did not simply see himself as worthy. The initial discussion had not even concerned a marriage proposal.

When he had arrived in the neighboring kingdom, his proposal concerned trades and the opening of a route through his seas in exchange for three troupes of their best soldiers to be sent into his realm and help the thieving crisis raging through his lands. It was true that the knights of your home were known to be the greatest there ever was, loyal and strong, one of them could equate to a fleet of ten. Of course anyone would want them.

And he had wanted her too. As soon as she had walked in, dragging his lord commander by the cloak for blocking the way to the council room.

She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, she just wanted to make sure her father was fine and so were her brothers. The man at the door was unfamiliar and truth be told, rather rude. It was a misunderstanding and her response was unwarranted. She had apologized, the prince had laughed. Surprising response.

For the rest of the meeting, she had been allowed to stay and she would’ve focused on the information being shared and the heated debate between both councils had she not been busy staring at the man she knew to be staring holes into her. His heated gaze felt like the sun shining directly unto her, melting away her mind and the mere thought of reason. She felt herself crumbling in on herself the longer she sat there to be undressed in public.

He hadn’t intended to stare with such insistence. He had even tried to look away, attempting to return to the discussion. He had. Had it ever been so difficult to look away from a woman ? Never, not when thousands of them had vied for his attention since he had come of age. Yet here he was, victim to his passions, digging into her flesh with his eyes, trying to move on from the gust of wind which had blew his way when she had walked into the room, carrying the sweet scent of honey. He had wanted nothing more but to leap to her feet and run his nose along her soft neck to engorge himself in her sweetness.

She hadn’t known whether to curse her father or thank him for offering them to stay longer than intended, stay until they reached an agreement on the details of their agreement. He had spent the night and from afar she was almost certain she could feel the heat of his body next to hers, warmth radiating through the dinner they had shared and through the halls of the castle, from his chambers to hers.

He hadn’t spent a better night, sitting in his bed, kept awake by the thought of the divine princess sleeping only meters away, peaceful yet clawing at his mind as if a parasitic fungus taking power over his body. She awoke every molecule forming his being, all aware of one another, uncomfortably held together by nothing but a thread of desire and melting resolve. Poor prince who wished to be back home in that moment, in the privacy of his quarters, far from prying eyes and then need to keep up appearances. Poor Nicholas who wished he could stroke his hardened cock all night, relieved of the ache burning in his loins, and ruining him from the inside.

With very little sleep in his system and his mind and body banding together against his better judgement, he had not moved from the position he had been occupying for hours now, but his head had snapped towards the door when he had heard the noise outside his door, footsteps as light and almost inaudible, had he not been wired towards her from the moment he had seen her. He knew it was her, and the sound of clinking metal and rushing maids confirmed his suspicion.

That morning, he had listened as she was being prepared to go on a morning ride. Interesting she was, the girl of his dreams. She kept quiet while her maid tried to dissuade her from going, she would need to be there to greet the guests. She assured she would be there to break fast with them. He would admit it, he had rushed to his balcony to watch her leave.

It was still dark, but he knew she had seen him, and he had seen her, both locking eyes for a moment before she had left. She had promised to be at breakfast, he wanted her for breakfast, but he would content himself with what she had offered. In the meantime, he had slept lulled to sleep by her eyes staring at up at him. It was enough, all he needed.

She had needed to clear her head, but her head hadn’t been any clearer when she had returned as soon as the first rays started shining. She knew she had gone mad when while hurrying to meet with the rest of her family, she suddenly found herself very conscious of her body, her mind and her appearance, so conscious she thought they would all leap out of her body to be stared at by anyone looking in her discussion. The meal was difficult, but madness was kept at bay, hidden from the public. The prince invited her to join the council that would follow, her presence being of great importance to him.

Again, the councils were boring, and this one was not moving anywhere. While the proposal was good, requesting for such a number of men in exchange for a route into a neighboring sea could’ve been good but it simply was not enough, not to the lords of the councils and slowly, not the King. Madness, she had equated her strange behavior to earlier. And as a great scientist, she had confirmed it when in a burst of genius, she had made a proposal.

She remembered how her mother would speak of her father coming to offer himself as a marriage prospect. The princess had been young but the look in the queen’s eyes, she recognized it as the same she had that morning, the look they had shared together before she rode off into the night. As her mother would often say, she had seen that man and had to have him.

“Why not offer a union instead. Your kingdom united to ours in exchange for all the men you desire for as long as you desire.” Had she said, like a princess who had seen the man she had to have.

Less than an offer, it sounded like a statement, one he had accepted before it was even uttered, a statement he would obey like a soldier would obey their ruler. All noise quieted, the Lords, princes of the realm and the King stunned into silence by her words. It had been the first time she had even looked at him purposefully, looked at him like he was already dancing in her palm, a puppet to her every whim.

Before being a good king, he was a good father and as he liked to say, anything she would dream of, he would provide. She had looked at him, his little girl and he could see her assurance, almost like an impenetrable wall. He had watched in silence as Prince Nicholas smiled, accepting the proposal while dreaming of a life of love which had never interested him.

This had been the most ridiculous decision she had made but it had been made, a glorious proposal in the minds of all the councilmen, all rejoicing at the thought of killing two birds with one stone, one of these birds being her and the other being the bird of decency she was meant to keep on her shoulder.

That girl was insane, but she was getting married.

For the next months, she walked almost aimlessly, only ever coming alive when he was in her orbit. She had tried to reassure her mother the day of her departure by claiming that she would learn to love her future husband. How was she made to tell her loving mother that she had fallen as soon as she had seen the man and that this whole marriage was nothing, but a tantrum hidden under negotiations ? As awkward as she was, poor girl left her home, three of her brothers with her off course to assist her and all her maids following. The prince was strange, he had agreed to everything she had requested before leaving, even accepting to take her horse on the journey to her new home. Everything about this had been strange, all of it but she was not one to go back on her words, not when this opened such a great opportunity for both kingdoms.

She swallowed her confusion and walked in the shoes of the princess she would need to be, a role which was less arduous to play when her soon-to-be husband seemed to agree to anything and everything she could want, everything except being around her.

For the seven months which had preceded their wedding, she had grown to crave his company and attention, flowers of love blooming brightly in her chest and crying out to him, crying out for his eyes on her, like he had done that morning. She wanted him in more ways than the ones she kept to herself, and he seemed more interested in everything there could ever be. She had hoped that on the night of the wedding, they would cross the bridge together and finally, she could learn about him from his mouth and not from those of the people of the castle and the court.

Nothing had changed and here she was, the moon high in the sky, her feet cold and bare as she fidgeted with the fabric of her nightgown. The cold air was nothing compared to the warmth radiating out of her skin and seeping through the thin cloth covering her nakedness.

“What are you doing here ?”

She jumped in terror, so busy rationalizing and overthinking that she hadn’t heard the door opening or closing. Turning to face him, she wished she could die instantly, wished to be swallowed by the floor below.

There he was, just out of a bath which had taken more time than necessary but still needed to clear his head. He enjoyed to privacy of his chambers, a robe covering his manhood from her gaze. His eyes were fixated on her as soon as he had walked in, dark and tempted, he remained at a safe distance, observing as she tried to speak, gathering her thoughts and looking away before speaking.

“My apologies, husband… I… I wanted to see you…” Seen she had. “It was… It was urgent.”

“Are you okay ?” If worry spread through his mind, he made sure to hide it. He watched her nod before letting out a discreet sigh of relief and taking a seat on the chair that faced his bed, next to the chimney. “What could be so urgent that you would need to come see me so late and in such clothes ?”

She remained quiet and so did he, barely focused on his own state but entirely aware of how little she was dressed and how much he could see. Adjusting himself in the seat, he swallowed a groan, one meant to calm his nerves and snapping him out of whatever he was doing.

“I… We… We have been married for a month now, my prince.” Her voice was low and soft like the summer breeze and burning away at his decorum. He stared at her as she straightened her back and raised her head, reverting to the girl she’d been when he first met her. “We’ve been married for a month, and you have not touched me still… I do not want you to think that it is something I think of often as it would be a stain on my character that I could not withstand but… Have I done something to displease you ? Perhaps if you tell me I could fix whatever it is, and we could move on as newlyweds.”

He heard the way her breathing picked up, almost able to see her heart beating out of her chest as she spoke, trying to explain herself while he stared in silence, pathetic victim to his weakened spirit and the images it spread through his mind while she spoke.

Of course he wanted to touch her, ravish her, devour her whole. There was nothing more on his mind, no other thought consummated Prince Nicholas’ mind like the thought of her crumbling in his sheets did. He could almost feel it in her scent wherever she went, the sweet taste of her nectar on his tongue. If he allowed himself to dream more, he could feel her tightness around his length, holding him nicely while she squirmed under his body. He wanted nothing more than to have her whenever he saw her, her stature in front of his, so breakable and frail. The thought of his arms enveloping around her and engulfing her whole, like a wave.

How delicate and marvelous she was, his darling wife. How could he even think of touching her when he knew what he would do to her was beyond salacious ? How could he do that to her and ever go back to being cordial with her after ? He knew that she was poison to his mind and to his tongue, one single bite and he would never ever be able to go without. How was he meant to live a life when he dreamed of living in her skin, grinding himself down into fine powder to be breathed into her lungs. How could that ever happen ?

He had almost sworn himself to a life of sleepless nights, attempting to quench his thirst for her in the dead of the night with his hand on his cock, before she had walked into his room covered by almost nothing, asking why he had not bedded her yet.

Nicholas stood quietly, walking up to her with a dark expression on his features. He was so handsome, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, his hair still wet and his body glistening in the night.

“Are you asking me to bed you, dear wife ? Is that what you want ?”

He stood millimeters away from her, her air wrapping around his body and seeping into him. That damned scent, honey so thick and sweet he prayed to drown in it. She looked up at him, frozen by his tone and proximity. She could feel the warmth of him in her and wanted more, but a highborn lady could not want such things. Could they ?

She looked down, her eyes twinkling with disappointment and shame. This had all been wrong, a mess she had made and would have to deal with.

“I… I apologize, your grace… I did not mean to offend… I will go… Please, forget this ever happened.”

She held her hands tightly together to ground herself, taking long strides towards the door to prevent her tears from humiliating her further. She had barely reached the door that a large hand blocked the way by slamming the door shut. She jumped, surprised that all her years of training were not enough to help her notice whenever he moved around her.

She suddenly felt so small in front of him, her husband towering over her, large hands boxing her in his space. She could hear him breath softly, almost out of breath and sounding strained.

“Where do you intend to go exactly ?” His voice was deep as he spoke, shaking from the vibration it sent through her. “What… What do you think you are doing exactly ?”

He sounded pained by the very words, but she kept still, too scared to see where this would go if she turned.

“I wanted to return to my chambers, your grace…” In this whole conversation, this had been the clearest she’d been. All to say she was leaving, how annoying.

He chuckled and she was almost offended, because what exactly was so funny in this discussion ?

“You intend to return to your chambers… dressed like that ?”

Now she was offended. Was this truly what worried him ? One month married and he hadn’t touched her, but he worried about how she was dressed ? Of course, she knew why he worried, but she would still be angry at him for it, because why not ?

“The answer I gave earlier remains unchanged, your grace. Or would you prefer if I stripped completely ? Maybe then you would move out of my way then ?” There she was, the princess he had met that day, unbent by his titles. He could’ve almost laughed had the image she had planted in his mind, of her roaming bare in the halls, not angered him enough to go deaf.

He kept quiet and she almost thought he had died behind her before hearing the sound of fabric moving. Looking down at her feet, she saw the rope holding the robe closed on the floor and before she could process what was going on, she felt him move behind her pushing her into the door, his bare front against her, cock pressing into her backside as deep as she could feel it.

“You think… You think I would let anyone see you ? You think anyone ever deserved to see you ? Huh, dear wife ? Do you think anyone could ever dream of seeing you ?”

She couldn’t speak but he could hear her reaction in her breathing as it picked up, more erratic and less rhythmic. Her who had managed to remain somewhat composed until now was suddenly as quiet as a mouse, squeaking below him while he pressed himself into her.

If she asked, he would admit the jealousy and possessiveness he’d been feeling for her. Everyone could see it, but she remained clueless, too busy hiding from him. The bedding ceremony had been his last straw. Prince Nicholas was never known for losing his temper, so imagine the surprise of the lords of the court when he had raised his voice at them and his own father for attempting to keep the tradition of the bedding ceremony ? He had refused it, categorically, the idea of hungry old decrepit men staring at his darling in a moment that was form them only. Never. He would kill all of them for even thinking of it.

“I burn at the mere thought of you, your scent being the only thing I need to lose every bit of education I have ever received and… You think I would ever let you out of this room ?” His left arm wrapped around her shoulder, keeping her still. He tried not to lose it, feeling her push into him, her soft hands still holding onto her gown. He raised his other hand to move her hair out of the way before bending down to leave open mouth kisses on her neck. Deliberate and controlled, he wanted to go as slow as he could, savoring the moment. His tongue grazed her veins eagerly wherever his lips would go while he tried to keep his hips still, failing miserably and rutting into her. He could already see how nice and warm she would be around him, his sweet wife. His tongue on her skin wasn’t enough to satisfy his hunger for her. “You want me to bed you, sweetness ? Fine. »

Every word he has uttered up until now had ignited something within her which a proper lady could never dream of letting out in their lives, but her instinct called for change in that very moment, the kind that was meant to undo all she had built herself to be in front of him. Because as condescending and arrogant as he might’ve sounded, she indeed, wanted nothing more than to be fucked. Partly for the sole purpose of experiencing the act as a woman, but also because the feelings she had started to feel for the man she had slightly tricked into a union were growing out of her control and called for some form of relief. Presently, the most adequate for would be the pleasure of the flesh, which she craved to indulge in.

« Tell me no, my dear… » He pleaded in a soothing voice she had only heard on their wedding night. « Deny me the pleasure of you and I will escort you to your chambers myself. »

She had expected more roughness from him, somehow. Almost ready to be unceremoniously dragged to the bed and stripped bare, she found herself melting more from the softness of his touch on her neck. His nose ran along her veins while his hips rutted slowly into the crevice of her backside. The wetness pooling between her legs dripped like poison, influencing the madness in her. As she took hold of the hand on her shoulder, she moved it to lay flat on her lower stomach. His fingers dug into her flesh, almost to pull her closer than she already was and yet, in truth, to scare her, maybe, into refusing him like he hoped.

The complexity of his mind in the moment made him almost just as deezy as she made him. He could almost feel delirium clawing at him, new senses appearing in him. Yes, he could feel her. The tightness of her pussy and the taste of her juices. He could all feel it. The prince was indifferent to the possibility that this was all in his head. The things which had been brewing in that same head for weeks now made it all the more necessary for him to listen for once. If he denied himself the pleasure of his wife, he would go mad. For weeks now, the prince had tried to act as friendly and neutral to her, even indifferent in the days when the pull towards her was too much to handle. He had tried as hard as any man could to deny himself pleasure both out of loyalty to her but also because no other woman could ever compare to her in his mind. Not when his nights were spent relieving a hard day’s work of ignoring and avoiding his wife. But in truth, how could he ever face such a beautiful being and taint her with the gunk flowing through him ? He couldn’t control the lewd images of her in his mind and until now, he’d almost managed to keep himself in check. Until she appeared in his bedchamber, demanding he touch her like she deserved and like he dreamt.

That did not change the fact that the woman he had tried to ignore for so long had grown a place for herself in his heart, a place that made it impossible to not give her the possibility to refuse what would ensue.

« Tell me no, my love… » He muttered, lips glued to her shoulder, as one last attempt to keep things how they were, to do things the right way, someday, maybe, when he wouldn’t be as weak to his passions as now.

And as she turned to look into his eyes, Prince Nicholas knew. In that moment, he knew he was destined for a life of allegiance to his wife and her every whim. With these beautiful eyes of hers, his princess had reiterated her earlier statement. Her answer, silent but acted remained unchanged.

« I don’t want to say no… » She whispered to him, their lips ghosting over the others.

No human word could ever fully grasp whatever followed next. Her whole body was suddenly caught by a force never seen before and spun around, her husband almost overjoyed but too taken by her lips to express it with full focus. She’s never tasted anything as sweet as his lips and he could say the same. The warmth of one another’s tongue, dancing in the others mouth, hoping, Prato to burn the other’s taste into their psyche, this was what this battle for control could be described as. Beyond control, they sought to catch up on lost time and feverishly discover as much as they could about the other.

Their lips encased perfectly into the others, Nicholas’ of course more taken and familiar with the act. He had tried to show decency and control, but the feel of her hot lips on his, shyly moaning into his had uprooted all forms of control.

His hands roamed, seeking for something to hold onto, anything to either ground him or feed his hunger for her. He found her wrists, her smaller hands back to holding onto the fabric of her nightgown. In that moment, he almost felt jealous of her and the opportunity she had to live in her own skin. He who could only dream of momentarily touching her could never be satisfied with the short amount of time he would get to spend with her. Years by her side would never be enough, not when he dreamt of their skins being merged together.

While his lips busied themselves on hers with fervor, his hands explored, touching, gripping, moulding and burning the feel of her in his mind. From her soft cheeks in his palm to the burn of her breasts on his bare chest, the prince did not know where to focus. His hand seemed to struggle leaving her cheek, keeping himself as chaste as the moment allowed to reassure her before moving to her neck. His fingers grazed the soft of her throat and she remained still, a willing victim to his increased thirsts.

When the princess moaned for the ninth time in his mouth, her lips parted and swollen, he pulled away from her to admire the mess below him.

« I haven’t even begun to explore you, my dear that you’re already so weak to me. » He chuckled, kissing the top of her nose and her forehead. Oh how fun this would be for the evil him looming on his shoulder.

He pulled away, allowing air and rationality to settle between them and for a second they remained still and quiet, drinking in the sight of one another. His exposed body had to be the most magnificent thing she had ever seen, a Greek statue in the flesh and dancing in the crevice of her palm. She stared at him like never before, a whole new sight granted to her and exposing him in his truth to her, the prettiest man she’d ever seen. So handsome and so willing to bend to her every desire.

Her eyes roamed around like the painting of a landscape meant solely for her sight. She reached his hips and bit her lips, her imagination running away from her control and painting the picture of his cock entering her repeatedly. She’s heard from her brothers about the steps of the act, and while the fear of confusion had been palpable initially, it had been a complete other feeling spreading through her at the moment. The princess was hornier than ever and the her insistent eyes on her husband’s hardened cock prodding out of the robe he wore did not make it any less evident.

A grin spread across the princes’ lips, just as into being watched by her as he was to admire in return. Him who had tried to not let his eyes wander could see freely now, the way her gown barely hid her peaking nipples or the way she’d kept her thighs tightly glued together as soon as he had stepped back.

The princess he had sworn fidelity and loyalty to now stood in front of him, sleeping gown falling off her shoulder and exposing more than just her cleavage.

When she reached towards him, her hand commending him to move and do what duty demanded, he wanted to laugh. There she was, his spoiled girl, leading him astray.

« The ache between my legs, husband… You are the source of it. I believe it to be your duty to soothe it. » A newfound confidence had crept its way in her veins and it intrigued him even more. To see her finally come out of her shell and demand of him, the prince, her lord husband. Nicholas took careful steps towards her before kneeling. His left hand found her right and took hold of her, their fingers intertwining tenderly.

With his free hand, he lifted the hem of her gown to expose her legs, rushing the fabric in his fist as he kept going higher, until reaching her hip. With some of the fabric still held up by his thumb, the rest of his hand slid along her flesh, and a sigh of relief escaped him. Deep and desperate, his head dropped as he pulled her closer. He let his forehead rest on her belly, nuzzling against her and kissing wherever he could reach.

His right hand which had still been holding the fabric of her gown slid under her thigh to part her legs. The prince let go of her hand and the fabric before laying a tender kiss over her bellybutton. He pulled back and signaled for her to open her mouth before gathering the gown and placing it between her lips and telling her to bite down. Like a good wife, she went along with his commands, holding onto his shoulders when he guided her palms towards them.

One of his hands came up to her backside, grabbing a handful while his right hand slid in between her legs to reach her mound. When his fingers plunged inside her, she almost felt her legs give out under her. Never had she felt such a sensation. His two fingers seemed to stretch her apart, too much already yet enough for her to quickly want more of whatever it was they provided.

« Shh, breathe. » He muttered, his hand unmoving.

She looked down to meet his eyes, her own glistening with tears from a foreign presence inside her. She blinked back tears while nodding softly and attempting to take a breath. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, her breaths ragged and trembling in concert with her trembling body. He nails were digging in his skin, crescent shaped marks littering his shoulders but his gaze never wavered, always on her. When she was certain that the pain had passed, she nodded slowly, gaining a smile from the man.

His fingers started going in and out of her while his lips kept kissing over her stomach. He could not take his eyes away from her, not at a moment like this when she was slowly starting to feel the pleasure of his touch. He could’ve, evidently, began with an other way of easing her into the act and the look of pain on her face truly made him want to peal his skin off. Now, as things would have it, she needed to be prepared before taking anything else and from the tightness of her pussy around his fingers, he would enjoy spreading her out to take him.

The more he thrust his digits in, the more she failed to stand on her two feet. Slowly, her body seemed to fold over his, melting down and loosing strength in her limbs the more space he took in her. When he inserted a third finger, the moans of pleasure she had tried to keep in grew louder. Her lips could no longer hold the gown in, to busy pushing out sounds each more obscene than the last. Her knees slowly gave out, her legs spreading wider and her juices dripping out more and more with each thrust. And when she was certain to have finally gotten used to whatever he was doing, he started spreading his fingers in rhythm with her moans.

« Oh, Lord, please… Please, oh, oh God… » She moaned, slowly loosing control over her actions.

Nicholas never looked away, too enticed by the sight of her. The more she folded on top of him, the tighter his grip on her became and soon, his moans met hers. Loud breathing muffled only by skin, she could only fall a little more while he kissed her side. His three fingers were drenched and the prince would be lying if he said that he wasn’t jealous of them in that moment. To get bathed in her nectar would be a paradise for him.

Her arms slowly wrapped around his shoulders, using his back as support while her legs shook from his treatment of her. She had completely disregarded her gown which covered her intimacy. It was an interesting position to be in, covered yet bare for his eyes to see and hands to hold.

And while he busied his fingers with her cunt, his tongue focused on roaming her sides from under the gown which now covered his head. His kissed, licked and hit into her ribs, leaving open mouthy kissed and marks of his teeth behind him. It still wasn’t enough, not until Nicholas found her nipples, ready for him to do whatever he pleased. When his tongue grazed over the soft bud of flesh, a yelp left her mouth, and when he started sucking on it, her voice grew louder.

Everything he did, he marked it down in his head, memorizing everything she liked and disliked in the moment. Her pleasure was his only goal at the moment and in life.

Her grip changed and soon her nails were digging into the skin of his back, her walls tightening around him and her sounds louder and louder. His fingers continued at the same speed while his teeth and tongue battled each other for a taste of her tits in his mouth. One was graced with his teeth, bite marks around the areola while the other enjoy his tongue and lips sucking little marks all over. Either way, they both were getting pleasure out of it. Even he, couldn’t deny that his end would come rather quick. As soon as she would cum, he would probably follow, beyond satisfied by the sound of her alone. But the prince did not want to let his cum of hers go to waste, already daydreaming of watching it drip out of her.

No, this would all be for her, his cock and his cum would all be for her.

« Hum, my sweet girl… You demanded I take care of the ache between your legs, did you not, princess ? » He expected an answer, enjoying the torment he was causing her. « I’m speaking to you, pretty girl. »

« P-Please… » She pleased instead of speaking up, too aware of how impossible it was for her to repeat such a thing without feeling shame.

Slipping his head out from under her gown, his eyes found hers again, piercing and dark with lust, he was unrelenting with her pussy as much as with his demand.

It was only after he had slowed down, silently threatening to stop if he did not get an answer.

« No, no, no ! Please husband, p-please ! » She cried out, parting her legs and reaching her hand down to push him back in. Despite his grin, she knew he would not let it go and folded. « Yes… Yes, I asked you to make me feel good… »

His face remained neutral until a smile spread again, this time with his teeth, on his face. Without a word, he dove back in, face under her gown. She squirmed in his grip, feeling her end near as it had been described by her maids and feeling the warmth of his breath over her cunt. He kept her stable and stunned before diving in to get a taste and suck in her clit like he had done her tits earlier.

This time with more fervor, his tongue danced over the bud of flesh as she wailed louder and louder from pleasure. He pulled her impossibly close, his forehead buried into her belly while his lips kissed all over her pussy. He kissed it like he kissed her, with desire unrivaled by even the loneliest of beasts. Nicholas showed her clit just as much love as he has shown her when he kissed her. He kept fucking into her with his fingers, more and more enthusiast as her fingers moved from his back to his hair, running through his blondish locks and pulling at the root. She moved in synch with him, bouncing on his fingers like a woman starved of her release until she came loud and hard all over his fingers.

« Yes, yes, yes ! Oh, God, more, please more ! » She screamed as she crumbled over him.

He kept pushing into her, deeper and deeper while she tried to process her first orgasm. Her hips kept moving up and down, following his rhythm and slowing down slowly. She was left panting and sweating, her cum dripping along his forearm. Never had she felt like this before, all thoughts and words escaping her but his name remaining. And she looked so magnificent above him, he could’ve died a happy man in that moment. If he wasn’t a selfish one before anything he would’ve been content with this, but Nicholas was selfish and he needed to feel her cunt squeeze around him like it had squeezed his fingers.

Hiking her leg up and draping it over his shoulder, he pulled his digits out before diving in mouth first to suck in her swollen folds and droplets of cum. More than being selfish, he was also greedy and that greed burnt the delicious taste of her in his mind. Never had he been so desperate for a woman. He wanted her spread in his sheets for life, taking over his space like she did his heart.

He kept devouring her pussy while she trembled, too sensitive to handle more of his treatment of her. The prince looked up with desire, admiring the state he had left her in. He needed to see more.

Detaching his lips from her with great dissatisfaction, he rose to his full height, taking her with him and lifting her up before taking a could of steps and dropping her onto the bed. Not even a second had gone before he kneeled onto the bed and grabbed her gown by the top before ripping it apart.

« Nicholas ! » she screamed. It amused him and he apologized with a kiss to her forehead.

« I’ll have a hundred more made of the finest silks for you. Not that you will need them much in the future. »

He pulled whatever was left of the gown and his own robe, tossing them out into a corner of the room. His eyes scanned her body from top to bottom, painting down the picture of her in that state. Oh how he wished to have his mouth back on her cunt at the moment, drinking in her taste and enjoying the sounds of pleasure she produced. Instead, he satisfied himself with his fingers, sucking on all three as he took his cock in hand and stroke along the shaft. His balls were tight and full, he could feel them ready to burst from the sight of her alone. Even now, drops of cum leaked out of his slit to coat the veins running all along his member. His movements were slow and sensual, his tongue lapping up all over his fingers before licking down his arm to swallow all that had poured on him. How good did she taste, his princess, his wife. So sweet and sensitive, he couldn’t keep fucking into his hand when knew that the only thing that could provide him with the pleasure he needed at the moment was her.

She’d been watching this whole time, panting and aching even more for his cock to push inside her and make her his in the eyes of traditions. She could see it glistening with pleasure, pulsating and she wanted nothing more than to taste it the way he had tasted her. Everything about his anatomy was so new and yet, she wanted to dive in and discover him intimately. She would demand they stay in that very room and be allowed to discover his wants soon enough, but for now, the night called for more classical things. The pleasure of the flesh and hunger for one another demanded they follow customs.

Nicholas pulled out his fingers from his mouth, coated in his saliva and slipped them into her mouth while his other arm wrapped around her waist to pull her up and have her sit on the sheets. Bare in between the red and golden fabrics, she looked ready to be devoured and just like she would demand, he would get to that later. For now, he pulled her to his chest and grinned wider when she kissed his stomach, pulling out the fingers she’d been sucking to mirror his earlier actions.

For a moment, a veil of tenderness enveloped them both, softness settling between the married couple to awake a need to hold and kiss the other. Her arms wrapped around his torso and her face nuzzled into his chest, kissing whatever she could reach. A small laugh was his response, as well as soft caressed on her shoulders and cheek.

« You’ll get all the time you want to kiss me, my love. Let me do what I need to do, hum ? » He kissed her forehead after she had nodded, again more than satisfied by her obedience. Thought he enjoyed it, he would not lie, following her around and obeying to her every command was more what he liked.

Laying her down flat on the bed, his hands parted her legs to give him more space to move. From that position, he kissed her collarbones while guiding his tip in the direction of her entrance.

« I promise to go as slow and gentle as you want me. Just tap my shoulder if it gets too much, okay ? Speak for me. »

« Okay, the shoulders. Understood. » She repeated, nodding animatedly.

Her eagerness was palpable and truth be told, the apprehension of him nestled within her did made her fidget a little. But the hunger for him to stretch her out to his girth was even more taking. It but at her core and made the earlier ache return with more bite than before.

« Hum… Your grace ? » At the sound of her voice, the prince immediately stopped, looking up at her. « I… I’ve never done anything of this sort before…”

Something in the way she had spoken breathed joy within him. Not only because he was the one she had chosen to be her first but also because she had felt comfortable enough to tell him. The wall they had built around one another had been crashing down in a pile of cement leaving them exposed to the other. And through that both seemed to breath for the first time around the other, finally able to express the truth of their desire.

The lips etched onto her collarbones moved to kiss up her neck before reaching her cheeks and lips again. As soon as his lips met hers, she eagerly reciprocated the act, following after him in search for the taste of his tongue on hers. The tip of his cock had been rubbing along her slit and clit and she couldn’t help but want to see what would follow. Always the dutiful husband, Nicholas was, of course, a greedy man first. His left hand came up to her face to hold her neck tightly and her jaw in place. He pinched at the bone and forced her small mouth open with a smile before sliding his tongue in in concert with his cock sliding into her.

« Oh, God ! » She cried out, suddenly aware of how much bigger he was while inside than in front of her.

Her legs shook slightly, struggling to keep still while her insides were torn apart once again. Despite him stretching her earlier, this would’ve never been enough to prepare her for the girth and length of his cock digging into her canal and stretching her to his side. Tears welled up in her eyes and her bottom lip trembled in pain, it was all too much, too new. She couldn’t breath and should’ve been scared, yet the soft caress of his fingers on her throat grounded her just right.

« Just like earlier, sweetness. Breathe slowly. » He commanded and despite struggling to do so on her own he obeyed.

Slowly, her ragged breaths were replaced by even more ragged breathing but this time out of pleasure and eagerness. The space he took inside her demanded to be expanded and she needed to have a taste of the darkness dancing in his eyes. His eyes, hadn’t moved away from her at any point. Focused on her eyes while he kissed away her thoughts, his tongue and hers danced together, teeth clattering occasionally while drool dropped out of the corner of her mouth.

Neither of them would get over kissing the other anytime soon and it was for the best.

The prince wasn’t sure how long he’d been still within her tight walls, kissing her but he knew that the tight hold she had on him would soon drive him insane. With each hiccup her walls squeezed around him tightly. With each breath, she had him throbbing harder inside her and through all he managed to stay still. Not for much longer though, not when she wrapped her legs tightly against his waist and her arms around his shoulders before pushing her face into his.

« Move, please, Nicholas… » She muttered against his lips and like a soldier ready to attack, his hips started moving. Slowly his pace shifted to go faster and deeper, his cock fucking into her cunt with more and more grit.

Soon the room echoed of the sounds of pleasure she created as well as his grunts of pleasure. Now on her ribcage, his hand rose to her breast to squeeze one in his palm while his other hand laid flat on her back. It slowly lowered to soon reach her ass that he squeezed too, using it as support to keep her close while he bottomed out inside of her.

The princess’ senses were like heightened by pleasure, her ears picking up on the sounds of the bed creaking and banging on the wall harder with each thrust. She could also hear the sounds of his groans and moans, all different and each more obscene. Of course she could hear the way his cock fucked into her warm cunt, his heavy sack slapping against her with more strength.

She could barely form a coherent thought to explain the way she felt and the sensations running around her body. All she knew was that she wanted more and so did he. He couldn’t begin to tell how good it felt to finally be inside her and feel that sweet tightness he had daydreamed for weeks before tonight. She held onto him tighter with each thrust and he knew she felt good, so good even that she pulled at his hair again, this time screaming her pleasure from up close into his willing ear. Like a symphony of pleasure and lust, the prince had never heard any sound as beautiful as her voice crying out to him in pleasure while he dug his cock into her guts.

He was quick to find the spot that would have her falling apart, a bundle of nerves which had her begging for his cock deeper and harder than before. And Prince Nicholas was a good and obedient man, whatever his wife wanted she’d get.

Leaving her lips, his mouth moved with his face to suck on her breast again, licking her nipple before his arms moved to cross behind her. Both his hands took handfuls of her ass before lifting her up and down on his cock. The prince started moving her body in tandem with his thrusts. He couldn’t hold himself together for long, he knew it as soon as he saw her in his room tonight, and his voice was the first tell. Growing louder and louder, the prince lost himself inside his princess.

« F-Fuck… My love… Oh, yes… F-Yes, yes, take it, sweetness… Take me good, my love…Yes ! »

This time it was his turn to leave crescent shaped marks on her flesh, his nails digging into the thick of her ass. She couldn’t compare to anything she’d even seen before but the prince fucked like a man possessed, his pants of pleasure louder than the next each one after the other. Moans and cries could be heard all though the room and even beyond, both knew it.

« M-My… Oh, oh, oh, hum ! » She had tried to speak but his pace accelerated again, his cock going deeper and slamming into a wall of flesh as well as the spot he had reached earlier. “Fuck ! Ah, ah, ah, m-my… My love… S-s-slow down ! »

Her voice trembled of pleasure, the kind that neared on insanity. Now, both her hands were in his hair, finding something to ground herself on amongst the thick curls on his head. Feeling the tip of his cock get even deeper, she looked down to see it through her stomach, a bulge forming on her lower belly. Repeatedly, the large mushroom tip of his dick pushed into her cervix, showing itself to the lovers.

Nicholas’ forehead rested against hers, following her gaze while he bit hi slips to contain himself but failed. There he was, all the way inside her smaller body. He was suddenly way more aware of how small she was in comparison to him, his cock wide enough to make such a visible image inside her. She watched his furrow his eyebrows, almost looking and sounding in pain. He couldn’t handle the events. From the taunting him in her little question to calling him her love. This would kill him. But he would die a happy man.

« Oh… Oh sweet… I-You kill me, sweet love… » He could only say while trying not to look down again. He buried his face in between her breasts to hide from the obscene vision. He would come quickly and so would she, he knew it.

Her breasts bouncing against his skin was pure agony, just like it was our agony to feel her squeeze him as tightly as she was. To reciprocate the « suffering » his hand came down to push her stomach at the place he had been pushing into. She bit her lip to keep in another cry of pleasure that would quickly be replaced by more incoherent screaming while his thumb came down to rub on her clit.

He needed her to cum around him and quickly or he’d go insane. He toyed with her bud of flesh while looking at the way his cock went in and out of her, stretching her out to fit him while he fucked her within an inch of her life. A ring of cum had formed around him, white and thick. That vision alone fed into his need to cum. He needed to see more of this.

« Come for me, sweetness… » He groaned with as much control as he could muster. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head while his own crossed, his mouth falling open to let out a string of animalistic grunts and moans. Both synchronized for a moment, her meeting his thrust with her own eager movements while he pushed into her harder and harder until both came in a string of cusses.

She almost felt like she had gone blind for a moment, white light clouding her vision as well as the groundbreaking sensation of her second orgasm raging through her. And if she thought this was it, she was quickly thrown back into that coital state by his cum spurting out of his cock into her warm cunt. The princess felt her husband spread through her and fill up every crevice of her pussy. Warm and thick, she felt his cum dance inside her for the next minutes as they both came down from their end, sweaty and panting.

Both were still moaning, the prince too out of his mind to keep himself from thrusting inside her some more. He didn’t want to pull out, not when she felt so good.

Instead, he chose to rut inside her tight pussy while kissing her jaw and throat. Her own hand caressed the back of his neck while she blinked away the sleep. His kisses were so soft and tender, she couldn’t help but to reciprocate, kissing his ear and into his hair.

« Have I satisfied you, my love ? » He muttered, falling on her. His body was covering the whole of hers as she laughed.

« More than that, my prince… » Her voice was small in that moment, just as sweet as her and filled with unspoken warmth.

He was still panting on top of her, holding her close and basking in the scent of her body enveloping him as she bathed him in tenderness. Both fell asleep slowly, his lips whispering sweet nothings into her ear and kissing her into a well deserved sleep. Through the night they remained connected, holding onto the other and keeping his cum and hers deep inside her.

The next morning, when the maids came up to the Prince’s chamber to notify him of the princess’s disappearance, they were quickly thrown out, all squealing in shame from witnessing her on top of him, bouncing and taking her early pleasure from him without a care in the world. Luckily she hadn’t seen them or even heard, too busy treating herself to a morning ride, but he had and he would not have anyone disturb his wife while she enjoyed herself on him.

As mentioned earlier, she would have him disregard his duties for the day so that she could have a taste of his cock herself and he would gladly oblige in exchange of a taste of her sweet cunt on his tongue.

It became tradition to find her in his chambers or the other way around. She enjoyed being chased by him at the hours of the night in her gown to be carried back to her rightful place in his bedsheets. The knights and the maids knew better than to look. The princess on the prince’s shoulder was for his eyes only. And when both found themselves in her chambers it was due to his need to smell her on him at every turn. More than once he’d sneak in her bath with her and before he could even speak, the maids would scurry out of the room.

When both became king and queen, nothing much changed except now, no room was left untouched, the throne room first to be christened.

Their future would be constructed on foundations of love and intimacy to catch up on the lost time at the beginning of their marriage and that same marriage would be one their descendants would remember as the best to ever be. All it would take was a princess who demanded and a prince who obeyed.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful

Summary: You have a long weekend that ends rather unexpectedly. Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing. 

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, suggestive content, language, some brief violence at the end.

A/N: I'm in a bit of a crisis so you're getting a bonus chapter this week. It's a beefy one and I wrote like 90% of it yesterday, just had the brain sludge by the time I was close to finishing and decided to rest before I finished and edited. Things are starting to get a big suggestive here, so as a reminder, this fic will have NSFW content in later chapters so please do not interact with it if you are under 18. I'd hate to have to block you.

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“How are you settling in?” 

“Fine.” You shrug. 

“Any instinct to nest at all?” 

You shake your head. “No.” 

“That’s fine.” Dr. Keller says, writing something down. “It’s only been just over a week. Have you started kneeling for Captain Price yet?” 

You shake your head again. “No.” 

Dr. Keller tilts her head. “Why not?” 

You shrug again. “He hasn’t brought it up.” 

“Is that something you’d like to start doing?” 

Her question catches you off guard again. You’re not used to being asked what you want, afterall you’re an omega. That’s not important. You’re here to serve. To do as you’re told. You remember watching your mother kneel for your father while he watched TV, her dazed, glazed over eyes staring at nothing as he almost seemed to hypnotize her into the shell of a perfect omega. It was your first taste of truly how much power alphas could hold over omegas. One hand on the back of your neck and it’s over. 

“I...I don’t know.” You say, picking at your sleeve. 

“You’re allowed to want things too.” Dr. Keller leans forward just slightly, giving you a smile. “I highly doubt Captain Price will make much of a fuss if you ask for something you need. He cares about you. If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here alone.” She tilts her head at you, watching you pick at your sleeve. “Is there anything you want or maybe need that you haven’t asked for?” 

Softer blankets. A fluffier pillow. Different body wash and shampoo. New clothes. A picture or a poster or something to make your room seem less clinical. Your instincts to finally start kicking in. Price to want you as much as he’s supposed to. Ghost to like you. To go back in time and let Soap kiss you. 

To go back in time and never present as an omega. 

“No.” You finally answer, shaking your head. “I’m fine.” 

Dr. Keller stares at you for a long moment. You avoid her gaze, picking at the seam of your sleeve. “I know you’re going to get tired of me saying this, but it’s important that you understand that this is a safe space for you. Everything that we discuss, everything that you say in here stays between you and me. Doctor-patient confidentiality is something I firmly believe in, even when it comes to alpha/omega relationships. Okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You say quietly, still avoiding her gaze. 

She continues to stare at you for a moment before she leans back on the couch again, shuffling some papers around. “The two betas, Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant MacTavish. How are you getting along with them?” She continues with her questions.

“Fine.” You lean back in your chair, hoping it might swallow you whole. “They’re easiest to get along with.” 

Dr. Keller nods. “Good. I’m a strong advocate for organic pack bonding. Helps avoid any dynamic struggles or false instincts down the line. How are you sleeping?” 

“Fine I guess.” You shrug. “I nap a lot.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Omegas need a lot of sleep and I can imagine adjusting to a new schedule has been rough.” Dr. Keller moves the papers to the couch next to her, looking up at you. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” 

You hesitate, pulling at the seam of your sleeve. It’s beginning to unravel a bit from your nervous picking. You’ll have to fix it. Dr. Keller is right, though. You could just ask for a new one. Price had told you they had a budget for your needs, plus they do get paid well. Anything you needed, they would gladly get for you. 

You just have to ask. 

It’s the asking that you’re not sure you can do. It feels strange to ask anything of your new pack. They’re supposed to be the ones needing things from you. If Soap had wanted to kiss you, he could have. Instead he left it up to you. He let you decide. You wonder if Price’s hesitation to move forward has been because he’s waiting on you. 

They’re all waiting on you, except maybe Ghost. They’re waiting on you to make the first moves, on you to set the pieces on the board. What is the first move? How do you set the pieces? Did you even need to? Would they fall into place organically if you just left them alone? Or would the tension continue to build up, would you continue to affect them until it became too much and the pressure causes everything to blow? 

“I’m affecting them.” You say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. 

Dr. Keller tilts her head as she stares at you. “What do you mean?” 

“They’re soldiers. They’re good soldiers with years and years of training, that’s why they're here. But...but I’m changing that. I asked Price if I could go with them and watch them run a training course cause I read in a book that I should get to know them and the things they like and so I was just curious what they do during the day when I’m not with them. He let me watch and he told me their top speeds running the training course but...none of them met those times with me there.”

You take a deep breath, the words pouring out of you easily now. You feel as if you’re not even thinking of them, not even measuring them or using caution as you normally would in any conversation. They’re slipping out from somewhere deep inside and now that you’ve opened that dam, you can’t stop it. 

“Price made them run through it five times and they still couldn’t match their top speeds. He said it was a good thing that they figured that out, that they need to know how I’m affecting them and how to adjust to me. And every time they ran through it, I couldn’t stop thinking about...” 

You take another breath, the air catching in your lungs. Your fingers are shaking, your body sinking deeper and deeper into the chair, almost as if you’re trying to get it to swallow you whole. As if the chair might wrap its arms around you and pull you into its softness and keep you there until you can’t breathe and it suffocates you. 

“What if it was me? What if they were having to rescue me? I know that’s a risk, a low one, but it’s still a risk. The CIA and Kate warned me that I could become a target if the wrong person found out about me. That’s why I can’t know anything about what they do because that puts me at more of a risk, and I could be a threat to them and the entire world if something got out that wasn’t supposed to.” 

You’re breathing heavily as the words finally come to a stop. Dr. Keller’s eyes are shining with sympathy as she stares at you. This is the most you’ve ever opened up to her, the most words you feel you’ve ever spoken to her in the two times now that you’ve met.

It feels good. It feels really good to voice your thoughts and your fears to someone on the outside, someone you can trust won’t tell anyone. You couldn’t voice these fears to your pack. They’re used to this kind of thing. They live with the knowledge they could die at any point, that any mission might be their last. How many lives have they seen lost, how many close calls have they had? You’ve seen scars already on arms, hands, faces. How many others are hidden where you can’t see? 

How many scars do they have inside, too? 

“I want you to know that your fears are very valid.” Dr. Keller says, her voice soft. “Being involved in the military comes with a lot of risks, and then you get to places like this and those risks only get greater and greater. I can’t promise you that something like that won’t ever happen, because we have no way of knowing. The risk is not zero for a reason.” 

Dr. Keller stands from the couch, moving to the chair next to you. The calming beta scent washes over you, and you know you have to be stinking up the room. She turns the chair slightly to face you, leaning forward onto her knees. You can see the imprints on the sides of her nose from where she’d been wearing glasses earlier. 

“That risk is also only low for a reason. Your identity has been well hidden, just like those of your pack’s. You’re on a well protected and secure military base. This place is a black square on Google Maps. I know, I tried looking it up when I found out where I was being assigned.” She reaches out, squeezing your arm gently. “And I highly doubt your pack would ever let anything happen to you. Packs are highly protective over their omegas. Even bad alphas can’t fight that instinct when their pack is threatened. Your pack would quite literally go to war for you.” 

She is right, you know she is. Yet that fear continues to wiggle at the back of your mind. You know they’d never let anything happen to you, but they’re going to start leaving soon. What if something happens while they’re not here? Who will help you then? The other soldiers? The betas that stare and the alphas that catcall you? 

“I guess you’re right.” You say, continuing to pick at your sleeve. At this rate, by the time your heat starts, you’ll have unraveled the whole sweatshirt.  

The buzz of your phone on your nightstand pulls you from your half asleep state. Your book is on the floor, having dropped from your hands and slid off your bed as you drifted off. Your lamp is still on, casting a warm glow around your room. You prefer the softer light compared to the fluorescent overhead, as most omegas do. There’s something too clinical and sterile about fluorescents. 

You grab your phone, pushing yourself up onto your elbow as you try to blink the sleepiness away. It’s not terribly late, but you’ve been feeling the exhaustion all day since your conversation with Dr. Keller. 

“Be ready by 0500 tomorrow. Wear something meant for the outdoors.” 

It’s a text from Price, your brow furrowing as you read it over. Five in the morning on a Saturday? That’s the earliest you’ve had to get up since your arrival on base. And wear something meant for the outdoors? You can only imagine what he has planned for the day you had been planning on spending sleeping. 

You make a quiet noise of indignation as you text back in confirmation, setting an alarm so you can be ready by 5 am. Not up by 5 am, ready by 5 am. You have half a mind to call him, or to text back asking why he feels you need to be up before the sun. You know that’s the normal time they begin their mornings during the week, usually when you hear them up and moving around, getting ready to go work out. That’s usually when you roll over and go back to sleep for another hour and a half before your own alarm gets you up for breakfast. 

You pout a little as you set your phone back on your nightstand, reaching down to grab your book and set it next to your phone. You lay back down on your bed, turning off your lamp and bathing the room in darkness. Well, it’s not totally dark. The light from the lamp outside shines in your window, casting cold shadows across the walls and floor. You’ve never been a fan of total darkness. You’d grown used to having some light in the room at The Institute. One of your roommates had insisted on having a nightlight, and there were many nights you were grateful for it as you laid awake at the mercy of your racing mind. 

A nightlight. 

You add it to the mental list of things you want, but you’ll never feel brave enough to ask for. 

Your alarm rings too early in the morning, your hand lifting to silence it quickly. 4:30 am doesn’t feel like a real time as you rise in darkness, hand fumbling for the switch to your lamp. You glare into the dimly lit room, trying to blink the sleepiness from your eyes. How desperately you want to curl back up under the blankets and sleep until someone knocks on the door to check on you because you’ve slept so long into the day. 

You don’t doubt Price will knock in about 30 minutes to get you up. He’ll be disappointed if you ignore him, you think. He wouldn’t punish you if you went against his wishes, would he? 

You don’t know that. 

You haven’t even thought to push that boundary, nor have you discussed it. You don’t want to. You’re a good omega. 

You’re a good omega. 

You repeat it over and over as you get yourself ready, splashing cold water on your face to wake yourself up. You silently thank Kate as you pull on a pair of cargo pants and hiking boots, assuming that’s what Price means by “something meant for the outdoors.” Had she bought the items in anticipation of something like this happening? You are on a military base. You should have expected you’d be pulled into something like this eventually. 

You’re debating on a jacket by the time the knock comes, right at 5 am. You wonder how long Price has been standing in the hallway, or if he’s perfected arriving right on the dot after years of expected punctuality. You decide on the jacket after checking the weather, slipping it on as you open the door. He hadn’t mentioned needing anything, not that you own any sort of supplies for the outdoors anyway. 

He doesn’t say anything as you open the door, instead motioning with his head to follow. You quietly close your door, expecting the others to be waiting for you, but their doors are all closed and they’re nowhere to be seen. You feel slightly nervous as you follow Price out into the cold morning air, glad you decided on the jacket as your breath steams from your lips. 

Price is dressed in his usual boots and cargo pants with a cargo jacket and a beanie instead of a bucket hat. There’s two packs leaning against the side of the building, Price grabbing one and approaching you. 

“What are we doing?” You ask quietly as he helps you put on the backpack, buckling it across your chest. 

“Going for a hike.” He says, putting on the other backpack. 

“Why?” You ask as he turns on a flashlight, handing it to you before turning on another one for himself. 

“I’ll explain when we get there.” He says simply, motioning for you to follow him. 

You hesitate for half a moment. A hike in the dark? The base is surrounded by forest, but you sometimes forget due to the sprawling nature of the buildings, and your usual ventures outside the barracks being to either the mess or the medical center, all of which were central on the base. 

Why does he feel the need to hike in the dark? Surely it’s more dangerous, especially for someone not quite so physically inclined like you. If he wanted to go on a hike, why hadn’t he just said that to begin with? Maybe he would have, had you asked why last night instead of just immediately agreeing. 

Going into the woods alone in the dark with an alpha you barely know. 

Anxiety twists in your stomach for a moment before you force your feet forward, walking fast to catch up to him. He leads you down one of the roads on base, your boots crunching as the ground changes from asphalt to gravel. Your anxiety doesn’t lessen any as the trees loom high above you in the darkness, the forest like a black void before you. 

Your brain thinks up all the land predators that might exist in England. Do they have bears? You’ve seen Brave, but that’s in Scotland. What about big cats like cougars or mountain lions? Are there racoons in England? 

You’re on a military base, you think. Surely they have means to keep out large predators that might be dangerous. 

Your pack won’t let anything happen to you. 

Dr. Keller’s words float through your mind as you follow Price through the underbrush and into the trees. You’re not following any path, at least that you can see, though your experiences in the outdoors have been very limited since you left home. Your dad liked to camp and hike, and often you and your siblings were subjected to his weekend and holiday trips into the wilderness. 

You missed them in the early days at the Institute. You missed a lot of things back then. 

“What’s eating you back there?” Price asks as you weave through trees and underbrush. 

“There’s nothing...dangerous out here...is there, sir?” You ask, narrowly avoiding taking a branch to the face. “Bears or mountain lions?” 

Price chuckles. “The worst thing you might find is a stray badger or a snake that got through the fence somehow.” 

“Oh.” You say, shining the flashlight around you. “That’s good.” 

Price stops, turning to face you. “You’re fretting.” 

“Well, we’re in the woods in the dark at an ungodly hour and you won’t tell me why, sir.” You pout. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks, staring down at you with a hard look in his eyes. 

You stare up at him, your grip tightening on the flashlight in your hand. “Should I trust you?” 

He straightens up a bit, the corner of his lips twitching. “That’s something you have to decide.” He turns back around, starting to walk again. “All I can do is my best to try and prove myself to you. In the end, you’re the one that decides if I’m trustworthy or not.” 

You’ve never thought of it that way. He could do everything in his power to get you to trust him, but in the end it is your decision. He hasn’t proven you wrong yet, but then again...it’s only been a week. You’ve known him for a week and you’re following him through the woods alone in the dark. 

Your brothers would have a fit if they saw you right now. 

“Do you trust me?” You find yourself asking as you continue to trek through the woods, narrowly avoiding hurting yourself on various occasions. 

“You haven’t given me reason not to.” He answers, turning his head slightly to look at you over his shoulder. “I’d prefer it stayed that way.” 

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, sir. I hardly think I’m much of a threat on any term. Well, at least I don’t think I am. Ghost seems to disagree.” 

Price lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Simon...Simon is a unique case. He’s good at his job, but that makes it hard for him to succeed in other areas. I’m sure Johnny has told you how much Simon couldn’t stand him at first. Now look at them.” He chuckles warmly, almost fondly. “He only sees you as a threat in your nature.” 

You frown, glancing up at the sky. It’s beginning to turn grey with dusk, the trees seeming to come alive around you in the dim light. “What do you mean by that, sir?” 

“You’re an omega. To bond with an omega, there is a degree of vulnerability required by the alpha. Being around omegas requires an openness that can be frightening if you’re not used to it.” He explains. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Simon isn’t the most open man.” 

You snort quietly. “Hadn’t noticed, sir.” 

Price chuckles at your answer. “You’re threatening to him, because you’re a challenge. Give him time. This entire situation is an adjustment for all of us, just as I’m sure it is for you too.” 

You don’t know how to respond to that statement. It is an adjustment. Joining any pack was, but a pack like this...a pack that has you tramping through the woods at 6 am for a reason you don’t even know yet is a major adjustment. 

Price stops after the sun has come up, taking a moment next to an outcropping of rocks. He clips your flashlight to your bag before unzipping it, passing you a bottle of water. You take it gladly, your mouth feeling dry after walking for so long. 

“How much further?” You ask as he drinks his own water. 

“Quite a ways.” He answers. 

“Can I know why we’re doing this yet?” You ask as he zips your water back into your backpack. 

“Not yet.” He says, continuing onward.

You let out an exasperated sigh, but follow him anyway. You don’t have much of a choice. 

Your legs are beginning to get tired, and you’re starting to feel a bit hungry. You’re not sure if you should say anything, or if he’d even stop. You assume he’s packed food, or at least you hope so. You’re going to get grumpy if you’re traversing all over the forest for hours with nothing to eat. 

Price slows his pace a bit as you approach what you think is a clearing. You can see a break in the trees ahead, the sun coming through brighter here. You’re sore and tired, your phone telling you you’ve been walking for just over two hours. 

How big is this base?

You break through the treeline, finding a small clearing with what looks like a fire watch tower in the middle of it. It’s not what you were expecting, the many scenarios of why you had been dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour and forced to hike through the woods you’ve been thinking up the last two hours, did not end quite like this. You stare up at the tower, your head tilting back to take it in. 

“Not scared of heights, are you?” Price asks, standing beside you. 

“Maybe.” You answer, eyeing the staircase winding around it to get to the top. 

“Come on.” He says, nudging you forward gently. “Up the stairs.” 

The last thing you want to do after walking for two hours is climb a never ending staircase, but you don’t think you have much of a choice. Perhaps you can finally sit once you get to the top, and maybe you’ll even get to eat. 

Price follows behind you as you take the steps, climbing slowly. Your legs are screaming, your feet aching in your boots. You wouldn’t be surprised if they’re bleeding a little, or if you wind up with blisters. You’re breathing heavily by the time you get to the top, sweat beading on your brow. Price doesn’t even seem winded behind you, and you’re sure he could have jogged up the steps if he wanted to. 

The top of the tower is mostly empty except for a small table and two chairs. There’s no windows, the tower open between the railing and the roof. Price sets his bag on the table, unzipping it. You sink into one of the chairs, letting your bag drop to the floor. 

“Can I know why we’re here now?” You ask him. 

“Drink some water and take a breath first.” He says, pulling a couple packets out of his bag. MRE’s. 

You dig your bottle out of your bag, taking note of the other contents inside. A few snack bars, a couple MRE’s of your own, another unopened bottle of water, and a book. There’s things in the other pockets but you don’t bother looking, guzzling down more water. 

You stand from your chair, your legs almost buckling in protest as Price gets the MRE’s cooking. You lean against the railing, looking down over the forest that stretches out as far as you can see below. 

“Can I know now?” You ask, knowing there has to be a good reason for him to bring you out here. 

“A training exercise.” He says finally. 

“A training exercise?” You frown, turning to look at him over your shoulder. It wasn’t a training exercise for you, was it? 

“Sometimes when we get a specific target on a mission, the only thing we have to go off of is a general location and a scent.” He explains. “We have to be able to track that scent effectively, sometimes for miles. We run training exercises out here to test their ability to track scents to hunt down a target.” 

You stare at the sprawling woods, beginning to understand. “So, they’re hunting a scent that will lead them here?” 

Price chuckles lowly, his hands coming to rest on the railing on either side of you. Your stomach flutters as he leans in close, his scent strong in your nose as his breath fans your ear. “Technically, they’re hunting you.” 

Your knuckles go white as they grip the railing, your blood pulsing in your veins. You’re well aware that some alphas like to hunt their omegas. There’s some primal urge deep within your brains to chase and be chased. You’re well aware of how it usually ends, the thought making your stomach clench. 

“You gave me the idea.” Price says, the warmth of his body radiating through your jacket. “When you asked to watch them train, I saw how you affected them, I thought...maybe you can be useful for their training afterall.” 

“Do they...do they know it’s me?” You ask as he steps back from you. You fight the urge to whine at the loss of proximity. 

“They do now.” He says with a smirk. “They’ve already started, so if they can follow your scent successfully, then they’ll be here in about an hour.” He says, looking at his watch. 

You frown a little. “But...we walked for two hours.” 

He smiles a little, pointing to a break in the trees below you hadn’t noticed until now. “That trailhead is a 20 minute hike back to base.” 

Your frown deepens. “But-” 

“We weren’t walking in a straight line.” He explains. “We doubled back and recrossed the trail several times to try and confuse them, just as someone running from them would do.” He passes you one of the MRE’s. “That’s what I want you to do, if it ever comes to it. You don’t fight unless you have no other choice. You always try to run first.” 

“Yes, sir.” You say, sitting down again. You don’t think you’d do much damage fighting anyway, but you don’t tell him that. 

You open the package, peeking at the contents. Some sort of potato hash, you think, but you don’t really care. You’re so hungry you’ll gladly eat the mystery re-hydrated food. Price sinks into the other chair with a quiet sigh, digging into the food. It’s quiet out in the woods, the only other sound besides the two of you the sounds of birds. 

You’ve always loved the woods, the quiet serenity of such isolation. You could imagine Price living in a log cabin miles from civilization, with animals and his own garden, happily living in quiet peace away from the stresses of life and war. You blame the fluttering in your stomach on the lingering thoughts of a chase, of a hunt. The thought of running, trying to evade soldiers who train to hunt others by their scents has goosebumps forming on your skin. 

They’re not from the cold either. 

The sun has disappeared behind clouds, the grey weather of England quickly becoming normal to you. You haven’t seen the sun much since you landed in London two weeks ago, and you’re sure you’re not going to see much of it for quite a long while. 

“What’s got you all twitchy over there?” Price asks, breaking the silence. 

You turn to look at him, your mouth open a bit in surprise. “How can you tell?” 

“I’ve been trained to notice small details, sweetheart.” He says, grinning at you. “Your fingers always get fidgety first. Like you’re looking for something to do with them. Usually they disappear beneath your sleeves, or you start picking at your clothes. Your scent changes too. Subtly, but still noticeable.” 

Oh god. You wince a little bit. He can still smell you, even outdoors in an open area. 

“Your eyes start to move, looking all over the place, like you’re searching for something, or trying not to stare at one place too long.” He continues, making you want to sink deeper and deeper into the chair until you disappear. Of course he can read you like a book. They all probably can. “Your breathing always picks up, fast enough it’s noticeable if you’re paying attention. It’s easy to set you off too, sweet little thing.” 

Warmth floods your face at his words and his stare, the back of your neck prickling. You meet his gaze across the table, the look in his eyes making you feel like you want to crawl under the table and hide. You hate that he can read you so easily. You won’t be able to hide anything from him. 

He probably knows you already have. 

You continue to hold his gaze, not backing down despite the intense tickling at the back of your neck. Touch alphas like a challenge, you repeat it over and over in your head. 

Don’t back down. 

Don’t back down. 

Don’t back down. 

A quiet growl rumbles through his chest, a shiver shooting down your spine so violently it nearly steals your breath. You fight the urge to bear your throat to him in submission, your head tilting back just slightly as your eyes squeeze closed. You’re panting, warmth pooling in your stomach as he chuckles lowly. He’s won, he knows it. You were never going to win. Nature was set against you. Your nature is to submit to him. 

“Innocent little thing, aren’t ya?” He says, pulling a cigar from one of his pockets. 

You know he smokes, you know they all do. You’ve smelled it on them many times, and it was to be expected. Your father hadn’t started until after he joined the Marines. Your mother hated it. “Dirty habit.” She always whispered as she smelled his uniform and the laundry he brought home from deployment. 

He could have had worse ones, you always thought. 

You can’t help but watch his lips curl around the cigar, the scent of tobacco permeating the air. His eyes are still on you, your own lips tingling a bit. You think back to how close you had been with Soap, inches from having your first real kiss. You regret it a bit now, not letting him kiss you. He wouldn’t have known he was your first, except perhaps by your awkwardness. 

You wonder how many times they’ve all been kissed. You wonder how many times they've kissed each other. You wonder how many barrack bunnies Price has been with, how many other omegas he’s been with. You can’t imagine Ghost being one for barrack bunnies, but then your mind sinks somewhere deeper. Ghost in his mask with an omega bent over the side of his bed, his hand wrapped around the back of their neck... 

Another shiver runs down your spine, your lower body beginning to pulse in time with your heart. 

“What’s going through that head of yours?” Price asks, still staring at you. 

“Soap almost kissed me a couple days ago.” You admit, not trusting yourself not to admit to the other things you’re thinking about. 

Price’s brows lift in surprise. “Did you not want him to?” 

Want. There’s that word again. You keep hearing it, but you’re not entirely sure what it means anymore. He’s asking to be sure that Soap didn’t force you into anything, even though you can’t imagine the beta doing such a thing. Betas usually weren’t aggressive without good reason, not like alphas. 

“Well...no, that’s not it...” You say, your face burning as you begin to regret your choice of topic. “I...I haven’t kissed anyone before...well, not like a real kiss. At The Institute, there was this omega, she was...progressive. Nothing they tried could break her of that and she got into the heads of a few other omegas. One of my bunkmates decided she didn’t want an alpha to be her first kiss, so...I volunteered.” 

Price continues to stare at you, a dark look in his eyes. You know some alphas like to watch omegas together. You’ve seen it in movies, things your brothers would put on when they were babysitting, things that would have gotten them hit over the head if your father found out. 

“Is that so?” He finally says, flicking some of the ash from the end of his cigar. “Not even a real kiss before you presented?” 

You shake your head. “No. I was...the weird kid in school. Most people considered it social suicide to be around me.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “I bet quite a few of them are kicking themselves now.” 

“Why didn’t you want Soap to kiss you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice. He’s still wondering if he needs to have a long chat with the young Sergeant, or perhaps take other action. 

“Well...it wasn’t so much that I didn’t want it.” You say. “I just...thought you might be upset...if you weren’t my first...” You swallow nervously at his stare. “Since you’re pack alpha...you have the right to claim-” 

“I wouldn’t care.” He cuts you off, almost as if he’s uncomfortable with the idea of him having all the rights to claim you. As if he was uncomfortable with the idea of holding a claim over someone else. “If you want your first kiss to be with one of the others, then you shouldn’t keep yourself from what you want.” 

His words echo Dr. Keller’s. It confuses you, their willingness to allow you to want. You’re an omega, you don’t get to want. You get told what to do, what to wear. You get told what to want. You don’t make decisions, you sit and be a good omega for your alpha. 

“I don’t know what I want.” You say quietly. 

“Think about it.” He says, stubbing out his cigar. “I won’t be upset. Makes me feel a little better, in truth. Makes me feel less like an old creep trying to steal your innocence.” 

You try not to smile at his words. “I mean...you are, in a way.” 

He tsks at you but his eyes are playful as he checks his watch. “You’re trouble. We’ve got a few minutes before the hour is up. Let’s see if they can beat it.” 

You stare out at the treeline, taking deep gulps of the cool air to try and calm yourself as you wait for the others to arrive. You’re still tingling a bit from your conversation with Price, that slight tickle still crawling across the back of your neck. You want him to hold you there, feel his calloused skin against yours, feel the strength of his fingers as they press into your skin. You want him to take all the turmoil away, the fear and the insecurity and the confusion. 

You want to kneel for him. 

You’re saved from your thoughts as a familiar figure breaks through the treeline, big and hulking and wearing a skull on his face. You’ve never seen him in this mask before, only ever seeing him in his balaclava. It’s a haunting image, only his eyes visible as he looks up at the top of the tower. Soap and Gaz appear behind him, the three of them making for the staircase. 

Their boots echo on the steps as they race to the top, Soap the first one to appear with a wide grin. 

“Aye, we found the target!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you into the air and spinning.

You yelp, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hang on for dear life. He smells like musk and sweat, and you can’t help but wonder if they ran here. He sets you back on your feet, your legs aching in protest after sitting for too long. The soreness of your morning hike has caught up to you, and you’ll be feeling it for a few days. 

“Not bad.” Price says, looking at his watch. “For the first time with a new scent.” He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get back and you can have the rest of the day off.” 

You let out a whine in protest as Price grabs your backpack, gaining the attention of the four men. “You mean we have to walk back too?” 

“It’s not even a kilometer.” Gaz says with a grin. 

You pout. “I don’t know how far that is! I already had to walk for two hours this morning. My legs hurt.” 

“You didn’t stretch before you started?” Soap asks. 

“No! I didn’t know we’d be hiking halfway across the country when I was told to get up at 5 am!” You continue to pout. 

“Come on, you’ll survive.” Price says, clipping your backpack across your chest again. “You can sleep for the rest of the day.” 

You definitely have blisters, the sides of your feet burning as you walk down the stairs. You’re going to take a very long shower when you get back to base, and then crawl into bed and sleep until someone inevitably knocks because they’re worried about you. You’re still pouting, not having even thought about how you were going to get back to base. 

Soap stops at the bottom of the steps, turning to glance at you behind him as he bends down slightly. “Hop on, hen.” 

It takes you a moment to conceptualize what he’s doing before you break out in a grin, putting your hands on his shoulders to hoist yourself onto his back. His hands grip the backs of your thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on as he carries you piggy-back style. 

“I’ve lifted weights heavier than you, bonny.” He says, not seeming to struggle at all with carrying you. 

“Well, omegas are supposed to be small.” You say, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“Aye, like a wee bairn.” Soap laughs. 

He carries you all the way back to base, barely even breathing heavily by the time you break the treeline. The rocking motion of being carried, along with your exhaustion, has lulled you into a daze, your head leaning against his as you desperately fight sleep. 

You’re jostled awake as Soap gently bounces you on his back. “We’re back, hen.” 

You grumble sleepily, holding onto him tighter. “Comfy.” 

“You’ll be comfier in bed, love.” Gaz says, stroking your hair. 

“Carry me.” You murmur, both of them freezing. 

“You sure about that, hen?” Soap asks. “You wan’t tae let us in your space?” 

“Mmm...yeah.” You murmur, nuzzling Soap’s shoulder. 

You miss the silent conversation between them in your half asleep state, the way Gaz’s hand hesitates on the knob, their slow, cautious steps into your space. It was a big deal, infringing upon an omega’s space. It’s sacred. One could only enter with permission, or if it was an emergency. Infringing on that space without permission could be detrimental. 

Soap gently lowers you onto your bed, helping you curl up on your side. Gaz unties your boots, setting them on the floor next to the bed before pulling off your socks. He lets out a quiet hiss as he spots your raw and blistered feet. 

“That’s going to hurt later.” He whispers. “No wonder she didn’t want to walk back.” 

“Didnae say nothing either.” Soap says, his fingers trailing your cheek. 

“Stubborn little omega.” 

Gaz’s words are the last you hear before you’re lost to sleep, your brain forcing you to give in to your exhaustion finally. 

It’s knocking at the door that wakes you. You’re not sure what time it is, or what planet you’re on. Your eyes are crusty with sleep, your pillow damp from drooling. You’re in your bed in the barracks, tucked under a blanket. You vaguely remember giving Gaz and Soap permission to enter before you were out again. 

It’s still daylight, judging by the light around the edges of your curtains. Or maybe you had slept through the day and it was morning. You can’t tell, feeling a bit like you were hit by a bus and jumped dimensions. 

“C’mon lass, ye got tae eat at least one meal today.” Soap’s voice calls through the door. 

You let out a groan, pushing yourself up to sit. You haven’t even changed or showered, but your shoes have been removed. You flex your toes, wincing at the sharp pain from them. You pull the blanket off, staring down at your bandaged feet. They must be as blistered and raw as they had felt in your shoes. You don’t want to get up. You’re going to be sore and probably walking with a limp. 

You know what they’re going to think. 

The stares you’ll get. 

Soon it will be for that reason, though, you think. Why not let them think it now? Then maybe by then they’ll be used to it and it’ll be much less mortifying for you. 

You get up, padding barefoot to the door. You open it, rubbing at your eyes. “What time is it?” Your voice sounds rough with sleep, your tongue feeling heavy. 

“Almost 1800 hours.” He answers. “Price let ye sleep. He and Gaz already ate. Had something tae take care of.” 

You let out a quiet groan as you rub your eyes. You slept all day, past lunch and nearly past dinner. You likely would have kept sleeping, had they let you, but then you’d be up at an ungodly hour having to scrounge for food in the rec room. 

“Get some shoes on.” Soap says. “We’ll get food in ye, then ye can sleep more.” 

You let out a quiet grumble but do as he says, grabbing your most comfortable pair of shoes before following him out of the barracks. You let your hand slip into his, the base less populated on the weekend. The mess is still busy, though, most of those that stay keeping their schedules even over the weekend. 

Soap helps you make your tray before finding Ghost sitting at a table. You deposit your tray across from them before going to grab something to drink. You look over the options, your sleep-drunk brain trying to decide on what you need. 

“I recommend coffee.” A voice says behind you. 

You spin around, looking up at a familiar face. Your stomach twists nervously, the back of your neck prickling. It’s the soldier that had been staring at you your second day on base, the one Ghost had scared off with his glare. 

“You look like you need it.” He says, giving what you assume is supposed to be a friendly smile, except to you it looks like the grin of a hungry wolf in a storybook, and you’re the injured rabbit about to be devoured. You flinch just slightly as he holds out a hand. “I’m Corporal McKinney.” 

You don’t want to take his hand, you don’t want to touch him at all. Catcalling you could handle, the stares and the whistles were nothing. None of them have been so brave as to approach you before now, and you’re starting to realize you prefer it that way. 

An overwhelming scent suddenly washes over you, the prickling at the back of your neck intensifying. It’s rich and deep, the scent of leather and gunpowder lacing the ozone-like tang of anger, of danger. 

“Can I help you, Corporal?” The deep voice rumbles behind you, the warmth close enough all you’d have to do was lean back slightly and you’d be touching him. 

The soldier’s eyes lift from you to Ghost behind you, the wicked gleam to them fading as he stares down the giant alpha. “No, sir.” The soldier swallows thickly. “Just thought I’d introduce myself to the new omega on base. Figured we’d be seeing a lot of her around.” 

“She’s no concern of yours.” Ghost says, a dangerous rumble vibrating at the edge of his voice. “You were given the briefing.” 

He hesitates and you know he’s measuring the risk of staying, of saying something else. It’s not just the threat of a dangerous alpha, but also of his superior. “Of course, sir.” He finally says, eyeing you once more before he turns on his heel, leaving the mess. 

“What do you want?” 

You turn on your heel, staring up at Ghost. You’re shaking a little, staring up at him wide-eyed. You no longer feel the haze of sleep, wide awake and alert. Ghost is staring down at you, his scent far less prominent than it had been before.

“To drink.” He motions to the selection, waiting on you to answer. 

You stare at the options, your brain trying hard to snap back into the present, to comprehend what you’re looking at. You’re on edge, on high alert after that confrontation. 

“W-Water please.” You manage to stutter out, 

“Go sit back down. I’ll get it.” He says, turning his back to you. 

You scurry back to the table, still trembling as you take your seat again. You’re getting stares, likely from the change in your scent. It’s alerting every alpha and beta in close proximity, their instincts reacting to the scent of fear, of an threatened omega. 

“Ye alright, hen?” Soap asks, giving you a worried look. The scent of beta washes over you, Soap projecting his scent to try and cover yours and calm you all at once. 

You nod, trying to swallow the panic before you alert the entire mess to your current emotional state. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” 

Ghost returns with a glass of water, setting it in front of you before taking his seat again. 

“Thank you.” You murmur, taking a long drink of it. It’s ice cold, the sensation shocking you back into reality a bit. 

You’re still trembling slightly as you eat, the back of your neck still prickling. You glance around the quickly emptying mess, eyes following every person that walks too close to the table. You know you’re safe. Soap and Ghost would make quick work of anyone who tried anything. 

Ghost did make quick work of the alpha that had approached you. 

You’re still in a bit of disbelief that Ghost had come to your aid. You remember the anger burning in his scent, the rumble at the edge of his voice. An alpha poised for a fight. Of course, you were being cornered by another alpha. You don’t doubt Soap could have easily won that fight if he had to, but an alpha had the natural advantage in a fight against other alphas. If it had been a beta cornering you, would he have still come to your aid? Or would he have watched and let Soap handle it? 

You're drawn from your thoughts as Soap’s phone rings, and he dismisses himself from the table to answer it. You wonder who it might be. Family maybe? Price? You wish you had someone that would call you regularly. You will, once they start leaving you. 

You’re left alone with Ghost, your eyes trying to look anywhere but at him. He takes your tray once you’re done, going to dump it before motioning for you to follow. You’re still a bit shaken, though you’ve managed to get your trembling under control, as well as your scent. 

He leads you back towards the barracks, your pace faster to keep up with him. Your feet hurt, but you’re eager to get back to the familiar safety of the barracks. 

You stop as a whistle sounds through the air, Ghost’s steps faltering as well. 

“Gonna go spread your legs for that freak, bunny?” A voice calls out across the courtyard. “I’m sure I could offer you a better time. At least you’ll be able to see my face.” 

The smell of ozone washes over you again, burning straight to some primal part of your brain. You’re not sure if it’s the exhaustion, or the emotions still reeling from your confrontation in the mess, but you turn on your heel, stalking over to the group of soldiers. You’re trembling again, but not out of fear. The anger has gone straight to your instincts, burning hot through your veins. 

The soldiers laugh as you approach, the one that had spoken grinning vilely at you. “Gonna take me up on my offer, omega?” The sound of your title from his lips nearly makes you shudder in disgust. It’s wrong, it sounds wrong being said in such a way. “I’d love to bend you over and stare at that sweet ass all night-” 

It’s not until your hand is throbbing that you register what happened. The soldier stumbles back a step, hand moving to his face. Your hand is balled in a fist, knuckles throbbing from the punch you delivered to his face. The next few moments seem to move in slow motion, your body pushed backwards as a hulking form comes to stand in front of you. The scent of ozone is still burning hot in your nose, anger pulsing through your body. Your ears are ringing, your hands refusing to unball from the fists they’ve closed into. You’re breathing heavily, eyes training on a small speck of mud on the back of Ghost’s jacket. 

“-You even so much as look in her direction again, I’ll rip your intestines out, tie them to the back of a humvee and drag you all the way to London, understood?” The dangerous rumble is back at the edge of his voice, his own hands balled into fists. 

“Loud and clear, sir.” The soldier spits out, massaging his face from your punch. 

A rough hand closes around your arm, making you stumble as you’re half dragged towards the barracks. You’re breathing heavily, breaths coming in gasps as the flood of emotions through you grows to almost be too much. You’re led down the hall towards the rec room, Ghost pushing you inside. 

“Sit.” He snaps, pointing at the couch.

You scramble to sit where he pointed, your brain beginning to move in autopilot as you cradle your throbbing hand to your chest. It’s still curled in a fist, the adrenaline pumping through you preventing you from uncurling your fingers. You try to steady your breathing as Ghost digs around in the fridge for a moment. You flinch as the door slams closed, Ghost dropping an ice pack on the coffee table before he takes a seat next to you on the couch. 

He grabs your hand, pulling it towards him rather roughly. He forces your fingers to uncurl, his own rough fingers digging into your hand, poking and prodding. He moves your fingers, bending your wrist and moving your arm. “It’s not broken.” He says, grabbing the ice pack and slapping it across your knuckles. “Luckily.” 

You’re still trembling, your hand lifting subconsciously to hold the ice pack in place. You feel dazed, not unlike you had earlier when you’d been pulled from sleep, only this time you can feel the emotions still pulsing through you. The remnants of anger, the disgust, the fear both from attacking an alpha, and the reprimanding you’re sure you’re due for doing such a thing.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” You murmur, feeling far away, outside of your  body looking in. 

“Probably not.” Ghost says. 

You turn slightly to look at him, pupils dilated as you simultaneously appear to see him and look straight through him. “Price is gonna find out.”

Ghost nods again, the burn of ozone gone from his scent. “He’ll believe you, though. Anything you tell him, he’s going to believe you over what anyone else says.” 

You stare at him, the skull mask from earlier gone, leaving him just in his balaclava. His eyelashes are blonde, you think as you take him in, trying to ground yourself. His skin looks soft, but that could just be the omega screaming at you. You expect him to get up, to leave you alone until you find the will to move, or one of the others finds you. Yet, he stays where he is, eyes focused across the room as you sit there. 

“You’re a purebred alpha.” You say, breaking the silence with the thought that had come to mind earlier. You need to keep talking, to keep your mind steady while you relax. 

“How did you figure it out?” He asks, not denying it. 

“Your scent.” You say, recalling earlier in the mess, the way his scent had permeated your entire body. You hadn’t just sensed it, you had felt it. His emotions, his anger, the hint of desperation for the Corporal to make the smart decision and walk away. “It’s different from other alphas. Price smells good and I’d like to roll around in his scent, but yours hits some deep primal part of my brain.” You say, turning slowly to face him. “Makes sense you’d end up in a position like this. You’re supposed to be like, an apex human.” You laugh quietly. “Just a couple of purebreds. What are the odds?” 

“Very high.” He answers. 

You laugh again. “Yeah, I know. Both of my parents were purebreds, and my grandparents. Both of them came from a long line of purebreds.” Your brows pinch into a frown. “I didn’t see it in your file, though.” 

“I don’t want it to be.” He explains. 

“Makes sense.” You say. “If I’d had that choice I’d have it left out too. As soon as someone sees it, that’s how they measure your worth. It’s not about you anymore, it’s your status they want.” You lift the ice, moving your fingers. Your hand is sore, your knuckles starting to swell a bit. 

“It’ll bruise.” He says, staring down at your hand. 

“‘Spose it could have been worse.” You say, grimacing at the ache pulsing all the way to your shoulder.

“Yeah,” He scoffs. “You could have broken your arm with a punch like that.” 

“‘S not my fault the CIA didn’t teach me much.” You murmur. “They mostly made me run.” You remember the hours and hours you spend running circles around the gym. So many circles, over and over again. 

Get involved in their hobbies. Your brain flicks through that section of the book, an idea beginning to form in your head. You’d considered it a few days ago, when you first read that chapter. Ghost speaks in violence and warfare, fighting and defending. How do you bond with the apex of humankind? 

“Teach me to fight.” 

His eyes shift slowly until he’s looking at you. You wish you could see the rest of his face, read his expression. His eyes don't give you much to go off of, something he'd likely perfected over the years. 

“Or, at least defend myself.” You continue, fighting the urge to shrink back under his gaze. “I know, Price already told me to run first, but what if that's not an option? Am I gonna throw a shitty punch and hope it works? Aim between the legs and hope I'm faster than they can block? I promise I won't go around trying to fight asshole alphas.”

He continues to stare at you, his eyes locked on yours. Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach twisting nervously but there's no challenge in his gaze, not even a playful one like you'd initiated with Price. He's simply staring. 

You wonder what he's looking for, what he's thinking. Will he laugh at you for asking? Tell you to ask someone else? Get Price to do it since he’s actually your alpha? 

“Fine.” He grunts, breaking eye contact first as he pushes himself to stand. “We start Monday. Early.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him leave the rec room. You may have just found your way into Ghost’s heart, or at least a way to get him to tolerate your presence. 

Monday. Early. 

You’ll be ready. 

NEXT ->

Taglist Part 1:

@bobaprint, @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @ghostlythots @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @thychuvaluswife @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @bisky-business @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @cadotoast @linaangel @rancid-wasp @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @puppyel @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10

[mohamedjshamia]

Help My Family Escape the War in Gaza: A Cry for Safety and Survival

Dear Friends and Supporters,

I write to you with a heart heavy with pain and urgency. My name is Mohammad Jamal Shamia, and I reside in Sweden. I am raising funds to help my family and loved ones, who are trapped in Gaza, escape the unimaginable horrors of war. Their lives have been turned upside down, and now they stand on the brink of despair, with no place to call home and no future in sight. We are fighting for their survival.

A Family Torn Apart by War

My family consists of eight members: my father, my mother, my four sisters, and my two brothers. Each one of them has a story of pain and loss, but I will start with my father, Jamal Shamia, who is still in Gaza. His home was destroyed in the very first days of the war. A single rocket shattered not just his home, but also our hopes and dreams. The life he had worked so hard to build was reduced to rubble in a heartbeat. He now stands without a roof over his head, in a place where there is no security, no peace, and no hope for the future.

My mother, who left Gaza for surgery in Egypt before the war started, is now stranded on the Egyptian side, unable to return and without any support. She worries every day about my father, her children, and grandchildren who remain in Gaza, not knowing if they will survive another day.

Sisters in Crisis: Homes Lost, Lives Disrupted

My sister Rasha Jamal Shamia and her husband, Khalil Abu Samaan, have two children, Mira and Omar. They have been forced to flee their home in Gaza City and are now living in a tent in Rafah, far from everything they once knew. Their home, their children’s education, and their future—everything is gone. Their days are filled with fear, and their nights bring no rest. The constant sound of bombs haunts them, and they have no way to provide their children with the life they deserve.

My sister Rana Jamal Shamia and her husband, Mohammed Salama, are in a similarly desperate situation. Their two children, Amir and Taim, witnessed the destruction of their home firsthand. The bomb that took away their shelter also left Rana and her family with deep physical and emotional scars. They are now displaced in Rafah, struggling every day to survive. The trauma they have endured is unimaginable.

My sister Maram Jamal Shamia and her husband, Mareed Al-Suwirki, were able to leave Gaza with their children, but they carry with them the scars of war. Their home in Gaza was destroyed, and they lost everything. Mareed, a dentist, lost his job, and they are now trying to rebuild their lives outside the war zone, but they need your help.

My youngest sister, Reem, has been living outside Gaza for some time, but she hasn’t been able to reunite with the family. The pain of separation and worry for her loved ones has been unbearable.

A Brother’s Dreams Shattered

My brother Ahmad Jamal Shamia is a bright, ambitious student who was in his third year of dental school at Al-Azhar University in Gaza. The war took everything from him—his education, his home, his dreams. Ahmad was ranked first in his class, always striving to be the best and help others. Now, he is left with nothing. He moves from one temporary shelter to another, hoping for a chance to continue his studies in Egypt. But without financial support, this dream too will be lost.

The Desperate Situation

The situation in Gaza is beyond dire. Every day, my family faces unimaginable hardships. They live in constant fear, with bombings happening around them day and night. They are without basic necessities—no reliable access to food, water, or medical care. The trauma of living through this horror has left deep emotional wounds that will take years to heal, if ever.

We are desperate to get them out. We want to transport them to Egypt, where they can begin to rebuild their lives and find safety. But this escape comes at a high cost. It will take $5,000 per adult and $2,500 per child to cross the border and start anew in Egypt. My family is counting on this fundraising effort to save their lives.

How You Can Help

Your support can make a life-saving difference. Every contribution, no matter the size, brings us closer to rescuing my family from this nightmare. With your help, we can reunite them with safety and security on the other side of the border. Time is running out, and the risks increase with every passing day.

Please consider donating to our campaign. Your generosity will not only provide my family with the means to escape the immediate danger but also offer them hope for a future where they can begin to heal and rebuild their lives. I cannot thank you enough for your support.

Together, We Can Save Lives

My family is relying on the kindness of strangers and friends alike to help them escape the ongoing violence. Your donation is not just financial assistance—it is a lifeline, a chance at survival. We need you now more than ever. Please, stand with us and help bring my family to safety.

Thank you for your kindness, your compassion, and your support. Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can save lives.

@pcktknife @palestinegenocide @plomegranate @punkitt-is-here @northgazaupdates2 @el-shab-hussein @nabulsi @sar-soor @sayruq @helpingg @horrorhorizon @heydreamchild @terezbian @tamamita @everydaylouie @palipunk @queerstudiesnatural @onedollopofsourcream @relelvance @itslucyhenley @jackrackhams @just-browsing1222 @junosaccount @what-even-is-thiss @wildandmoody @walaaibrahim @arabian-batboy @soon-palestine @gazafunds

[spider-stark]

THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object. 

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?” 

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly mutters, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.” 

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head. 

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.” 

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop. 

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken. 

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm. 

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House. 

Grover said to send our best. 

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House? 

No one’s a better shot than her. 

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage. 

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived. 

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer. 

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs. 

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side. 

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?” 

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat. 

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders. 

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.” 

Your cousins fall silent. 

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.” 

You know Black Aly would try if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss. 

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.” 

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either. 

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?” 

Strange. 

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies. 

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red. 

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.” 

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really. 

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you. 

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters. 

And red—for House Blackwood. 

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.” 

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours. 

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists. 

Not red. 

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp. 

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart. 

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.” 

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side. 

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do. 

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away? 

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you. 

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.” 

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ‘round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery. 

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.” 

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even. 

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.” 

Your spine turns to steel. 

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council. 

The Blacks and the Greens. 

The rightful heir and the first-born son. 

And the very reason your father had called you home. 

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.” 

A heartbeat passes. Then another. 

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands. 

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like. 

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong. 

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.” 

Your brow furrows. A hunt? 

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.” 

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air. 

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest.  “And when is this hunt to take place?” 

Elmo grins. “Now.” 

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts. 

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!” 

“It is already sunset!” 

“Is this a jest?” 

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done. 

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.” 

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise. 

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles. 

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord. 

“A hunt?!” 

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head. 

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?” 

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.” 

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?” 

“Who is who?” 

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.” 

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?” 

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!” 

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?” 

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.” 

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-” 

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–” 

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures. 

“Yes!’ 

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.” 

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass. 

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him. 

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir. 

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins. 

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?” 

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned. 

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe. 

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!” 

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji. 

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down. 

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.” 

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!” 

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.” 

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!” 

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not? 

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!” 

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.” 

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head. 

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers. 

Not Benji, though. 

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones. 

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!” 

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat. 

Red. 

“Is that a threat, Bracken?” 

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.” 

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand. 

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago. 

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?” 

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine. 

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge. 

“Stop.” 

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound. 

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver. 

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.” 

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear. 

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury. 

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered. 

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you. 

You could have killed him, you glare. 

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t. 

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–” 

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground. 

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.” 

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you. 

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that. 

But did he take pride in you? 

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her. 

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.” 

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates. 

“I don’t trust him,” he says. 

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you. 

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.” 

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too. 

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.” 

“And the New?” 

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot. 

Ignorant. To continue pushing— 

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.” 

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.” 

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners. 

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.” 

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too. 

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt. 

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails. 

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows. 

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary. 

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose. 

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though. 

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall. 

He’s just Benji. 

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier. 

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind. 

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. 

Dusk crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer. 

A fool’s errand. An impossible task. 

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt. 

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely. 

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp. 

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience. 

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.” 

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.” 

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.” 

True. 

“Then we find one without sense, then.” 

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.” 

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.” 

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name. 

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there. 

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart. 

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–” 

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?” 

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–” 

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls. 

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away. 

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.” 

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–” 

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!” 

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling. 

—through-and-through. 

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?” 

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek. 

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it. 

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?” 

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house. 

—Take pride in that. 

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.” 

The birthright of a drunken craven. 

The betrayal of a beloved princess. 

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.” 

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense. 

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe. 

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his. 

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?” 

I don’t want to, you think. 

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.” 

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides. 

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally. 

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm. 

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut. 

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.” 

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword. 

Gold on your back. Red in your veins. 

A Bracken by name, but… 

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.” 

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it. 

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow. 

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes. 

But duty… 

That was something else entirely. 

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red. 

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable. 

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles. 

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour. 

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours. 

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.” 

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair. 

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red. 

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him. 

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I’m worried about you. 

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here. 

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.” 

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm 

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover. 

And you. 

The bridge to a great chasm. 

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity. 

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth. 

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.” 

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow. 

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you  slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees. 

There. 

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak. 

A single shot and you could go back to camp. 

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold. 

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack. 

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages