#her voice in this one just crawls under your fuckin spine man

[gendervapor14]

i connected my spotify to my discord so when people see me listening to certain songs on loop for 3 hours they know it's not going great

[bi-writes]

you don't think ghost likes you very much. (part 2 of this, but can be read standalone) (18+, semi-dark content ahead, ghoap x fem!reader)

he doesn't like you. no matter what you do, what you wear, what you say, you know he doesn't approve of you, not really.

not like johnny.

johnny adores the ground you walk on. his lips are always on you. in your ear, along your neck, against your collarbone. his tongue is warm, and it slides along your jaw, around your fingers, sucking on your skin.

"what a nice gift, LT," he always says. "got the nicest pussy 'v e'er had." and then he puts those eyes on, those big, soft, blue ones, and he asks, "can i keep 'er, LT? can i have 'er?"

and johnny is so good. johnny does what he's asked of. johnny says yes, he never says no. johnny smiles and nods and does what he is told, and so johnny gets to have you.

johnny gets to keep you.

but you are a pet, and you are nothing more, and ghost never lets you believe otherwise. he doesn't even give you his name; it's ghost, and ghost only, and he never touches you. not the way the johnny does.

he competes with you, but it isn't a competition. johnny doesn't listen to you, not if ghost contradicts you. he will win, and he will win every time, and even though you are aware of this, he reminds you, all the time.

"johnny, please--" you sob, and he laughs, rubbing his stubble against your thigh gently. it's wet, because he's slobbered all over your cunt, and your hole pulses because it wants more. "johnnny...j-johnny, please--"

"oh, relax, my little lamb..." he sucks your clit into his mouth gently, suckling on the puckered bud. you whine at that, reaching down, pulling on the long strands of hair down the middle of his head, and he groans. "makin' a right mess..."

you're crying. tears falling down your face, pleasure like fire at the base of your spine and crawling up your back, and you reach up and squeeze the swell of your breasts, pulling on your nipples gently. johnny always gets you here--right at the top of a glorious fucking hill, and when you come down it, he carries you, keeping you high for as long as he can before he tries again and again and again--

"fuck are y' doing?" a rough voice growls. johnny's ripped off of you, his back arching as a gloved hand yanks on his head. johnny grunts, hissing, and you whine when you see ghost gripping him by his neck, holding the back of his head to his chest. "spoiled. you spoil her, johnny."

"she's so pretty, LT...i--"

"you spoil her." ghost tilts his head to the side, and you see his eyes narrow, a harsh glare at you from under the mask that makes you shake a little. "spoil her fuckin' rotten."

he doesn't let you come. he's a selfish motherfucker.

you don't know why he doesn't like you. for all intents and purposes, he chose you. and he had all but asked you to leave. tortured you, yes, but he hasn't asked you to leave. he still wants you here, doesn't he? if he hated you, if he was jealous, if he really disapproved of you, a man such as he would just kick you out, wouldn't he?

johnny and ghost are gone today. you're alone, and you've decided to occupy your time by cleaning. you put away the clean dishes, fold the laundry that was stuck in the dryer, pick up around the kitchen. ghost keeps the place very clean--but they were pressed for time in the morning, so johnny left you with the softest kisses, and ghost with just a grunt.

you're arranging fresh flowers in the living room when you hear the front door shut. you bounce into the hallway, a big smile on your face ready to greet johnny, but you freeze when you see only one big shadow shrugging off his rain jacket.

ghost is by himself, and he rolls out his neck as he toes off his boots. he hangs up his jacket, still not looking at you.

"wot?" he snaps. "cat got your tongue, little rabbit?"

you swallow, shaking your head.

"sorry...i thought...thought it was johnny."

"yeah? and wot? just 'cause it's not johnny, gonna not greet me like y'should, yeah?" he bites. you stand still for another minute before coming towards him. you lean up on your toes and kiss his cheek, but when you pull away, he reaches down and grips your ass tight, forcing your pelvis against his and rumbling low. he snarls a little, and you tilt your head back as he presses the front of his mask against your lips, kissing you through it. "tha'sit. good girl."

a soft sound comes out of you, a moan, a whimper, you aren't sure, but he smacks your ass gently, nodding his head.

"go on," he mutters. "on the couch."

he eyes you as you walk away.

"'n why the fuck are y'wearin' all those clothes?"

your insides warm at that, and you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder.

"oh. sorry." you slide your sweats off and toss them aside. it's then that ghost realizes you're wearing his shirt. he runs a hand over his taut stomach, adjusting himself shamelessly in his jeans as he watches you bend over to get onto the couch. you wear no panties, and he hums under the mask, tilting his head to the side.

"johnny got held up on base," he murmurs, coming into the living room. you take a seat on the couch, looking up at him, squeezing your thighs together.

"so...we're all alone?" you ask. this is your chance. this is the opportunity you have been waiting for. with no johnny to distract him, all he has is you, and he can't ignore you. not this time.

"all alone, sweetheart."

you swallow hard. "why don't you like me?"

the question is blunt and clear. ghost clicks his tongue under the mask, focusing on you, and he shakes his head.

"tha' isn't wot it is."

"then what is it?"

he just stares, and you shake your head. you need answers. you need to know what you're doing wrong--you want to be good.

"not you, luvie. it's my boy, my poor johnny..." you watch as he grips himself through his jeans again, visibly hard as he squeezes his cock over his zipper. "fuckin' annoying when he isn't the center of attention. my attention. you understand, right?"

you watch him, licking your bottom lip.

"b-but...but--"

"turns into a bloody muppet. pouts like a baby." ghost comes closer, leaning over you, gripping your chin gently. "wot, huh? thought i didn't want y'around?" you whimper when he squeezes your face between his big hand, squishing your cheeks. "'n how could i not, yeah? look at ya..."

he growls under the mask.

"y'wet, sweetheart?" he asks, and you lean back, spreading your knees, and he grunts when he sees between your thighs. the skin is wet, soft and slick, and he hums lowly when he sees how you clench around nothing. "wanna taste, luv. give it t'me."

you reach down gently, sliding two fingers through your folds. you whine a little, scooping a nice handful of slick, and then you pick up your fingers for him. he pushes his mask up, and you shiver when you see the wicked grin on his scarred face. then he takes your fingers into his mouth.

he leans over you. his mouth his hot, and you shake a little when his tongue slips over your fingers, warm muscle swallowing as he tastes you.

"fuckin' hell," he murmurs when he lets your fingers go. "know why johnny spends all his time down there, yeah?"

you giggle, arching your back a little, pulling his shirt up.

"ghost...why dont...why dont you come here?" you reach for the waistband of his pants, tugging gently, and he falls over you on the couch. you meet his eyes as you start to unbutton his jeans. "i want you to spend time here, too, y'know."

"tha' right, sweetheart?"

you smile, "y-yeah." you unzip his pants, your jaw falling open when you pull him out. he's so big, nice and girthy and pretty, and the tip is so pink, dribbling precum and just aching for your tongue to taste him. you rub your thumb over the tip, and he hisses. "and...a-and i love johnny..." you look back up into his eyes. "b-but...i..."

he reaches around and fists your hair, growling against your lips.

"need a right beast to fuck this pretty pussy, yeah? need someone to--" you cry out as he yanks your head back, exposing your neck to him. "--fuckin' ruin ya."

you squeal, arching your back, and he chuckles, but it's mean. you wrap your arms around his neck, and he leans down, resting his forehead against yours.

"yah, luv, y'r mine, just as much as johnny--" you gasp when he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, "y'belong to me. gonna write my name across your fuckin' cunt, sweetheart, fuck that idea right into your pretty head--"

you cry when he fucks you. when he sits up on his knees, gripping you from under your thighs, fucking into you with a reckless rhythm that leaves your thighs shaking and warm tears coming down your face.

"look at you..." ghost hisses, and you cry more, keening as he stares down at where you're connected and the squelch of you dribbles down his thighs. "bloody hell..."

your back bows, your thighs clamping around ghost's hips as he fucks you into the mattress. you can barely think, the only sensation you can really absorb is the way his thighs smack against your ass and the feel of his big, gloved hands spreading you open.

"just needed me right here, yeah?" ghost grunts, slowing his pace as he nestles his pelvis right against yours. you whine; he's so deep, it hurts, but it hurts so good, you don't tell him to stop, you can't. he's so much bigger than johnny, in every way, and you feel suffocated, but if this is how you die, so be it. getting fucked brainless is not the worst way to go, not like this. you gasp when he smooths a big hand over your stomach, pressing the pad of his thumb to where you know the tip of his cock sits. "right there, luv, tha' place is for me, yeah? 's mine, my spot--"

ghost leans down, growling against your neck, a firm grind of his hips punching your cervix again. you claw at ghost's back, and it's painfully obvious how desperate you are--you nearly rip ghost's shirt in pieces.

"this place is for me," he murmurs, spreading his fingers. he grips your waist in both hands and gives you a hard thrust, leaning his head back as he feels you clench hard. you like it when he talks, he can tell--the sound of his voice has you that much wetter, and he clicks his tongue as he leans back, rubbing a gloved thumb over your pretty little clit. "wanna live here...want ya to be my little pet..." he smirks under the mask when you cry, so sensitive. "whenever i want, want you bent over, spread nice 'n wide f'me." he hums low, "whenever i want, yeah?"

he talks like you aren't there. like he isn't cock-deep inside of you, molding the soft places of your pussy to the shape of him. ghost, despite being a little breathless, has no tremble in his voice despite how hot he feels, and he knows, suddenly, why johnny fawns over you. there is nothing that compares to this--there is nothing quite like fucking this pretty princess, watching her tits bounce, her thighs shake, feeling how soft and lovely she is when he gets her right where she belongs--stupid and cumming.

"a princess ya are, yeah?" ghost chuckles. "a right spoiled one, innit?"

and maybe you are a little spoiled. you had no idea you would be getting two for one--johnny and his looming shadow.

you grip ghost's shirt from the front tight, balling it up in tight fists and pulling him close.

"please!" you squeal. "please, please, please--" you moan and sob against the front of his mask. "w-wanted you for so long--w-wanted--"

"ya did?" ghost tilts his head to the side, picking up the pace. he cradles your head between his arms, pressing his face to yours. "even though i was a bastard?"

you mewl, nodding, reaching down and gripping his lower back as he grinds mercilessly. the curls at the base of his cock are rubbing against your clit now, and you angle your hips to catch the feeling every time, and you know you're getting close. you're there.

"almost said your name--" you gasp. "w-when...when he..."

"poor thing--" he chuckles. "thought johnny was what you wanted?" he knows you like the way he's fucking you, and he slows down, wanting to see your face and every expression you make. "what you needed?"

you nod. "i need him," you whisper. "but it isn't enough."

"no, you're such a greedy bunny--" he grips your face tight, sitting up, and you cry when he fucks you. he's an animal, he's lost control, and you are helpless under him. all you can do is spread your knees wider and moan. "johnny can't tame you, but i can, yeah?"

you meet his eyes, big and soft and wet, and he hisses. the look in your eyes, he cums instantly, falling over you and barely having enough time to put his hand out and catch himself. you gasp at the feeling, reaching down, and with a few soft circles of your fingers, ghost lets out a strangled sound as he feels you tighten and cum. the front of his thighs are soaked, and he nudges your chin up with his nose as he breathes in the scent of you from your neck.

"don't say of word of this to 'im, yeah? got ourselves a jealous little bastard," he murmurs against your ear. you nod, and when he kisses you, you can't help the way you relax. cupping his scarred face, licking into his mouth--ghost is your keeper, and he's johnny's keeper, and you know suddenly why johnny does whatever he says, whenever he wants.

ghost is in charge. he just is, and even though you're just a little, innocent civilian, ghost has given you orders, and you will follow them. there is a soft, aching place inside of you that wants to please him so badly--wants to impress him, show him how good you can be. and you imagine, wonder, if johnny has that same feeling in him, that same little press on the inside of his ribs that screams, be a good boy, a good girl, do just as he says, he'll give such a nice reward.

and when johnny comes home, there you are, all soft smiles and tender touches and little giggles that make his belly hurt so nice. and when he tells you he's hungry, you spread your legs, using two fingers to show him your pretty, wet cunt. and he dives in, like he always does, because one of his favorite places is feeling the rub of your thighs against his stubble and your fingers tugging his hair.

his tongue spreads your folds, and he hums with delight when you fall onto your back, pliant and soft and warm. and then he tastes you, and he swallows, and his eyes flicker when there is something else there, something that he knows.

johnny's eyes dart up, looking over you, and he can see ghost lingering in the doorway, watching, and then johnny understands what it is he tastes--and why he likes it so fucking much, and why it tastes like something he knows.

he meets ghost's eyes, and they look at each other, and johnny knows what it is that he's done, what it is he's eating out of you. but ghost knows johnny is a good boy, and he won't pull away, he won't make a scene. no. johnny pulls back a little, wiping his face.

he smiles. and then he leans in for more.

[jarofstyles]

Take Me Higher

Happy 4/20 my lovelies. I just whipped this up quickly so I hope you guys enjoy it 🫣

Check out our Patreon for early access and 160+ exclusive writings!

Send requests here

WC- 2.5k

Warnings- use of marijuana, high users, switch!H, choking, cum play, etc

Picture is not mine, credits to owner

————-

The smoke had cleared out of the room but it was a bit cold still from the chill of the night. It wasn’t quite warm enough to be spring in her humble opinion, but she’d take what she could get. Plus, Harry had brought her some food stuff for them and she was feeling the effects kicking in as she felt a weight settle on her body. Her eyes were hooded and she was a little giggly as his scent engulfed her, vanilla and tobacco more prominent than the smell she tried to keep from her place.

“Mm… you’re warm.” A cool nose brushed her throat, making her shiver as the man crawled up her body and rested himself on top of her. Harry always got like this when they smoked, but it seemed even more prominent today.

“And you’re a needy little thing.” Fingers carded through his hair, knocking the beanie off his head as he buried his face in her neck. There was no real response except a whine, breath warm on her skin as he tried to warm himself up. The window had to be opened so they’d not get any real complaints from their flat, but luckily they were sure her neighbor wasn’t home today.

Comfortable silence made her melt further into the sofa, the playlist on low as her eyes fluttered shut and she busied herself with playing with his hair. He’d been a good smoking buddy for a while, but she knew why he really came over. It was only a matter of time.

A large hand slipped under her body, wiggling itself under her top to feel the hot expanse of her back. He couldn’t get close enough, needy little thing, and Y/N was fully enjoying being clung to. Physical touch always made the high even better, but that’s just her opinion. Or maybe it was physical touch was better when high? She didn’t know. Her brain didn’t want to analyze that right this second.

“Did you sleep last night? Tired?” Her voice was soft as she didn’t want to disturb the vibe, twirling a curl around her fingertips.

“No.” He shook his head, seeming like he was trying to get into her skin. “Jus’ want to get close to you. You’re warm and you smell fuckin’ incredible.” His voice was a little bit more hoarse, but that was to be expected. “You’re my favorite person... To smoke with.” He added on to the thought hurriedly but she wasn’t going to call him out on it. Fingers trailed down her spine, making her shudder a little.

“Hm, is that because I let you eat my pussy?” She smirked, feeling him pull his head form her neck with a glare. Sex with him was fantastic. Maybe it was because they were usually blazed when they did it and they both felt the sensitivity that went with it along with a more intense orgasm. He was the only one who could match her drive when she was like this, so he’d easily become a favorite person of her. Though she had a feeling that he’d do it just as well without the smoking bit, that would be something to unpack at a later date.

“Hey… don’t make me sound like a lecher.” He pouted, sending her heart to beat a bit harder. One thing she’d give the man was that he was adorable. “Not the only reason. I love doin’ that but… you have the best snacks n’you let me talk about anything. Your cunt is just a bonus… though I really do love it.” Harry wasn’t usually super shy, but sometimes he got a bit bashful when it came to Y/N. There was a slight hesitation as he let their noses brush, ghosting his lips over hers. “Can I?”

“So sweet for asking.” Y/N cooed, smiling n at his request. He wanted to kiss her. She could taste how bad he wanted it when the high had hit him, but now he wasn’t able to hold back much. “Go ahead, pretty boy. Since you seem to like it so much.”

Harry was a little messy with it, smearing their lips together and grazing his teeth over her bottom lip. There wasn’t much to hide his desperation as he adjusted himself on top of her, pulling one of her legs to wrap around his hip. “I do.” He breathed before licking into her mouth. Her lips were so sweet and soft, tasting like the cola she’d drank and mint chapstick. His favorite thing. Pulling apart with a soft clicking sound, he let out a groan as he looked down at her. Her bun was all messed up with some flyaways, lips wet and eyes hazy. His favorite sight. Seeing he undone when usually she was so put together, knowing he’d been the one to get to see her like this… it did things to his “I really fucking do.”

Y/N whimpered as he devoured her. His tongue hot in her mouth and his hand gripping her thigh to keep her close, she couldn’t help but grow hot when she felt him against her. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, but it still surprised her every time. How had she ever fit that inside of her? Tightening her legs around his hips, she heard the hitch in his breathing before he pulled away from her lips to groan. It gave her a chance to pull her shirt off her body, exposing her tits to him.

Harry nearly whimpered at the sight of them, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips before making his way down. “Fuck, the things you do t’me.” He whispered, moving closer to her breasts. “Can I kiss on them a bit, pretty? It’ll feel good.” He pleaded, sighing against the skin as she nodded at the request.

Sponging kisses all over the swells, he gently rocked his hips into hers to relieve a bit of the ache. His cock was thick and throbbing, desperate for some relief. The hear of her cunt could he felt through her panties, making Harry thank whatever higher power that she’d chosen the big shirt no pants combination today. “Gorgeous. You’re so pretty, all over.” He praised, puckering his lips over a nipple for a kiss. She shivered under him, her grip in his hair getting fuller as he brought it into his mouth.

Y/N sighed in pleasure as his hot mouth suckled on her. She’d loved when he did this last time, licking over her tits while he was inside of her. He was still clothed this time but somehow that was just as hot to her. Panties were ruined regardless, but she arched her back slightly as he took more of her breast into his mouth and rolled his tongue around the nipple. “Oh, shit.” The girl whimpered, rocking her hips in return. The stimulation made her head cloudy, or maybe it was the blunt, but she didn’t really care. It all felt so fucking good, it didn’t matter. “Harry… you’re so nice t’me.” She sighed, watching him pull off with a soft ‘pop’.

“I know, sweetheart. It’s what you deserve, yeah? So nice to me too…” he sighed into her chest, placing wet kisses to the skin that glistened in the light, leaving cool spots once he left. “Let me come over and smoke, let me eat your snacks, kiss your pretty mouth… let me taste you, sometimes let me feel that perfect little pussy wrapped around me… have t’be nice to my girl.”

She didn’t have a chance to answer before he repeated the process with her other nipple, making her pant. The grinding was getting harder, her breathing matching it as he rubbed over her clit in the motions. Back and forth, sweet relief as she spread herself out further and clutched his head to her breast as he worshiped them. “Fuck me, keep going like that and M’gonna cum.” She warned him, though she had no real want of him stopping.

“So cum.” He mumbled into her skin. “Won’t be the last time you do it tonight.” And oh- oh. He sounded so self assured and cocky and it did something to her, a zap of electricity to her tummy as she moaned into the air, clinging to him.

His back was firm under her hands, not stopping herself from sliding them unde this tee shirt. His skin was burning under her palms as she dragged her nails lightly down his shoulder blades. “Harder.” He instructed, rutting into her with more force. “Scratch me. S’okay.” He couldn’t help connecting their mouths again, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh as it clung to him.

She did as asked, surprising her when he let out a deeper groan than she’d heard before. His hips quickened, sure his gray sweats were ruined but uncaring about anything else. “Gonna make me cum in my joggers.” He panted against her lips, unable to keep himself from touching her. His mouth was a magnet to her body, his cock throbbing and balls feeling exceptionally full as he dry fucked her.

“Mm… here.” She momentarily reached between them and tugged them down far enough that he was out of them. “Cum on my panties.” Her voice rang into his ears. “Already ruined them. Can’t you feel how wet you made me?” And fuck, could he.

Without the sweats in the way he could feel her soaked through panties wetting his prick, the heat of her through the barely there fabric making him insane. Though the real thing that got him was her request. “You really want that?” He questioned, buttoning their lips together for a moment because he simply couldn’t help it. “You want t’be sticky with my load all over your panties and your skin? I’ve got so much for you…” he wasn’t joking either. It had been a bit since they’d hung out and his hand didn’t do him as much justice as she could. His dick desperately missed her.

“You know I don’t mind a mess, Harry.” She purred, moving a hand to wrap around his throat. “And you’ll be a good boy and lick it off my skin, won’t you? Then you’ll lick my pretty pussy until you’re ready to fuck me. Because you’re always such a good boy for me…”

Oh, fuck. Harry whimpered at the feeling of her hand around his throat, the drop of his guilty pleasure nickname, immediately feeling the shift. He was determined to please her before, but this tone of voice and her slight overtaking made him a bit pathetic. “Yes- yeah, M’gonna do it.” He promised, adjusting them slightly so he tip could brush right over her clit. “Anything you want. Want t’make you feel so good. M’good for you.” He nodded, messily kissing her again as he quickened the pace of his thrusts.

Y/N hummed in pleasure as he got them to the right position. His hard cock rutting against her like the fabric wasn’t even there, thick and hot. She loved feeling him, knowing she’d done that to him. Her stomach tightened as she felt the perfect thrust from him, gasping into his mouth. “Oh- yes, like that. Keep it light that, baby.” She pleaded, mouth falling open as he repeated it. “Mhm… there. Gonna cum.” She had been worked up for a little bit now but feeling his need to please her helped her get there.

“Please, please do it. Want you to cum, want you to feel so good… you’re so perfect, please cum for me. Give it to me, fuckin’ goddess….” He spoke to her like he needed her orgasm to breathe. Whimpery and needy and unlike how he usually sounded, but with his perfect angle and the friction against her clit combined with that, she was pushed over the edge.

“Yes- yes, fuck me.” Head falling further back into the cushions, she dug her nails into his back with one hand while the other tightened on his throat. Sparks igniting her nerves and her legs held on to him like a lifeline as she came. Harry never knew a prettier sight in his life than how she looked when he made her orgasm.

“Give me it too, H. Make me a sticky mess so you can clean me.” She gasped out. “You’ve been so good, I know you can give me what I want. Please?” Her voice shook slightly. “Give me what I want.” Giving just the slightest bit more pressure to the fingers on the sides of his throat, she knew exactly how much to press to make him lightheaded. Choking was a weakness of his, something that made him cum embarrassingly fast a lot of the time, but this time he was grateful as he let out a sob. His prick was slick with her and aching to release but he tried to hold back for her sake. With the mix of the high being at its height, the sensitivity overwhelming him and how she knew exactly how to touch him- The moment she called him a good boy and gave him the head rush he needed, he was a fucking goner.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, M’gonna cum-“ he babbled her name as he found his release. Jerking against her, hot ribbons of the pearly cum shot against the covered cunt and over her tummy. His balls pulsed as he unloaded on her, smearing it over himself and her as his hips sloppily worked him through the orgasm. Face slack in rapture, he let out a hoarse groan as the last of it spilled from his tip, hips jerking a few times before he felt her hand fall and his mouth descended on hers again.

“You’re gonna be the end of me, hm?” He slurred, biting her lip with a hum before he lowered his body onto hers. His prick was sensitive but he made no move to pull back, pecking her over and over again as she caressed his cheek with her choking hand. Y/N was by far the best at it regardless, intuition leading her to know exactly what he liked. “Feel like m’fucking floating. Dunno if it’s the high or your cunt.” He snickered, feeling her return the laugh.

“Probably a mix of both.” She smiled, giving him a few kisses of her own. “But we’ve got plenty to keep it going for a while. Are you up for it, pretty boy?” The girl had no plans but to be blazed and fucked for the rest of the night, and she hoped he was on the same page.

“M’up for anything, you fuckin’ goddess.” He mumbled as he sat up on his knees to look at the mess they’d made. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen, her cunt and little thatch of hair visible through the now transparent fabric and splattered with cum on the ruined panties and her tummy. It made his mouth water just looking at it. “Jesus… look at this.” He mumbled, spreading her further open with his hand. “Seems like I’ve got a lot of work to do, don’t I?”

[the-kr8tor]

...And The Deep Blue Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW gore, CW injury, CW guns.

A/N: it's the end.

Navigation

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 15 >>>

“Hello, little birdy.” Mathias cackles like there's a pebble stuck in his throat.

He roams his sickly yellowed eyes at your body, sending shivers down your spine with every glance. “Or should I say Viscountess?” He laughs again. “You wear that gown well,” his eyes flick behind you, “Eugene, my boy!” The man beside you stiffens up. “Come get your bride and sit with me.” He drums at the table. “The Food is comin’, I heard that the bride and groom usually don't get to eat after everything is said and done. We don't want you to starve, ain't that right, lieutenant?”

The eye patched man standing in the corner nods slowly. His hands are neatly tucked behind his back like an obedient dog waiting for his master.

“You're alive?” You say breathlessly, teeth gritted, knuckles clenching tight on the skirt of your dress. Pulse rapidly thrumming, sending alarm bells to ring in your ear.

“‘course I am! No one can kill the king's flame, not even the red hydra,” he spits the name out. “or even a real fuckin' hydra.” Chuckling, scars mar his neck and hands, the only visible ones under his navy blue officer's uniform. It's still red and angry, you can tell some parts of it hasn't healed yet. You plan to add more, whether it's by your bare hands or a piece of cutlery; you're prepared to hit him where it hurts.

Numerous medals are on display on his jacket, shining under the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains. “Can you believe it? I go out to hunt the red hydra and I get myself a pretty bird.” He continues annoyingly, voice crackling, a dry cough escaping his pale mouth.

Mathias notices you still standing in the doorway, his eyes are dull, like a hurricane that's about to devastate a whole town. Eugene notices and he reaches for your arm to sit you down. You flinch away from his touch, eyes trained on the man before you.

“I said sit down!” Mathias’ booming voice rings out in the dining hall, his fist slamming on the table, champagne flutes fall over like dominoes with a harsh crack. “Fuckin’ grab her, Eugene! Don't be such a fuckin’ cock and grab her!”

“Y-yes uncle.” Your ‘fiance’ tentatively guides you towards the chair by your elbow, you brush off his touch, angry eyes gazing at his cowardly face.

Sitting down on the right side of Mathias, you intentionally choose a chair as far away from him as possible. But before you could sit, he clicks his tongue, finger wagging in front of his scarred face.

“Not there, gorgeous.” He pats the seat closest to him. “Right here.”

“No,” you stand your ground, shaking from anger, or is it fear that climbs in your stomach and crawls upwards to your quickening heart?

You refuse to get near the monster as Eugene stares across from you with anxiety in his eyes.

“Sit. Down.” Mathias enunciated, “or Lieutenant Dubois here will make you sit down.” Said uniformed man grunts, hazel eye roaming across the table, gaze boring a hole in between your twitching eyes. The sheath of his cutlass is engraved with tally marks among the ornate laurels and lions. “You already know what he'll do to you, he's quite amazing with a sharp object.”

“I am too.” You clench your jaw, still refusing to sit.

To your surprise, Mathias grins, a sickeningly hideous smile, teeth bared, tongue lapping at the gold in place of the fangs, lips wrinkling, he chuckles softly as something passes by his yellowed eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you just reminded me so much of your father.” He leans on the back of his chair, hands gesturing towards you. “I literally saw him instead of you! It's fuckin' crazy innit?” He shoves Eugene by the shoulder, the viscount flinches, wincing at the ache. “Y’know, I recognized you— wait, lieutenant! Grab her and make her sit down! This story deserves to be listened to properly.”

“No!” You try to run back to the hallway, but the man is too fast for you. With the heavy skirt and weak leg, you didn't have a chance against him. “Motherfucker—!” With his arms around your torso, you kick and flail about, Mathias gives him a look and the man headbutts you from behind.

The room spins as he carries you towards the chair. The ceiling swirls, ears flooding with your rushing blood. With your muddled hearing, you swear you heard Eugene defend you, and you swear you heard a slap right after.

With a heavy thunk, the door closes behind you, your exit closes behind you. The only remaining door is across you, it's currently closed but you're sure it's unlocked judging by the draft coming from it. Head still aching, vision warbling, the one eyed man stands in front of the only exit.

“Now where was I?” Mathias continues like nothing happened. You glare at him through the corner of your eyes, your skin feels like spikes from the goosebumps rising above. “Ah, yes! I recognized you on the ship, before a literal myth came eating my crew. By the way, what the fuck was that, huh? Fuckin' weird, right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say weakly.

“Anywho, You looked a lot like your father but with your mother's beauty. I knew them, your father more so. Once upon a time he was my lieutenant, he was pretty good at it too. Too bad he had to disobey orders and marry above his station.”

“Why don't you ever shut up?” You lay your elbows on the table, arms flat, slyly covering the steak knife under your arm. “Are you a narcissist? Do you like hearing your own voice—?”

Mathias hurls a salad plate at your head. You dodge it in time before it shatters on the floor. You don't have time for this, you need to get to Hobie immediately, before it's too late. You have no plan, no weapons, but you'll be damned if you don't try. And you can still hear his screams echoing in your ears, as if he's already dead, as if he's already haunting you.

You need to try. Or it'll be your end too.

The monster before you clears his throat. “Don't be rude.” He points a finger at you.

You now notice how worse for wear he is, under the white paint and powdered wig lies injuries that haven't healed since the fight. You smell it, the herbs hastily smudged, and the rot in his flesh. It seeps into his bones, poisoning his body. You just wish it'll eat at him faster.

You're suddenly not afraid anymore.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted. Your father, well, he fought a good fight on the Demeter. He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin.”

The crescent in your palms gets deeper.

“He was smart though, smarter than you probably. You see, he rigged the ship to blow. He had the fuckin' balls to do it even though his entire family was inside. Ain't it funny—?” The double doors swing open.

The butler interrupts his speech, a handful of staff bring in an entire chicken at his plate. One pours him a glass of wine before he snatches the entire bottle and places it right next to his glass. Hot soup and meat pie is brought in also, the smell is appetizing but you place your hand over your plate wordlessly, telling them you're not hungry at the moment. How could you be when Mathias eats in front of you like he hasn't eaten in decades?

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene.

He munches loudly as he takes apart the roast. String of meat flies all over, the former white table cloth turns brown when he wipes his hands on it. Eugene spares you a look, eyes staring forlornly at his empty plate. His hand inching closer towards his goblet before deciding to just drink the ruby liquid.

You're on your own.

The wolves devour their fill whilst you plan your escape. Your mind screams for you to run, to run where no one can find you. The voice echoing in your ears is right at one thing, but you'll never hide anymore, not from Mathias, not from your past, not from anyone. You'd face it with fire in your veins just like your father had.

Mathias snorts, and you wish it was a choke. “He fought well, got a few of my men. How do you think the lieutenant here lost his eye?” He points at the stoic man using a half eaten chicken leg. “Your father was brilliant with a sword. A crack shot with a blunderbuss too. But, eh, it was all in vain. He shouldn't have messed with the crown and polite society.”

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. Wealth, looks, title, she had it all. And the king wanted it too, greedy bastard he is.” There it is, the confession. But you still listen because you know something else will come after. “But your mum decided to run off and elope with the bastard son of an unpopular lord. The king was pissed off.”

Mathias laughs roughly. “But he got over it.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could hide it, the devil noticed.

“I knew you ain't as smart as your dear old dad.” He smiles, you can see the meat stuck in his golden teeth.

“He was the crowned prince,” Mathias rips open the chicken in half messily. “And he needed a wife from one of the big families.” He doused the meat in salt, “and the greedy fuck chose someone who didn't want him, just for the fun of it. Who could blame her, all he ever wanted was a brood of children to pass on his blood.” He takes a generous bite, teeth meeting flesh, the sound of his chewing makes you hasten your plan. “Thank fuck Frederick's father ain't as stupid as his son. That man sought out the opportunity when given to him and fuckin' took it. Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the fruit of his labour.”

Anger settles in your stomach, fury in your eyes and flesh, you want to damn him, and everyone involved. Especially her.

“It's her isn't it?” You say as you slither your hand towards the ceramic bowl. “The Queen, it was all her.”

Mathias smiles genuinely, “You finally got it, little bird!” He claps. “She's fuckin' brilliant, and so are her coffers. The pay,” he whistles out, “the pay was magnificent, still is by the way. I didn't even need to become an admiral for the money when I'm earning more than a fuckin’ duke.” Kicking Eugene under the table, he makes his godson choke on his drink. “See, I told you the little duchess here is just your type.”

His voice fuels your fury. Each vowel is grating in your ears, every wheezed breath he takes is a reminder that he still lives. A reminder that your knife isn't stuck in his throat.

“It ain't as bad as you think it is,” The navy man continues. “Married to my boy, you'd have a title, a home and a decent family. At least now you don't have mister Brown crawling all over you. He'd be dead by sundown, and I can't wait to see it.”

Mathias thinks his words would make you do something drastic that'll have his hands wrapped around your neck. But you've learned your lesson, so you bide your time, taking their attention away from your wandering hands.

“You're dying.” The heat from the bowl matches the fire in you. Your voice doesn't shake, nor your resolve. “Even with all the coin she gave you, you still can't save yourself. You are riddled with sepsis, I can smell it on you. A collapsed lung from the way you cough, and whatever the fuck disgusting shit you have in you. You are dying, rotting from the inside like how it's meant to be. And the world will be better off without you. They will forget you, first, your poor family, then your men, then the entire country. Even your bitch of a queen will forget you. Then the world. But Hobie will be remembered. His name will be etched in the annals of history while your name fades into obscurity.” You laugh humorlessly, teeth bared, eyes aflame. “And I can't wait to see it.”

He seethes in his seat, hand clenching around the cutlery. The devil doesn't show his anger bluntly this time, he hides it because you struck a nerve. With a grin, you promise to Hobie and to your parents that Mathias won't live to see the day end.

“Do you remember what I told you in the revenge?” You continue with a smile that sends shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. The quiet lieutenant remembers the day he lost his eye. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Through a clenched jaw, he coughs again, hiding his weakness from everyone in the room and how a drop of blood stains his pale lips. “I love it when women show me their claws. But I can't stay. I would love to see the ceremony and the festivities, but I can't miss the execution. That's why I came here earlier so I could pass on my blessings.” Mathias wipes his mouth clean harshly. “If you'd excuse me, I places to be—”

Before he could stand up, you quickly fling the bowl right on his painted face. The hot soup splashes on his skin, melting the white powder off his face. With his guttural scream, within a split second before his man could intervene, you take the steak knife and plunge it into his hand and into the table.

The screams he let out was music to your ears, holding the hilt of the weapon, you twist it before yanking it out of his flesh, tearing his hand in half, ripping the nerves and letting waterfalls of crimson into the white tablecloth. With a determined yell, you aim for his throat.

Mathias recovers a second before steel meets his skin, he backhands you with the same injured hand. The knife falls off your hand. Pain blooms on your face, and you go blind as your head hits the floor. His blood dirties your pristine white gown, splotches of red drenching the bodice.

Your left eye stings, cheek heated from the harsh slap. Despite your lungs gasping for air through your possible broken nose, you crawl over to Mathias. Your scorn drives you to grab his leg, pulling him down with a strong tug, he falls hard on his back, splitting the floorboards in half. Taking the crown off your head, you use the pointy end to stab his leg and his knee in quick succession. He yells and yells but you don't stop. The ichor from his wounds drenches your face and hands, you see red, and you see his untimely death in your blood soaked hands.

Climbing further up, you use the opportunity to aim at his groin. But a pair of arms stops you before you could hit your mark. Thrashing, slashing the hands around your shoulders, you mark the man with the same bloodied tiara.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Mathias stands up, limping, he unsheathes his lieutenant’s cutlass from his hip. With a stomp over your thigh, he pushes in the heel of his boot as you let out a cry. The steel is pointed at your heart, his eyes demand blood for blood. “I should've just killed you instead—”

A shot rings out, the bullet hits the blade, breaking it in half. Mathias flinches before he smiles at the one who shot him. There on the opposite doors, stands Miguel O’hara with his gun raised, barrel aimed at his former comrade. Lyla stands next to him, her own blunderbuss raised towards the man holding on to you.

“Let her go and there won't be any more bullets flying around.” Miguel's voice is steady, back straight, eyes flicking over to you writhing on the floor.

“You better listen, cyclops, O’hara here might hesitate but I won't. Let our girl go.” Lyla reassures you with a nod, and you bite your captor's hand.

You tear his flesh open with your teeth, ichor filling your mouth as he hisses in pain, dropping you unceremoniously on the floor.

Mathias looks at you with wide eyes, disbelief in his burned face. “I guess you learned a thing or two from your man.”

You spit out the chunk of flesh whilst your eyes never leave his. Crimson dripping off your lips like rain, teeth the same colour as the wine spilled on the table, you smile at him.

“Come near me and I'll show you what else he taught me.”

The man before you laughs genuinely, yet his eyes never leave yours, making sure you stay away from him. You're more than ready to close the gap. The cutlass is still trained on you, you're about to pounce when Miguel calls your name with urgency. As if he can read your mind.

“Your girl is fuckin' insane ain't she?” Mathias addresses Miguel, like how a family member speaks about a niece he hasn't seen in years. Proud, there's a sense of pride laced in his tone. “Just like her dear old parents, eh?”

“I'm warning you, Mathias.” Miguel keeps an eye out for the uniformed man behind you. “Take your captain, Alexander, before I put a bullet in his heart.”

Mathias scoffs, legs shaking from the wounds you caused. “Please, you'd shoot me? You didn't have the balls back then, why would you do it now?”

Miguel raises his gun higher, aiming for the man's head. “Because she wasn't there,” he cocks his head towards you, “you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

Mathias posture sags, “fine, but only because I've got an event I cannot miss.” He nods at his godson. “Make sure you're married to her by the end of the day or there will be consequences.” He clicks his tongue, Eugene melts into his chair, face turned away from you and his godfather.

Mathias gives you one last look. “Happy marriage, birdy.”

“You're going to die today Mathias, one way or another I'll get my hands on you.” You flick your eyes towards the man clutching his hand. “Death is coming for you too,” you say nonchalantly. “I'll finish what my father started.”

They leave with their fronts turned to you, not even twisting around to show you their backs that are susceptible to your attack. Or in this case, your teeth.

Lyla appears next to you, helping you by the crook of your arm. Pain lingers on your leg and face. “Christ, he burst your fucking capillaries.”

Sure enough, you feel the sting in your eye, a throbbing pain that leaves you nauseous. Miguel, tentatively closes the distance, weathered hand carefully holding your chin. You wince, as he moves your face.

“Fuck, you need to see a doctor.” He says whilst you flinch away from his touch.

“I'm alright, I need a horse.” You begin to walk away, Miguel and Lyla follow close behind you. “And I need my fucking knife.” I need him back, your mind whispers to you. “I need to save him.”

“His execution is in two hours.” Eugene says meekly, and you stop in your tracks. “I heard the officers talk, they're not going to hang him for his crimes, the crown gave him the ax.”

With quick steps, you take Eugene by his collar, gripping tightly as you spill venom. Miguel tries to hold you back but you blindly kick his leg.

“Delay them.”

“I can't—”

“Do you want to be under his boot your entire life? If we marry I'll be crushed with you,” You stare determinedly at his scared eyes. “because that will happen if you don't help. You said you cared about me, then help me and all will be forgiven. Please, you're a viscount, you have the means to help.”

He sniffs, lips curled into a frown. “I'm sorry, I-I can't—”

You scoff, letting him go. “If I fail, Mathias lives and that means you'd be dead too.” Walking away, leaving him cowering in his seat, your small entourage follows.

“Where are you going?” Miguel matches your stride, walking next to you, he stares with concern. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To my room to pamper my nose.” With adrenaline coursing through you, his face flashes in your mind with every step. Save him, your mind yells, save him, save him, or it'll be the end for you too.

“Cousin?” Collette asks as you make your way towards the apartments where your chambers lie. She roams her worried eyes around your bloodied wedding gown, her hands that are clutching a bouquet of flowers shakes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I stabbed Mathias and bit through a man's hand.” You say without stopping, she squeaks in place.

John stops in his tracks, “w-what the fuck happened?” The twins are both dressed to the nines, all fine fabrics and hair all made up. “Cousin!” He calls after you whilst you don't stop for anyone.

“Thanks for the hot tip, kids!” Lyla yells back to your cousins. “A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!”

“They called you?” You ask, your heeled feet ache but you press on. “Where were you Lyla?”

“I'm sorry, duchess, I overslept.” She shrugs. “But I'm here now ain't I? Also I got Miguel here so...”

“You should stop, Y/N.” Miguel says sternly. “You're hurt—”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to face him. Anger flares up once again. “You should've shot him where he stood.” You poke his sturdy chest roughly. “He's the one who killed them, yet you let him get away!”

“I know, I— there are repercussions to killing someone. Especially if they're an officer.” He falters but he composes himself. “Revenge is not the answer—”

“He killed them, Miguel!” Your broken voice echoes out into the vast hallway. “Him and the queen are the reason why they're dead, and you let him get away so he could kill Hobie.”

“It was the queen? Not—”

“Yes, not the idiot king.” You turn around to continue your trek. You curse the large estate. “I have no idea why she did it, but I'm gonna get her too. But I won't live to see that day if I don't save him.” Your tone falters as you pass by your mother's portrait. “I need to save him, even if it's the last thing I do.”

“You won't succeed.” Miguel stands in front of you to stop you, and you roll your eyes, wanting to kick him in the groin. “He's a pirate, Y/N, he won't do the same for you.”

“He has, and he would. I need to try, I can't let him die.” You choke back a sob. Reality crashes around you. What would you do once you get there? Will you be able to save him on your own? You have no one, you have no idea where the crew is, and he's going to die. You can't live with yourself if you don't try.

“Y/N.” Miguel says your name like a reprimand.

“You said back in the carriage that I can leave whenever I want, all I needed to do was ask.” You chuckle without humour. “Here’s me asking, Miguel.”

“You'll die, Y/N, I can't lose you too.”

“And I can't lose him.” Tears gather in your eyes. “If no one will save him then who will? I have to go whether you like it or not.”

“The people will,” Lyla pipes up, she casually leans against the wall, checking her nails. “there have been…whispers since they announced his execution. If you go, I'm sure you won't be alone.”

You face the taller man again. “See, I have help—”

“Rumours aren't enough! Don't you get it? You're better off marrying Thompson at this point.” You blink in surprise. He backtracks. “I–I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I'd rather see you settled than dead.”

“You might not be as bad as Mathias, but you might as well be.” You brokenly say. Miguel's face falls at your words. “You claim to love my parents and me by extension, but you're complicit,” you spit out the word full of venom. “you're only helping them by not letting me go. I don't want to be settled, Miguel.” You shake your head. “It isn't love if you make me.”

Miguel visibly shatters in front of you. None of the composure he showed to Mathias is left in his body. He hasn't seen this much devotion since your parents. He hasn't seen this much love since he felt their presence. He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world.

“You had time to grieve for them, I didn't.” You push him out of the way, controlling your sob. “Please don't stop me, or I'll fight you like how I fought Mathias.” You open the doors to your chambers.

Miguel lingers outside as you and Lyla make your way inside the familiar room. The man that has your dagger sits in front of the vanity, the large man is currently trying on a spare tiara, and is wearing one of the ruby earrings.

“You can keep those,” Your sudden voice makes him jump away, large eyes staring at you with slight embarrassment. “I won't tell a soul, just take them, give me my dagger and get out of Hazelside.”

The cogs in his head move, swallowing thickly, he nods curtly. “Can I keep the necklace too?” He asks gruffly.

“Sure,” You shrug, Lyla stifled a giggle.

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity.

“We good, duchess?”

“Actually,” you have an idea. “You're a muscle for hire, correct?” You've noticed how he doesn't move like the other foot soldiers do, or the guards for Hazelside. His disheveled uniform solidifies your theory. The man nods proudly. “How would you like to take my entire jewelry box in exchange for you and your men's services?”

“That depends, what kind of work are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

Lyla adds to the conversation. “Murder of some pompous nobles and free a bunch of pirates. With a main focus on the red spider of course.”

“Kill the red spider too?” He asks, a thick eyebrow raised.

“No!” You say quickly, “free him and kill anyone who stands in the way.” You mutter a curse under your breath. “I don't have time for this.”

The mercenary thinks once again, he seems to be weighing the pros and cons.

Stepping closer, you practically breathe down his neck. “I'll throw in my shoes and gowns too,” you raise a hand for him to shake. “As long as you'll be there before the execution starts, and you keep my uncle and aunt distracted, scare them is all. Just don't touch my cousins or the staff.”

The scarred man chuckles deeply. “An offer I cannot refuse, duchess.” He clasps your hand, shaking it once. “Creating chaos is our main specialty.”

“Yes and I saw a glimpse of that in the barn.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, eyes lit with tamped down anger. “You better hold your end of the bargain, or you'll have my dagger in your throat instead of my necklace.”

“‘course, my lady. My men will be there.” He leaves with a grin, shoving Miguel by his shoulder.

“What just happened?” Your godfather asks as you lift your skirt to rip the metal of your petticoat off using the dagger. He turns around, closing the doors to your chambers and shuts his eyes while still turned around.

“Our girl here just used her charisma to strike a bargain. Oh they grow up too fast.” Lyla dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear in her eye. “Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.”

You stare at yourself in the vanity, blood coats the front of your gown, a smattering of crimson coats the lace, splashes of ichor paints the front of the bodice right next to the pretty embroidery. Your face isn't any better, the makeup the handmaidens painted you with is still there, but now it coincides with Mathias' drying blood. It drips down from your cheeks down to your neck, it hides the gold underneath the crimson. Your left eye shares the same shade, capillaries burst, spreading your blood into the whites of your eyes. The gloves meant to hide the callouses and fresh scars are sticking to your skin, drenched in ruby, drenched like the floors of the revenge.

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal.

“I haven't forgotten.” Tossing the heeled shoes away, you make your way towards where you hid your old friend.

The sight alone of the weathered leather shoes would make you weep but you don't have time for that. Lifting your skirts up, still wearing the ridiculous wedding gown that has become significantly lighter, you quickly run towards the unicorn tapestry.

Dagger in hand, you're surprised to hear Miguel's heavy strides following you inside the hidden tunnels. Once the sun greets you and the grass crunches under your feet, you beeline for the barn.

A stable boy jumps at the sudden intrusion, he stutters, moreso when he sees your blood drenched form.

“Can you saddle Bernard quickly?” You ask, and the poor boy almost has a heart attack. “Please? I'm a friend of Hobie and—”

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you, already picking up the heavy saddle. "You know how to ride, My lady?"

“No need for that.” You wave away the title. “And yes, perks of running away for years, you learn how to run away in different ways.”

He chuckles, yet the nervousness is still palpable in his eyes. “I'm on it, your grace.”

Smiling softly, you don't correct him anymore. Turning around, you see no one accompanying you. “Lyla?”

“She went off to get her horse,” Miguel appears from behind the barn door. “I'm keeping a lookout.” He returns to his post, acting casual while leaning on the door.

“You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Miguel.” You walk behind him, the wooden doors are blocking you from his view and vice versa.

“I…pondered your words, Y/N, and you're right. I don't want to make you do something you clearly don't want. I won't make that same mistake again, it cost me years without you. It won't make me lose another day without you, even if it means saving a damn pirate.” He chuckles, and you take his hand from where you stood. You hear his breath hitch, “I'm sorry. I think your parents would hate me right now.”

“I don't know them very well but, I think they'll be proud of you. You found me, you brought me home. You were doing the best you can with good intentions.” You squeeze his rough hand, placing your forehead against the door where his shoulders would lie. “Thank you for letting me leave. I think it's best for you to move on, uncle. They'd want that for you.” You hear him sniff, squeezing your hand back.

“Yes, I think it's best.” He lets your hand go, “starting with this,” Placing something round in your hand, he closes your palm around it gently. “They’d want you to have it, something to keep close to you when you're at sea. It helped me back then, I'm sure it'll help you now.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“Not yet, I'll follow you once I can. I'll keep your aunt and uncle here, making sure that they don't get their footmen to follow you. And I'll make sure the ruffians you hired won't go overboard and actually do what you asked them to.” Miguel tearfully chuckles, “just promise me you won't lose your humanity after you take your revenge.”

“I promise, I won't let it consume me.” You whisper your promise just for him.

Taking a peek at the object in your hand, your heart almost shatters at the familiarity of it. It's the same one your mother was clutching in her portrait. Opening the golden locket, you see a portrait of your mother on the left, and on the right, your father. They look younger in the painting, happier, more alive. They were right, you bear a resemblance to your father just as much as to your mother's features. You finally got a good look at them together, and your heart squeezes at the thought.

Sniffing, you look up at Miguel with gratitude, “tell my cousins ‘thank you,’ please.”

“I will. Keep the locket safe for when we meet again?”

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” He's the only person who's worthy of the title you've bestowed him. Lyla gallops her horse in the distance. “Now get out of here, or I'll end up not letting you go.” You tease, it has half truth in it. Your smile falters, "Tell my mother—"

“Come back and you can tell her yourself. She's still staying in the same town. I know she's waiting for you.” He finally turns around to face you. “Before you go,” shrugging off his coat, he hands it to you. “You'll get cold.”

You look at the fabric with tears in your eyes. Taking the blue coat, he helps you put it on. Sniffing, he turns you back around, rubbing the creases in the sleeves away.

“There, it's perfect but it's missing something.”

“Something blue, and now I've got something borrowed.” Joking, you smile at your godfather.

Miguel hands you a blunderbuss, it's an ordinary looking one, save for the purple leather handle that decorates it.

“It was your father's, he gave it to me when he named me your godfather.” He points at the silver barrel where three letters are etched on it crudely. “It's our first initials. He said that it gave him extra luck.”

“I—I can't take this.”

“Well, you've already taken my locket and coat, what harm falls on me if I gave you his gun? You're gonna need it wherever you're going.” Miguel shoves it in your hands, “just— save a bullet for Mathias and the queen.”

“That I can do.” You grin at him despite the pain in your chest.

“The party's here.” Lyla’ horse stops just outside, she exclaims with fanfare. “Ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Aye,” you nod with determination. The fire is blazing under your eyes, lightning in your fingertips, you wear the locket around your neck with pride.

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ.

—

You ride off on Bernard's back, flames in your chest, wind whipped cheeks, and hands clutching the reins tighter. Your father's blunderbuss weighs heavy on your hips, the smell of Mathias' drying blood stings in your nose. But the putrid smell keeps you awake, a reminder of your goal, a reminder of what truly matters— Hobie. Your love that is currently in shackles, hands bound tighter than the rope around his neck.

Lyla snaps you awake, her own horse huffing from the intense speed.

“Your eyes keep glossing over, duchess, keep ‘em clear for me, yeah?” She yells above the loud hoofbeats.

“I will, are you sure about your plan?”

“My guild consists of a bunch of sacks of shits that'll do anything for a quick coin.” You knit your eyebrows in worry. “But they're loyal to a fault, ‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.”

“What?” You spot the capital's sign, entering the city without stopping. There's a fork in the road as you ride towards the center of the city. The familiar smell of the sea fills you as you ride closer and closer to your destination.

“A story for another day, gorgeous.” She rides faster, her guns clinking against the saddle. “I'll ride ahead, gather as many as I can. Go to him, and disrupt the festivities.” Her voice fades as she hurries off.

Lyla heads towards the left whilst you ride on the right, trying to remember the directions she told you during the short ride.

Numerous buildings whizz by you as you ride faster and faster. Rickety stone buildings turn into elegant carved marble. The streets become smoother as you get closer to the palace. You heard the crowd before you saw them.

Bernard stops in his tracks, right at the edge of the thousands of people clambering to see the execution. He whines as you try to calm him down. Some of the common people are quiet, eyes straight towards the stage where a large man with a black hood stands. The scraping of the ax getting sharpened makes your heart stop.

The palace looms overhead, its golden terrace holds the royals, faces smug, wigs high as they look down at the crowd. Right next to them stands Mathias, hand hastily bandaged, still dripping in blood. His face contorts into pain as he clutches at his injury. You draw your father's gun out, resisting the urge to shoot at the man, but with how far you are, you know you'll miss.

Scanning the stage, you bite your tongue, preventing a pained whimper from getting out.

You've made it, and he has too.

Clad in a white undershirt with the sleeves too big for his frame, trousers too short for his legs, hands tied behind his back, face beaten. Hobie stands with his back straight despite all the red gashes under his thin shirt.

You whisper his name like he can hear you above the yells of the people. You're frozen, hands shaking, eyes unblinking at his form.

The uniformed men make him kneel, his knees slam harshly against wooden floors.

Hobie was never afraid of dying before, he avoided it a hundred times. Yet, his binded hands quiver, dull grey eyes scanning around the crowd, he tries to find familiar faces amidst all the strangers. Trying to find his crew, not for help, but the thought of dying in front of them fills him with sorrow. He doesn't see them, and he's glad. Moreso when he doesn't see your face, he doesn't want you to experience what he had seen before.

But there's a part of him that wants to see you for one last time before steel kisses his neck. He wants to feel your lips against his again, but for now, having the memory of it is enough. The pearl you gave him is cold against his chest, he wishes to hold it again.

Having you in his arms however brief is enough for him, he'll think of you when the blade strikes him down for the last time.

Even with his imminent death, he still finds the will to smile, the same smile you love so much. It's enough to snap you awake.

A navy officer yells above the crowd, scroll in hand, voice booming and commanding. “Here stands the notorious pirate Hobart Brown, he stands here waiting for his sentence. The crimes he has committed are atrocious enough that the crown has automatically given him the guilty verdict!” The people don't cheer, some even boo and hiss at the man. You inhale deeply, hand holding on to the reigns tighter, as you weave Bernard through the crowd. Surprisingly, they part for you.

“What say you, Hobart Brown?”

Hobie chuckles deeply, lips split and bloodied, he grins. “It's captain, actually!” His voice drives you to ride faster, gun raised. He twists around to look at the nobles in their high tower. “It's captain Hobie Brown, you fuckin' wankers!” Cackling, the officer kicks him down. He falls, gasping, neck landing harshly at the stone slab that still has remnants of its last guest.

Still, Hobie yells obscenities, “you haven't won! You might cut my head but two more will replace me! Just like how I replaced the emerald bastard from the south!” He tries to sit up but another man holds him down. “They'll be stronger and better than me! From my death, the people will gather at your gates and break your golden walls!”

The executioner raises his large ax, the sun bouncing off the metal.

Hobie quiets down at the glimmer of the ax shining in his eyes. Whispering the names of his loyal crew, then he softly calls for you like an acolyte prays for forgiveness.

The crowd parts for you like the sea parts for a sailing ship. Giddying up, hooves hitting loudly against stone, you aim.

It's the end, but it doesn't have to be.

“Hobie!” You scream as loud as you can before you shoot.

He blinks in surprise for a second, the man holding him down scampers away as a shot rings out. Now free, Hobie quickly moves away from the stone slab as your bullet hits the executioner's hood right in-between his eyes.

Gasping, the ax falls next to Hobie's head with a thud. The edge is embedded in the wood, missing his face just a few inches away. Eyes staring at the clear sky, he thinks he has died when your face suddenly appears in front of him.

“Scuttlebutt,” he softly says in disbelief.

“Hi, captain, I'm here to rescue you.” You smile at him, “hold on a minute.” Sitting up right, you shoot at the remaining officer. A body thuds, and you return to his side. “I've got you.” You say as you help him sit up, hands already untying his bonds.

Hobie looks at you like a sailor looks at the sea for the first time, with reverence, and awed by the sheer beauty. “You've got me.”

Ropes falling off his aching wrists, he moves to hold your face desperately. Without a second thought, he kisses you fervently. Life spreads back to him, fingertips electric as he holds your face close. Lips warm, you kiss back like it's just you and him. Hands instinctively sliding to his head, you pull away when you feel scruff under your palm.

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.”

Hobie laughs, still holding your face like holding on to a precious pearl. “It'll grow back.” Tears prick your eyes, mirroring his own. “I love you, you did good, scuttlebutt.”

“I did good?” You peck his chapped lips once more.

“Yeah, love.” He prevents you from looking at the military that has their weapons raised and their eyes targeting you and him. “You did very well—” tears escape his grey eyes when he hears the familiar click of a gun.

It's the end.

“I love you too,” you know it's the end. “I'll see you back at the revenge?”

“Save some of Finn's bread for me, yeah?” Hobie leans his forehead atop yours. “I'm sorry.” His voice falters.

“Don't be, I'm glad I fell in that net.” You hold on to him for dear life. Etching his warmth in your brain so you remember it until you're cold. “I'd run towards that dock all over again if I had the chance again.”

It's the end, and you hold him close.

As you embrace each other, as your love is displayed for all to see, your warmth radiates through the crowd. You burn together with him.

Fire consumes and burns but it also lights the way.

The silence wraps around the city center, then, someone yells, pushing off the officer who has his gun aimed at your head. The people follow, rioting against their oppressors.

You both stare below in disbelief, hand cradling your head, he shields your eyes from seeing the violence unfold. Just when bullets hit flesh, and knives slash at necks, an explosion booms above.

Hobie holds onto you tighter, battered arms wrapped around you protectively as debris and smoke fills the whole place. The building across the palace is in flames, and from the billowing ashes out comes a familiar face.

Gwen takes off her hood, feet precariously standing on the ledge, then another form comes out of the smoke, Miles takes his stance next to the first mate, handing her a long rope.

“Holy shit! It's them!” Hobie exclaims, letting you see them with your own eyes.

You grin as you spot them above, “it's them,” you say in shock. A second later, they jump off the building effortlessly, guns raised as they land on their feet right next to the stage.

“I'll cover you!” Miles yells above the chaos as more and more buildings around the palace erupt in a chorus of explosions.

Gwen clambers next to you, relief on her face, hugging the two of you. Embracing back, she leans away to stare at you and her captain.

“You fucking idiots! I'd slap you over the head if I didn't love you both.”

“We love you too, Gwendy.” Hobie smiles amidst the aches.

“What he said, Gwendy.” You beam at her with overwhelming love.

“Love you too, now we need to get you out of here.”

“I have a ship docked somewhere, it's called the osprey. Take it and—” You start but Hobie and Gwen interrupt.

“You make it sound like you're not comin’ with us.”

“Y/N,” Gwen warns as she helps you two on your feet.

“I’m coming with—” a gun goes off.

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach.

“...oh” she looks at you with her eyebrows knitted together, hand pressing on her belly. You catch Gwen in your arms as you feel the fear in you spread. She calls your name weakly.

Hobie stares at you with terrified eyes as he clutches the back of Gwen's head.

“No, no, don't speak—just… oh fuck!” You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a part of your gown to stuff it inside her wound. Ichor spills out of her like waterfalls. “I've got you!” She yells in pain and you simultaneously hear Miles scream.

Flicking your tear filled eyes over to Miles, he has his back on the ground, face contorted into pain whilst Mathias has his boot on his shooting hand. Miles still fights, kicking and scratching at the man's leg.

“This is what happens when you disrupt—” Red appears on his side as Hobie uses your fallen gun to shoot him where he has his foot crushing atop Miles’ hand. Mathias yelps in pain, a throaty sound escaping from his pale lips.

Hobie is filled with rage, embers flickering in him, turning into flames and then a blaze that burns his insides into ash.

Miles coughs as Mathias runs away towards the enormous church right next to the palace. He pushes away people, blood trailing behind him.

“Miles!” You yell, in your relief, he stands back up, weaving around people to clamber up the steps of the stage.

“I'm here!” He crawls over to Gwen, gently clutching her pale face. “Oh god no, please,” Miles looks at you. “Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.”

You look towards Hobie, not knowing what to do, but said man is nowhere to be found. You briefly spot him running around the crowd, cutting down coppers swiftly with your father's gun and a stray cutlass, following after the man who has shot at his family.

Not again, you think, hands drenched once again in crimson. Not again, not again. You've failed once again.

Someone calls next to you, familiar hands holding yours.

“Tell us what to do.” Yuri thaws you out from your frozen state. Gwen gurgles, grip around your wrist weakening. James appears next to Yuri as you see in your peripheral the same mercenary and his men shooting at soldiers. Lyla cackles near them, adding her guild to the mix in the chaos. “Y/N,” Yuri calls again sternly. “We need you.”

With a sniff, you compose yourself, for Gwen. “Keep your hands on her wound, pack it with cloth then keep pushing.” Gwen groans, you look at her apologetically. “I know it hurts, I'm sorry but we need to do this. Let us do this.”

“I saw a doctor's clinic near here.” James pipes up, “if we take her there will you be able to save her?”

“Yes, we need to—”

Pavitr runs towards the group, guns raised, eyes full of rage once he sees Gwen. “No…” he says weakly. He fixes his composure, for Gwen. “James and I will cover you while the three of you carry Gwen.” He instructs, voice steady.

“No, no, no!” Gwen protests. “It hurts— I can't—”

“You can!” Miles beats you to it. “D’you remember what I told you when we realized Y/N and Hobie weren't behind us after we got attacked?” She nods weakly, lips bitten to stop her pained whimpers. “I meant it, Gwen. I meant all of it yet I haven't shown it because I'm a goddamn coward. Let me show you how much I love you, but I can't do that if you don't let us carry you. So please, let us carry you.”

Gwen smiles, icy eyes staring fondly at Miles. They have a wordless conversation, then Miles gives her a gentle peck on her forehead.

“As long as the d-doc here follows our captain.” She says.

“What—? No, you need me.” You shake your head.

“We already know what to do,” she winces, “you're the only person that can stop him, he'll die, Y/N. Meanwhile I've got a chance with them beside me. And he's all alone.”

You look at the others, they all nod and you blink in surprise. “But—”

“We have her, wifey.” Yuri smiles kindly at you. “This isn't our first bullet wound. Go and fetch our captain for us would ya?”

You have no time to think about it, so you choose what they instructed you to do. “Keep your hands on her and support her back—” your eyes find the familiar large man wearing your rubies. “Oi!” He pauses from crushing a soldier's arm. “Get a handful of your men and help them get to the doctor's!”

“Do I have to?” He asks, shrugging.

“Yes! I paid you!”

The man sighs then he gestures to a few of his people to climb up the stage. Before you let go of Gwen, you stare daggers at the men in the fake uniforms. “Keep all of them alive and I might just give you a piece of Hazelside.”

“Say no more, duchess, we got ‘em.”

“Gwen—” You take one last look over to her.

“Go, I don't plan on dying today.”

“You better. Meet us back at the ship.” You roam your eyes at the crew like it's the last time you would see them. With a nod towards Yuri, you slide your hands away quickly, Yuri replaces the space you left with her own.

Wordlessly you turn away from them. You fight yourself from looking back. Running away towards Hobie, you hope that it's not too late.

Weaving through the crowd, dodging bullets and swords, you keep your head down and keep your eyes forward at the grand church waiting ahead. The spires are tall and sharp, reminding you of the dragons that rose up from the sea and blocked out the moon. Gargoyles decorate the roofs, all stone and eyes large, mouths agape, unmoving.

You lift the skirt of your tattered gown, it might be covered in blood but the white colour of it is a stark contrast to the dark chaos surrounding you. It acts as a beacon to the people as they see you in their ranks, a noble in their eyes that bears gold and silver around her neck and sleeves. Someone who fought everyone just to get to her pirate captain, they find it in themselves to continue fighting. A few even helps you get to your destination by blocking any guards or soldiers from laying their hands on you.

Smoke in your lungs, steel clanging against steel. Blades slashing at limbs, people screaming in all directions, both with rank and without, they all end up in the same fate. You run through the blood soaked field.

Feet sprinting across the field, people are few and far in between once you get nearer and nearer towards the church. Hands on the large doors, you push the heavy oak to no avail. It's locked, the evidence of it is the rattling noise it makes as you shake it in desperation.

Hobie's in there, and you'd do anything to get to him.

You go around the structure to find a window that's big enough for you to slither into. But all the stained glass windows are too high up for you to reach even if you try to break one. Losing hope, you turn a corner towards the back. You finally breathe when you see a wooden door. Without wasting time, you push it open with your shoulder, shoving it, the rust covered hinges creak with your strength. And finally, it bursts open with one final push.

The sight alone made you stop in your tracks. Clutching your dagger, a finely dressed man lays dead in a pool of blood. A sword embedded in his back, a cracked crown sitting next to his bloodied head. The person standing over the king is none other than his own wife, her face isn't one of sadness but of sheer happiness as she grins at her husband's dead body. Blood dripping off her royal hands, she lifts her head to gaze upon you.

“Hello, little bird, you finally made it.” Caroline stands in front of the altar, the kaleidoscope of lights from the glass windows acts as her spotlight. Her gown is in rich velvet, furs covering her shoulder. And a large tiara on top of her intricate powdered wig.

“You killed him.” Gripping your dagger tighter, you stay away from the bloody queen.

“I did,” Caroline giggles, a sound that sends shivers through your spine. “You look marvelous in your wedding gown by the way. A shame that you didn't get married to that fine young man.” Her voice echoes around the large church, its ceilings are high and painted with saints. They look down at you, eyes lifeless. “Lieutenant.” She calls and the man answers, coming out of the shadows and into the pews. “Do me a favour and kill her for me.”

The disheveled man walks over to you, hand still decorated by your bite.

“Why don't you kill me yourself? Like how you killed your husband.” You address the woman, taunting her.

The queen raises a hand and the navy man stops immediately. She smiles and takes the sword out of her husband's body with ease, then she steps over his body without remorse.

“With pleasure.” She unclasps her cloak, the heavy cloth thuds against the marble. “If I couldn't kill your mother personally, I'd settle for killing you instead.”

“What the fuck—!” The queen arches her sword, thankfully you parry it with your dagger. You know you'll lose in the duel with your smaller weapon against hers and her swordsmanship. A yell echoes from above, a distinct scream from who you hope is from Mathias.

“I wasn't lying when I said you remind me of her!” She slashes, right foot pointed towards you, dodging the sharp edge, the heels of your feet hit a pew, then you fall backwards, back and elbows hitting the hardwood. “But she wasn't much of a fighter just like you!” Her eyes are ablaze as you scramble away.

“Why are you doing this?!” Your voice carries off around the church. “You said you were friends!”

Raising your dagger to shield your face when she tries to slash at your chest, she stands atop you, knee right next to your thigh, leg perching her up. Steel dangerously close to your face, wrists aching from her push, you take your free hand to grip the sharp edge of your dagger to combat her own strength. You feel the knife dig into your palm.

“Why?” The queen cackles, leaning her mad face close. “Because she's the reason why I'm here, she's the reason why that man has ruined me until I couldn't even recognize myself—!”

Lifting your legs, bending your knees, you kick her right in her chest. Making her lose her balance, face falling flat on the marble floors. You take the opportunity to crawl and stand up, sprinting away from her. As you bolt off towards the altar, and towards the door to the bell tower, the stairs are within your reach, but Caroline yanks you by your skirt. You fall off the steps of the altar, body and dagger sliding off the smooth marble.

Groaning, she points her weapon towards your neck, taking your mother's necklace by her blade. “Why did you kill them? For revenge?” You ask, vision blurring from the way your head hit the floor. Everything aches in you, but you continue to fight.

“No, for the satisfaction of them being dead.” She eyes the golden necklace and you glare at her. “She was meant to take the crown, not me. Instead she ignored her duty and ran off with a bastard, and I was forced to marry that fucking beast!” Her voice booms, the saints above look down at the chaos. “Forced to carry his children, children I never wanted but loved nonetheless. Children that I never saw grow up because they were taken from me the second they came out of me!” Her hand shakes around the sword.

You slyly inch your hand towards your dagger that's only a hair width away from your fingertips. You let her continue as the tears in her eyes fall on your bloodied face.

“I never wanted to be queen, all I've ever wanted was to see the world. Your mother took that away from me, and now her daughter is living my fucking dream! The second I knew you were alive I wanted to wring your fucking neck. To hurt you just like her choices had on me.” She twists her sword so the blunt edge is kissing your neck, torture, she's planning on sawing your head off with the blunt edge. “If she can't pay, I'd settle for making you hurt instead.”

“You want to kill me because of what happened decades ago? You're fucking mad if you think sins are passed from parent to child! I never knew them!” You fight back despite the blade near your neck. “Do you understand that you caused the same pain to me that the king has caused you? Whatever you want to call it, it's still revenge!” Caroline pushes the cutlass closer, so close that you can feel it in your throat, choking you. “You're blaming the wrong people for your misfortune, blame the people who used you, who said yes to his every whim, not the couple who only wanted to marry the one they love!”

“I’m the victim here—!”

“You are, but who points the sword towards the innocent?” She blinks, lips wobbling. “Look at you, Mathias told me you're brilliant, but you never thought this part through, haven't you? What do you think the nobles of the land will do to you the moment they hear of your regicide? Who will they blame? Me, who bears the mark of your cruelty? Or you, who has the king's blood on your golden hands?”

You distract her enough to finally reach the dagger, swiftly, you plunge it to the nearest part of her that you can manage, her thigh. She screams in agony, sword and crown clanging loudly on the floor. The once favoured queen clutches her wound that's gushing blood, seeping out of her velvet dress and spilling over the white marble.

Unexpectedly, she cries as she desperately wraps her skirt around the gushing wound. You clamber up to your feet, eyes flitting over the stoic man when Caroline calls for him to kill you where you stand. He doesn't move from his position near the confessionals.

“Are you gonna fight me too? An eye for an eye?” You ask, hands shaking while you bend down for your crimson drenched dagger.

“No, your father and I are even.” The simple words turn your eyes the same shade as the fluid pooling around the queen.

“You're just gonna stand there?” You ask while Caroline's wails echo around the expansive church.

“I'm waiting for you to leave so I can help her.” He seems to be unbothered. A scream rings out from above, louder than the woman's screams. Alarm bells trigger in your mind. “Sounds like someone needs your help.”

“Don't follow me,” you threaten, knife pointed at him as you slither towards the door. “Don't help your captain.”

“Alexander!” She screams for the lieutenant.

“You're right, he's already dead anyway, not my problem anymore.” His eye follows you, “Good luck, duchess.”

With one look towards the mysterious man, you get a glimpse of him crouching next to the woman, hands casually tamping down the rushing blood. Locking the door behind you, you run once again.

The winding spiral staircase seems to go up forever, hand clutching your dagger, you don't even feel the pain in your ankles anymore. Numbness flashes over you for a second, but you carry on. The walls get smaller and tighter as you go on, the stone scratches your hands, the small windows barely provide any light for you. The sounds of struggle get louder, so you speed off with the last of your strength.

Rushing, you make it to the top where Mathias has his hands wrapped around Hobie's neck, with no ounce of hesitation, you plunge your dagger in the devil's flesh, right in between his clavicle.

With a shriek, Mathias lets go of Hobie. Your captain gasps for air, clutching his neck. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, relief washing over you just from seeing him breathe.

“I have you!” Holding his face, you thank the stars that he holds you back with his warm hands.

Hobie utters your name softly, “You have a habit of savin’ me, eh, scuttlebutt?” He smiles at you even with his left eye swelling, even with his mouth full of ichor.

You grin, getting him back to his feet. “The others are waiting—!” A large hand picks you up, wrapping a thick arm around your waist, the other is holding your own weapon in his cracked knuckles. Your own blade is placed harshly against your throat.

A trickle of blood drips from your flesh, and Hobie has the same look back on the revenge. Terrified, the swirling greys of his eyes are mortified at the scene in front of him.

Mathias still lives despite the laceration on his neck, despite his life rushing off of him in waves. He stands precariously on the edge of the tower, his back against the sea, the waves lapping against the cliffs below. He holds you tight as a noose when the wind rushes from behind.

There's a bout of silence hanging in between, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat at your fearful face.

“Don't—” Hobie's voice is broken, pleading desperately. “Please,” Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. “Take me instead.”

Mathias gurgles a response. “Just like old times, eh?”

As the blade kisses your neck, you could only look at Hobie. The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, his gun holds no bullets, sword lay broken in half near his feet.

It's the end, but he declines for it to end, for your life to end at hands of the same man that ended his old love three years ago.

He thinks fate is cruel, he thinks the fates hate him. He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. He refuses to give them the ending they wanted.

You know it's the end, but it doesn't have to be the end for him too.

There's no other option, no other hope but, "No more sacrifices." You whisper to him even though you know he couldn't hear you, at the same time, you whisper an apology to him.

Images of the past six months flashes in your mind. Images of the tavern you once called home, images of the ship you still call your home. Images of the people you've come to love, images of your island and the sand in between your toes, and the sun on your back. Images of Hobie smiling down at you, images of him holding you close as you cry in his arms.

Images of you learning to love him.

You love him and all his sharp edges, all his anger and all his warmth. You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. To love someone so wholeheartedly that it burrows into your bones and digs deep into your marrows, never letting go. You loved him, and he's worth it for what you're about to do. To be loved back is a gift that he graciously granted you, you intend to cherish it until your end.

You call his name like the softest of silk wrapped around your tongue. "Hobie," and you smile at him, letting your smile tell him that he wasn't born to be a knife, letting your smile tell him that you love him more than the moon loves the tides.

He whispers back your name, pleading with you, for he knows you more than he knows himself, and he knows what you're about to do.

With a loop of your foot around Mathias' ankle, you pull hard, then you let yourself fall backwards.

“Alis volat propriis” You softly say, prying the knife from Mathias’ hand.

And fly you did.

Fear encapsulates him as you fall, the same fear flows out of you like spring water as you plunge into the dark depths.

Hobie refuses to look, frozen on the spot, unblinking eyes still staring at the space you left. His heart feels like it's about to give out as he says your name over and over again like a mantra.

He's a knife meant to grieve.

Slowly, his feet move for him. Body stiff, he makes it to the ledge. Grief stricken eyes darting below, he lets out a guttural wail that carries on with the wind.

Clutching his broken heart, he falls to his knees. He keeps repeating your name as he stares at the bubbles rising up on the surface, the waves deliver seafoam on the beach below, and with it, hope still clings to him.

“No,” A sob breaks through when you don't emerge a second later. “...no, c'mon scuttlebutt, don't fuckin' leave me.”

Grief rolls over his skin like tiny pinpricks of sorrow puncturing his insides and into his scarred heart. Your face flashes in front of him, and the voice inside him asks, 'will it be bad if you follow?'

“Brown?” A familiar voice calls behind him, Hobie whirls around, grief evident on his face, Miguel already knows what happend. He shakes his bloody head profusely, “where's— where is she?”

Hobie doesn't answer, he turns back towards the sea. Agony filling his very being as he stares below.

“No!” Miguel follows Hobie's eyes. And then he screams for you. He searches for you under the waves.

Hobie lays his head on the wall of the bell tower. A minute, it's been a minute since you fell, yet no sign of a body has floated up. The sky is still calm, the sun still shines, yet, you don't resurface.

He blinks away when he sees fingers reaching amongst the waves. “Did you see that?” Praying, praying to any deity out there that is listening to him, he prays that his mind isn't playing a cruel joke on him.

“What?”

Hobie stands up, taking Miguel's face to turn it towards the waters. Something moves under the seafoam, someone moves under the seafoam.

His heart picks up speed, and he rushes down the stairs. Miguel follows close by, their feet thudding loudly on the stairs. They ignore the various pains in their body, what matters is you, and they intend to get to your side as quickly as possible.

They go through the broken door that Miguel kicked, and they run over a puddle of blood without a body. Sprinting outside, the sea breeze greets them. They don't stop for anyone or anything, even though the palace burns to the ground behind them, even though the heat from the melting golden gates sears their backs. They continue downward towards the path to the beach.

Hobie trips on a rock, Miguel helps him up swiftly.

From the tides, you rise once more.

Heaving from the swim, drenched and sore. You grin at the two men rushing towards you. Like the waves lapping at your feet, relief washes over them.

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. His face finds safety in the crook of your neck. Arms holding you tight and comfortable, he breaths you in, taking a deep shuddering breath. You smell like the sea. He can't believe you're alive, can't believe that you're back in his arms.

“I lost the dagger,” you say against his cheek as you press cold kisses on his skin.

“I'll get you a new one.” Tears flow out of his eyes, he feels like he's dreaming, he feels like fate has finally granted him reprieve. “I’ll get you a hundred more, fuck that, a thousand more if you asked.”

“I just want one.” You chuckle.

“I'll get you one then.” Hobie peels himself off you, fingers roaming your face, the heel of his hand is placed atop your pulse, making sure he didn't fall off the tower himself. “You're alive.” He says breathlessly, “you fuckin' swam!”

“I had a good teacher.” You say as you hold him tenderly. “He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” Salty tears in your lashes, he pulls you in for another hug. Eyes closed, you savour the calmness with the sound of the rushing sea behind you, knowing that Mathias lays beneath its waves with your dagger embedded in his eye. “It's over, and I'm alright.”

Holding your hand towards Miguel who sits on his knees on the sand, eyes glowing with consolation. You flex your hand towards him so he could hold your hand. He stands up, taking it willingly, squeezing once like how he held your parents’ hands once upon a time.

Miguel nods proudly at you, gently pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, he gives you and Hobie space. You mouth a thank you towards the man.

—

“Shit!” James exclaims, jumping up and down on the docks. “Look at her! She's magnificent!”

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts.

“Don't ruin this for me!” He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear like a child in a sugar shop. “You're actually giving us this ship?”

“Mm-hmm—” before you could finish nodding, James sprints off towards the fine ship. Yuri winks at you before she follows behind James.

The sun slowly sets, bathing the waters in pink and orange light. James isn't wrong, the ship is magnificent. It's bigger than the black hellion, much bigger. Two crow's nests sit at the highest point of the masts. The body is well maintained, oak still shining in the late afternoon sun. Silver violets and hazelnuts decorate the sides, a reminder of what could've been.

Looking at your new home, you shift your gaze to Hobie, knowing wherever he is, as long as you're with him, you're home.

Your tired eyes flick over the figurehead of an osprey with its wings outstretched around the head of the ship. Hobie taps your head with his own gently.

“It needs some work done.”

You chuckle as you fix your hold on him. Still in your wedding gown, skin still smelling like the sea, you move impossibly closer to him. You're both winded, but Hobie has sustained more injuries than you and needed more help in standing up straight. “Do you think we should change the name?”

“Love,” he turns his head towards you, his smile almost makes you kiss him right there and then. “I think I've got a few ideas, for now let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright— wait, where's Gwen?”

“Here, worry much, landlubber?” She asks on her stretcher. Miles, Pavitr and an unknown blond man carry her.

“Well you were shot, Gwendy, I think I have every right to be worried.”

“I'm fine now, can't even feel a thing!” She smiles and you recognize her state.

“I think that's the medication talking.” You eye the stranger, “and who might you be?”

“Oi,” Hobie points at the man. “You better not cause any trouble Stacy.”

You lightly gasp, finally noticing the resemblance.

“Not planning on causing any, captain.” Gwen's father smiles and gives you a curt nod.

“Can we hurry the chit chat?” Miles groans.

“You telling me I'm too heavy, Morales?” Gwen teases but the fatigue must've taken a toll on Miles as he takes it seriously.

“W-what? Of course not!”

“You calling my daughter heavy?” Her father jokes back. They're father and daughter alright.

“No! Let's just get on the ship.” Miles pouts, you send him a smile, wordlessly giving him your thanks. He shakes his head, hiding his grin in reply.

“Pav!” You call after Pavitr, “tea later?”

He beams at you, happiness almost blinding you. “Hell yeah!” Jaunting happily, he practically skips off, to Gwen's protest, who still lays on the gurney, shakes from his little dance.

Miguel taps your shoulder, Hobie lets you go so you could hug the man.

“Room for one more?” He asks while patting your back.

Leaning away, your eyes widen, smile widening. “What!”

“I meant for Lyla, kid.” Miguel laughs, smile lines appearing.

“Oh, you're not coming with us?” Disappointment is evident in your voice.

“No, sorry. Maybe one day. I've got unfinished business” He holds your shoulders, “you better take care or I'll chase you again.”

“Oh god, don't say that!” You giggle whilst he mirrors your smile. “If you're not coming, then you can have this back.” Taking off the locket, you place it in his rough palms. “A reminder of them,” you close his fingers around the gold. “Besides, I already have his gun. You deserve something of theirs too.”

The sun shines in his eyes. “This was Gabriella’s, she gifted it to your mother when she got sick. It's a family heirloom.”

“She was Gabriella's godmother, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and your father was her godfather.”

You tap his hand. “It's back in the right hands then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel sniffs, neck craning towards Hobie who sits on a crate. “And you,” Hobie dramatically points at himself. “Take care of my goddaughter, or I'll come after you again.”

Hobie, smirks, “aye, aye, admiral.” He mocks a salute.

Miguel shoots you a look, “you sure about that one?”

You gaze at Hobie, your Hobie. “I'm sure.” He winks at you and you wink back.

“God, I gotta let you go before I get sick.” You chortle as Miguel hugs you one last time. Pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, he nods once, staring at your face, seeing his friends’ faces in yours, saying goodbye to the three of you. “Be good, I'll see you in the sea.”

“Looking forward to it, uncle. Don't get caught by the coppers.” He lets you go with a laugh, unhitching his horse and then getting on, he rides off.

Lyla suddenly appears from the dust with a big grin on her face, she carries suitcases upon suitcases in her arms. “Where to, captain?” She asks you.

“Not the captain, he is.” You gesture towards Hobie who doesn't even correct Lyla. He just waves at her with a small shrug.

“I thought whoever owned the boat was the captain, anyway! Off to adventure!” She cackles into the sunset, feet thudding loudly as she hurls all her luggage on the ship. You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’

You ignore it for now, how could you not when Hobie stares at you so sweetly that you prefer this than chocolate?

“She's not wrong y’know.” He says whilst you saunter towards him. Stretching his legs, he gives you space to stand in between them.

“Are you planning on giving me your title, captain?” You tease, sliding your hands up and down his arms. His own is wrapped around your middle, staring up at you with endearment.

“You're already a captain,” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. He sighs, so full of love for the woman in his arms. “of my heart—”

“I knew you would say that!” You laugh, feeling like the weight off your shoulders has finally turned into dust. And he feels like the fish bone stuck in his throat is finally gone.

Hobie smiles softly at you, heart shaped grey eyes full of life. “Are you sure about this? Stayin’ I mean.”

You squeeze the back of his neck, already missing how his hair would tickle your palms. But you love him even with his scruffy head. He looks handsome with or without it, you'll never tell him or his ego would implode. At least now you get the pleasure of seeing it grow, you can't help but press a sickeningly sweet kiss atop his head.

The sound of the anchors getting lifted up fills your ears so you lean closer for him to hear your words better.

“I'll stay as long as you want me too.”

“Forever then?”

“Forever.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Until I'm cold, you can't escape me.”

Hobie has a lopsided smile on his lips, grey eyes aglow with affection. “You're still in your white dress,” you raise an eyebrow. “Y’know what that means—” Lifting you up like a bride, he carries you towards the ship as you yelp and giggle in his arms. “Off to our honeymoon then!”

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home.

A/N: And it's done!! Thank you all so much for reading, interacting and genuinely showing your support whether it's by making fanart or sending your thoughts, I'm forever grateful for all of them!! Love you ❤️

Already missing the crew? They'll be back for Between the Devil and the Sea Book 2!! You can check out my ☕ page for a lil sneak peek!

[some-kindofgnome]

now everything is easy

do not interact with this post if you are under 18.

Katsuki wakes next to you the morning after your heat reaches its peak.

c: katsuki bakugou x reader

wc: 3.7k

cw: smut (18+), morning sex, subtle alpha/beta/omega dynamics (knotting, heat cycles,  descriptions of scent & slick), vaginal & oral sex, aftercare if you squint, katsuki is like lovingly disgruntled through most of this but he adores you i promise

notes: Bakugou lovers, what’s up? It’s been a minute... 😅I can’t BELIEVE how long it’s been since I’ve written about Bakugou. But I signed up to write him for a few collabs over the summer, so here’s my warmup. I think I did this trope wrong but he goes down on u so like that’s fun, right? 👀

(MASTERLIST)

Morning comes hot and sticky, drizzling like honey into Katsuki’s slowly waking mind.

For a long time, waking slowly like this seemed little more than a far-off dream, for the man who could never be caught off guard. Most days his eyes still spring open, fully alert to the sound of his six o’clock alarm. But when she needs him, he loses himself easily to her.

To you.

He’s not sure what time it is exactly, only that midmorning sun splashes obscenely across the mussed bedclothes, lighting up the soft green of the worn linen and the buttery eggshell-painted wall beyond. His muscles settle into a dutiful ache. His thighs are still a little stuck together. He kind of needs to piss.

But you, fragile and perfect with the dew of your leftover heat drying on your spine, are worth lingering for.

You’re still fast asleep as he rolls onto one hip, fresh scratches pulling and stinging in the muscles of his back. The sheet’s tucked haphazardly over the curve of your hip, but you’re sprawled on your side with your torso left carelessly bare.

He can’t help himself, leaning forward to bury his nose against your scent glands, pulling the strong reek of you into his head. Your scent is so easy to read- maple-sweet, fragrant like orange blossom and deliciously mingled with his own. Last night, he fucked you both into sheer exhaustion, and the sheets still waft puffs of your mingled scents with every shift of his body.

Still, you’ll be wanting more soon. He gives your petal-soft skin a devilish little nip, rolling away to stretch yesterday’s exertion from his tendons.

Before he can even shift to climb out of bed for the bathroom, you’re squirming beside him.

Too late.

Those long, peaceful breaths of sleepy silence quickly give way to strained little whimpers as your senses come back to you. Last night, your heat cycle had reached its peak. But after a full measure of sleep- and eight hours without the fill of your alpha- he knew this was coming.

“Alpha,” you keen, struggling with even one coherent word. Katsuki’s instincts flare to life while you wake up, fresh waves of your needy scent filling his head and bringing his alpha to the surface. His cock stirs greedily against one thigh, stiffening traitorously in response to your voice.

He sighs harshly, flopping back against the pillows. His jaw ticks, letting firm throbs of desire swell in his gut.

“Couldn’t even wait for me to take a piss, could you?” He growls, no shortage of affection in his rough tone. You’re already rolling over, tangling clumsy, slick thighs in the soiled sheets.

“Please,” you sigh. “One more. I need one more.”

“C’mere,” he grunts, palming your ass to bring you close. “Let me see you.”

Your flesh is hot and sticky beneath his touch, and he knows how badly you need him but he can’t help indulging. Not now, when you’re so pliable and needy for him. It’s cruel to think so, but he loves you most when you’re desperate like this. His mean streak doesn’t come for you very often, but he can’t help it. You’re so easy to tease, and so much cuter when you want something.

He slips between your thighs to quell your squirming, letting you settle onto your back. You spread your legs as far as they’ll go, staring up at him with that wide, vulnerable, irresistible expression you always get at this time in your cycle. It’s how can tell your heat’s coming, far before the changes to your scent. The first time you look up at him like this every season, he knows it’s all over.

Your thighs are still crusted with last night’s slick and dried remnants of cum, but when you spread them, long strings of fresh fluid break and drip onto the mattress. The warm slip of your sex is glistening already.

Katsuki decides in that moment that he’s going to take his time with you, whether you’re ready to wait for it or not.

“You feeling patient?” he chuckles, lip curling as he flicks his eyes back to yours. You’re still staring up at him like that, an extra flash of panic lighting your eyes when the word patient reaches your ears.

“W-what,” you plead. “N-no, please, just- now, just do it now…”

Your voice trails into a strangled little squeak of pleasure when he dips his head between your thighs and seals his mouth to your dripping cunt. The familiar sweet musk of you pours into his mouth, cocktailed with the overwhelmingly heady flavor of your heat slick. The tightness in his balls is getting blurry now, half-full-bladder, half-swelling desire. But he can hold it, if it means he gets to pull more of those little cries from your needy throat.

He glides the flat of his tongue up between your folds, knowing that it makes you squeal without actually pushing you any closer to the edge. As he predicted, your thigh twitches by his left ear and your toes curl, but the whine that leaves you is not a satisfied one.

“K-katsuki,” you beg. The shape of his name on your lips comes as a surprise to him, and he glances up at you with a flinch of his brow. While there’s nothing quite like the way you shout “alpha” in the throes of your heat, when you’re all sleepy and sticky and half-conscious like this, his name feels good, too, hanging in the bleary air between you.

It sounds nice.

He rewards you with a lift of his chin, bringing the fat press of his tongue over your swollen clit just once. The sharp flick of it makes you yelp and flinch, slamming your hips into his face so hard he nearly bites his lip.

“Fuck,” he curses without pulling away, “cut it out.” He flattens one palm over the low plane of your pelvis, pressing weight into his wrist and pinning your wriggling hips to the mattress. The angle’s a little more awkward like this, but your toes are starting to twitch and he can tell you’re losing yourself to the pleasure.

He presses one finger to the weeping silk of your slippery folds, nudging it forward to find your needing hole and pushing smoothly inside.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he croons into your cunt, “y’re fuckin’ grabbing me already.”

Your walls flutter in near-instant reaction to his touch, closing down hard around his middle finger. You squeeze so tightly he can barely draw back out of you again, curling the pad of his finger to find the spongy flesh near your entrance. It’s the tenderest part of you, and when he rubs it just right, you’ll descend into the kind of shivers that’ll make it hard to hold back.

It’s worth it every time, though, to watch you lose your mind under his diligent hands.

Katsuki refreshes the weight in his palm, pinning you freshly down while he re-adjusts to the slick pull of your clutching depths. He cups his tongue against your clit, feeling the heat in its swollen ridge, and dips his ring finger into you, alongside the first. His cock’s fully hard now, drooling wet preek into the sheets and burning with bright, hot tension.

Fuck, it’s going to feel good to get you on his knot again.

He focuses once more on the task at hand, finished revelling in your taste and ready to focus on your pleasure. You like it when he flutters his tongue quick and sharp against your clit, and your cunt’s most sensitive in the shallow parts near your slit. He curls his fingers, rubbing all along the hottest planes. He can practically feel the spots where your nerves sit closest to your skin, making your body spasm when he pins them under his fingers.

“Kah!” The first syllable of his name flies from your lips. He knows you sense his intent now, and your body’s already beginning to stiffen with the promise of climax. He knows you have to tense up a little to make it happen, so when you tense your core beneath the press of his free hand, he knows you’re getting close.

“Close,” you pant anyway, slipping one hand between your thighs and raking your fingers into his hair. When you grab the longest strands at his crown and pull, it sends an unexpected little shock of pleasure to his dick that pulls the air from his chest.

You’re already starting to pitch and shake, but he knows better than to let up now. He keeps the pleasure coming steady and strong, pushing out out a solid rhythm between his tongue and his fingers as he feels you pass the point of no return.

“Right there,” comes your desperate voice, crawling into your upper register. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s it, y-you’re-“

It’s kind of beautiful, how easy to read you’ve become. He’s pretty sure he could satisfy you like this by feel alone at this point, blindfolded with his ears stuffed full of cotton.

A heartbeat and a half later you’re falling, tense muscles suddenly going slack as you dig your heels into the mattress and arch your back off the bed and contract so tight around his fingers he almost busts it right there, trying not to think about how maddening you’re going to feel around his cock in a few seconds. You let out one, long, hushed draw of his name, a “Katsuki,” that wafts by his ears like a fragrant breeze. Then you’re collapsing between his hands, fitful and whimpering and fighting him off.

“Better?” he grunts, sitting back on his heels. He wipes his mouth off with the back of one hand, dipping the pad of his thumb into the corners as he licks your heat-slick from his lips.

The look you give him suggests everything he intended. Better after a peak, perhaps, but there’s only one thing that’s going to satisfy you enough to function today.

Fuck, his knot’s already starting to swell a little when he closes his fingers around himself. He grits his teeth, ignoring the flush of heat that creeps down the back of his neck and willing it to stay small enough to fuck you properly.

He looks up at you again, and your scent crashes into his mind, filling every hollow of his blurry mind. You’re already gushing fresh slick, reaching for him to grab him by the face and pull him back down to your level.

He probably shouldn’t have teased you so long.

He lets you tug him against you, bracing his hands at either side of your head to drop his mouth to yours. He laves his tongue affectionately across your teeth, tasting notes of his scent in the lingering flavour of you. The hint of his own musk serves as a pleasant memory from the night before, when he’d poured his scent into every hollow of your body, claiming you as wholly as you’d given yourself to him.

You’re already humping your hips down against his, with his cock pressing up into the crook of your thigh. Katsuki groans long and low into your mouth, fitting one hand between you to bring his weeping tip to the hot gush of your cunt.

“That’s what you want?” He grunts, dipping his mouth from yours, tucking it against the shell of your ear.

“Katsuki, hmmm,” you whine, dragging your hard nipples against his chest. When he doesn’t move right away you whine again, clutching at his back and trying to rock yourself down onto him.

“Alpha, plea-hah!”

Katsuki delights in the way he can still startle you, after all this time. He cuts off your begging by snapping his hips sharply forward, bottoming out in one clean thrust. He’s never pretended to have the biggest cock in the world. But he’ll be damned if you’re not satisfied by it anyway.

“That’s right,” he pants, closing his eyes against the crook of your neck. “I got what you need.”

He pets a hand down your sternum as he straightens up a little, thumbing the tender swell of one nipple. He slides his fingers into the dip of your waist to brace at the curve of your hip, digging the pads of his fingers into your flesh as he rolls smoothly in and out of your clingy heat.

He closes his eyes again, overcome by the feelings he swallowed to tease you earlier. You are still tender and gooey from last night, molded perfectly to the size of him and sucking him forward every time he tries to pull away. Your slick leaks out around the edges of his cock with every push of his hips, and the quiet, satisfied cries from beneath him send pulses of deep affection into the hollows of his chest.

There’s nothing quite like this, the physical manifestation of the intimacy that lies between you. He is the only one who can do this for you anymore, the only person in the world who can quell the trembling tides of your heat.

He’s not gonna last long at all, getting sweet on you in his head like this.

Determined to make use of the time that he has, he slides his fingers into the back of your knee, pushing your thigh up toward your torso until he can reach up and grab you by the ankle. Slowly, deftly, he straightens your leg, gliding his palm down the length of your shin and guiding the curve of your heel into the crook of his shoulder.

“Pretty like this,” he croons without thinking, turning his head and feathering a quiet little kiss to the inside of your ankle. He spies your reaction out of the corner of his eye, a blissful little sleepy smile that paints your warmed features. Affection clutches low and hot in his belly, a feeling he’s only now grown used to embracing. Tenderly, he wraps his arm around your leg, braces it against his chest, and begins to thrust.

He takes up a slow, heady pace, pulling slowly out of you and then slamming forward with a harsh snap of his hips, revelling in the way your body jerks every time. He can feel the breath rattle against his palate as he sucks it in through his clenched teeth, losing himself in the maddening grip of you. It’s woven into the very fabric of him, loving you. He doesn’t have to say it anymore, not when he can practically read it out of your skin. But he’s promised himself, more fiercely than anything, to take care of you.

He promises you in the way he fucks you through this, muscles stretched thin, balls aching. Worn out on a weeknight’s worth of sleep, calling out of work for the second day in a row, undoubtedly leaving you in bed to put together a decent meal from the fridge he’d stocked this time last week, when you started looking at him Like That and he couldn’t even bring himself to dread it.

You clench, shifting your foot against his shoulder and lifting your hips into his. The tight little ripple around the base of his cock shoots all the way to the base of his spine, and with a sharp little grunt Katsuki slips his free hand down your belly, stretching his thumb over your tender clit. He can already feel his knot beginning to swell again, pleasure spiking hard when he traps your clit under his thumb and starts to stroke, making you cry out and tense into him all over again.

“Kat…suki, I’m.. g-gonna,” you plead, like he can’t already feel it happening again. Even your scent fluctuates when you’re about to cum, rippled with a sharp little spice that peters into sweetness all over again when you bleed down from that high.

“I gotcha,” he promises gently, hooking his arm more firmly around your calf. “Come on, baby. I gotcha. Come on.”

He dips his hips as low as he can, paying extra attention to the beginning and end of every thrust, to overstimulate those tender spots that line your entrance. It works, because before long you’re digging your heel into the meat of his shoulder and convulsing around his pounding length and gushing hot slick that drips down his balls and coats his pelvis and smears across the low end of his stomach.

“Fuck.” The word hisses from his throat, his body taking the green light of your waning climax long before his brain clues in. He digs his fingers into your thigh and leans forward, stretching it up toward your chest and lets himself go, shoving his hips madly against yours and milking every cruel draw of pleasure from his own body until his thighs are shaking with the resistance of it. When the ecstasy finally boils over he slams his hips as far forward as they’ll go, squeezing his eyes shut and shooting long spurts of cum up into your belly. Your walls stretch eagerly around him as his knot expands completely, sealing his pelvis to yours.

Finally, he shrugs your ankle down his arm, gently straightening your leg out over his thigh as you catch your breath. He’s a little winded, too, never quite ready for the overwhelming sensations of taking you.

“That’s never gonna get old,” he mumbles, bowing over your supine form to rest his dewy forehead on yours.

You’re still panting hard, but you laugh airily, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. His eyes are closed again but he can feel you grinning and it’s too contagious not to crack a little smile. He ducks his forehead away from yours to nose against the shell of your ear, mouthing gently at your jaw and sliding both hands up and down either side of your torso.

“Better?” he asks, sincere this time. And, sincerely soothed this time, you nod.

“Much better.”

He knows you’re telling the truth, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be on you all day. He can’t keep himself off of you when you’re coming down from the worst of it, all sweet and pliable and soft in a way that you most certainly are not for the other days in your cycle. You kick his ass without hesitation, and he loves you for it. But you’re irresistible like this.

“Now,” he grunts, still nosing his way down your neck, tonguing the sweet hollow of your scent glands, “hurry up and calm down. I gotta take a leak.”

That urge hasn’t gone anywhere fast, growing shallow and tight in the pit of his groin. But it’s not urgent. Not when he’s locked so sweetly (and securely) into your relaxing depths.

“You’re the one that needs to calm down,” you retort in good humour, glancing down for a heartbeat.

“Say that again and I might not bother waiting,” he threatens easily. The noise that escapes your throat is enough to make him snort, pillowing his head in the crook of your shoulder as you turn sharply to find his eyes.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“You gonna stop me?” He regrets challenging you immediately when you flail instinctively beneath him, wrenching on the base of his knot and drawing a strangled, pained little wheeze from his chest.

“Fuck, I was kidding,” he scolds, pinning your shoulders to the mattress. “Jesus. Welcome back.”

You’re getting your fire back early. Maybe he’s kind of missed it, after all.  

He keeps himself curled over you like that until his knot’s gone down almost all the way, cock softening out of you and letting fresh drips of slick and cum leak onto his thighs. Finally he pulls himself away from you, padding blindly into the bathroom and flipping on the harsh fluorescent light.

He braces one hand on the wall over the toilet as he relieves himself, still half-hard and wavering on his overworked thighs. After he’s washed his hands he wagers a look in the mirror, turning his back and twisting to look over his shoulder and examine the damage.

He goes back to bed smirking, thinking of the long, angry scratches while the memory of their infliction is still fresh.

You are already half-asleep again when he finds you, so he just pulls the sheets up around your shoulders and drops a kiss to your temple. You’re going to want coffee soon, and you’re going to need breakfast. Neither of you have had a proper meal in longer than he’d care to calculate.

When he steps into some undershorts and eases into the open space that makes up the rest of your apartment, he opens the kitchen windows, since you’ll want fresh air when you come out to join him. He’d stopped by the bagel shop on the corner by the agency the last time he was there, leaving work early to come home to you, because he knew you’d want fried eggs on your favourite sesame bagel when you were finally coherent enough to crave food again.

The routines that make up his devotion to you aren’t the things he learned about in health class. They weren’t written down in the books that were unceremoniously shoved at him after he’d presented, nor did the details of your post-heat care list appear on any neatly packaged powerpoint presentation.

He’s picked them up slowly, the hard way, by messing up over and over and over again. They’re things he never even realized he knew about you, until he looks down at his hands and he’s flipping his own egg every few seconds to keep it from browning but leaving yours in the pan to get crisp around the edges.

It feels good to know you so deeply. Even when, sometimes, the flipside is still a little too vulnerable and scary. Even when he’s still harsh and mean, when he still messes up, when he still catches himself on the edge of fury so often.

You picked him anyway, and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to let that mean something.

[mizunetzu]

Can you do a scenario where reader (male pronouns) kind of outs himself as bi and then hides for a while since it was an accident and he wasn't actually ready and after some time bakugo finds him and they end up awkwardly confessing to each other? Bonus points if you can do ComfortingTM class 1A (also I just really want bi representation 🥺)

BRO BRO ur reblogs and replies always make me BAM BAM

(Also y’all ik that gif is huge but it had denki AND baku in it and i felt compelled to use it bc kamis kinda important in the story NSNDNEKWK)

——————

Bakugou x reader - How to Out Your Classmate

⚠️warnings - being outed by your classmate (denki) (I’m sorry denki stans), bakugou kinda bulling kami at the end kdnfjekfj

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

It was something he didn’t mean to say.

Rather, it just slipped out.

————

“Ne, (L/n)-kun, don’t you think Yao-momos hair is kinda sexy today? Her hair down plus that hair clip is FIRE dude!”

Kaminari slung a arm around (Y/n’s) shoulder, while Mineta smugly grinned from his seat. He wiped away a line of drool dripping from his mouth.

“Oh oh oh, her hair falls over her boobs so perfectly! I just wanna touch them at least once, ehuheuheu...”

Sero sighed from his seat. “Dude. You really are a scumbag. Stop that.”

Mineta, not missing a beat, turned to Sero with a shit-eating grin. “Oh? Why’s that? Are you gay or something?”

(Y/n) visibly stiffened from under Kaminari’s grasp. Kaminari however, didn’t notice and played along into Mineta’s joke.

“Yeah dude, kinda sus. Don’t go perving on me in the locker rooms now, haha!”

Sero sighed once more, this time with a playful smile. “Shut up, your probably more sus than I am-“

He was cut off when (Y/n) started wriggling out from under Kaminari’s arm. The three looked at (Y/n) quizzically, while (Y/n) awkwardly coughed. “I’m...leaving.”

“Why? What happened?” Kaminari leaned on the back of Seros desk.

“Well-you guys are...loud and I’m going to my desk.” Even the dumbest person could tell how tense (Y/n) was. Though, Kaminari was as dumb as he was oblivious. He scoffed, but it sounded more like a chuckle.

“What? I don’t get it, man. We were teasing Sero, not you.” Kaminari’s teasing tone felt like heaters blasting full power through (Y/n’s) body. It was strange. You always felt kind of hot when you get a little flustered. “So what part of what we said bothered you?”

“N-nothing!” (Y/n) cursed at the way he raised his voice, cursing even more at his small stutter.

“Then why are you panties in such a twist? I’m just making fun of Sero bein’ sus.”

“W-well how fun! Move, class is starting.” Truth be told, class didn’t start until 10 minutes later. When (Y/n) tried to subtly push past Kaminari, he grabbed him by the arms and blocked his way out. “No way I’m moving! You’re mad for some reason, and I just wanna know why!”

“So what exactly did we do?”

Sero rested his chin on his palm. “Yeah if you can tell us we can stop doing it, (L/n)-kun. I gotta agree with Kami on this one.”

An irk mark appeared as (Y/n’s) face flushed a darker shade of pink. Not in the good way though. He struggled helplessly in Kaminari’s stronghold, before tching and looking away.

“There’s nothing more to say-! You’re just-starting to get on my nerves and I wanna leave-!”

“Really? That’s it?” Kaminari looked at (Y/n) skeptically, before his face lit up. “Oh wait!”

“You started getting all pissy when we were talking about Yaoyorozu...and you also got mad the other day when she was talking about Bakugou...”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“..So you like Yao-“

“I don’t fucking like Yaoyorozu!”

Now Kaminari was starting to get antsy. “Then what! Why are you mad! Is it because Mineta and I were ‘perving’?!”

“I’m not fuckin’ mad about you drooling over Yao-momos boobs! I’m not mad at all!”

Students started to gather once Kaminari and (Y/n) started to raise their voices higher and higher. Kaminari’s grip on (Y/n) was long gone, though (Y/n) was too upset to notice.

“If you weren’t mad about that, you were obviously mad about that time Yao-Momo talking about how Bakugou was attractive. So what? Do you like Bakugou or something? Are you gay?”

(Y/n) paled and grit his teeth. He was full on yelling now. “Stop saying that, damnit! I don’t like boys! Y-you know that!”

Kaminari gasped comically. “Oh my god! You totally avoided my question, dude!”

“What?!”

“Yeah! Now I get it! That’s what’s bothering you so much! It all makes sense!”

Kaminari’s mad expression morphed into one that you make when you solve a difficult question. It felt like all the blood in (y/n’s) face was drained, yet all the blood rushing to his cheeks burned like fire. Sero stood up from his chair and placed a hand on Kaminari’s shoulder. “Dude, uh-I think that’s enou-“

“Your confused because you’re straight but now you’ve started to like a guy, right?! Bakugou, right?!”

Seros warning went over Kaminari’s head completely. (Y/n) dug his nails into his palm while Kaminari pried into (Y/n’s) mind with his eyes.

“I’m not confused! I’m pissed. Very, very pissed at you!”

The blond haired boy slammed his arms down on Seros table and leaned in uncomfortably close. (Y/n) wanted to step back, but if he did, he’d run straight into Sero.

“Ok. If you answer this compleeeetely honestly, I’ll let you go. Swear! And we’ll never talk about this again! Just say yes or no! Nothing else!”

Sero glanced around the room. Everyone was staring, some had their hands over their mouths, and some were whispering and asking what was going on. Sero nervously tugged on the fabric of (Y/n’s) blazer. “U-um...yo... (y/n)...Kamin-“

“Do you like Bakugou?”

“I-“

“And don’t say you don’t like boys or you’re not gay, we ‘know’ that!”

“I’m-“

“Just say yes or no!”

“N-“

“Are you ga-“

“I’M BI!” (Y/n’s) sudden outburst silenced the classroom. It was like a blow from a king to shut up the commoners. “I’M BI, SO SHUT UP! ARE YOU HAPPY?! I’M NOT GAY AND I DON’T LIKE BAKUGOU! I DONT! I-I DONT. I don’t. I...”

Stagnant air flooded the 1-A classroom. Almost immediately, (Y/n) slapped both his hands over his mouth, eyes blown wide. Kaminari awkwardly chuckled. “Uh...”

(Y/n) took a tentative step back, bumping straight into Sero. He reflexively grabbed onto (y/n’s) forearms, stabling him.

“Are you oka-“

“Don’t touch me!” (Y/n) pushed off of Seros body and stumbled over a desk. He crashed onto the ground and fumbled onto his bottom. Students upon students neared towards him, all their face and voice blending together into one big, muddy pile. Their voices eventually turned into ringing, louder and louder until-

“SHUT UP!” (Y/n) rose to his wobbly legs, half running and half crawling towards the door as fast as he could. He could hear the protestant shouts of his classmates, or even the sleepily confused expression of his teacher as as flew by him in the hallway.

He guessed he was skipping class that day.

————

40 missed calls from: Mina-San domoo-!!

125 unopened texts from: Mina-San domoo-!!

23 missed calls from: Kamiii ⚡️

45 unopened texts from: Kamiii ⚡️

12 unopened texts from: Iida Tenya.

5 unopened texts from: ura-chaaaan 💖

1 unopened text from: Bakugou

(Y/n) turned off his phone. He knew if he kept it on, Mina would keep spamming his phone with text messages.

It’s been about a few days since his whole freak out happened. He’d bolt out of class the second it was dismissed, and he kept himself either locked in his room, or out of the dorms as much as humanly possible. He wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet.

His phone buzzed again. He sighed, half expecting it to be another spam text from Mina. What he didn’t expect, was to see Bakugous contact photo on his screen, with the big green words “Incoming call-Bakugou” blaring at him so intimidatingly.

Something made him want to answer.

He pressed the phone to his ear.

“Oi.”

Bakugous gruff voice sent chills down the boys spine. His voice seemed to lock itself inside his throat, refusing to come out his mouth.

“Say something, dumbass.” Oh boy, was he trying. Everytime he opened his mouth, his throat closed up and refused to open again. Bakugou sighed harshly through the speaker.

“Stop being stupid and avoiding us-“ (Y/n) absentmindedly pressed the red “end” button. If Kaminari or Kirishima or whatever convinced Bakugou, to convince HIM to stop avoiding them, just because he ‘liked’ him, (and he totally did), he’d rather not hear it.

(Y/n) went to crumple up a piece of paper he was scribbling on, and drop it into the trash can, when it bounced on top and rolled away pathetically near his feet. His trash can was overflowing. Well, it was expected, since he was deliberately missing out on trash days just so he didn’t have to leave his dorm. (Y/n) swiped up the piece of paper, along with the trash bag lining the bin.

A few seconds outside couldn’t hurt. No one will see him. He’ll just...throw the bag in the dumpster, and slink back in before anyone knows he’s there.

————

(Y/n) hauled the trash bag into the dumpster, throwing it from out over his shoulder. He dusted off his hands and wiped forming sweat off his brow. The trash was out, no one saw him, all he had to do was slip back in his room before anyone sees him.

He huffed and turned around, immediately being smacked by a spiky tuft of blond hair. All the color drained from (Y/n’s) face. Bakugou turned his head and spat onto the dirt, clicking his tongue in the process.

“Figured you’d be here.”

”...there’s no way you could’ve-“

“It takes about a couple days for a small trash can to fill up. And knowing you, shit-for-brains, would come and take it out when no one was really watching. 5 pm, when everyone’s getting ready for dinner. You really do have shit-for-brains, shittyass.”

Bakugou may seem like a meathead, but the times he showed he was observant and intelligent made his heart tie knots around itself. (Y/n) bit back a stutter and a blush.

“W...ell, how-how’d you know I was going to take it out today? A-and to this dumpster, instead of the one on the other side of the dorms?”

Bakugou scoffed loudly, stalking closer to him. (Y/n) gulped. “This ones closer to your dorm room, even I know that, loser.”

Bakugous voice dipped, suddenly becoming uncharacteristically quiet. “...and I’ve been coming here everyday at 5 pm...shittyass...”

Bakugou was really dedicated to his scheme, huh. Just so he could see him? (Y/n)? He should be the LAST person Bakugou would want to see. Especially with what Kaminari was blabbering about. Still...It made (Y/n) feel a bit special.

But knowing Bakugou, he was just probably here to tell him how disgusting he was. Maybe he’ll start calling him ‘dick-for-brains’ instead of ‘shit for brains’. Or just plain on ‘fag’.

“Oi-stop spacing out and fucking listen to me! And don’t you dare run away until you hear me the fuck out!”

Bakugous palms flashed white, generating small blasts and he pointed an agitated finger at (Y/n). He stepped back reflexively.

“Um...well...what did you want then?” (Y/n) awkwardly fumbled with his hands behind his back, trying to keep still as much as he could. He wanted to disappear.

“Is it true?”

(Y/n) looked up. Bakugou was staring dead on, with his hands shoved stiffly in his pockets and sporting the faintest blush on his face. It was so unnoticeable, you could blink and miss it. That, and the trademark scowl, you could hardly tell if his face was red because of anger or something else.

“What is?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, fuckass! Do you like me or not?!”

(Y/n) opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Bakugou grunted and stepped closer. “Answer me!”

“S-so what if I do-?! You gonna call me a fag?!” (Y/n) was sweating bullets. He hoped Bakugou wouldn’t see how utterly nervous he was. Fake it til you make it. Though, he doesn’t know what he’d do once Bakugou goes flames blazin’ on his ass. He could all ready see his reaction-

Bakugou smirked. “Knew it.”

Knew it? (Y/n’s) nerves temporarily fizzled down, a wave of confusion washing over him. “...What?”

“God, do you need me to spell everything out for you? It was obvious. To me at least. Everyone was probably too fuckin’ dumb to notice.”

(Y/n) fell silent. He could speak if he wanted to, his throat wasn’t closing up, but he chose to keep silent. It’s not like he knew what to say, anyways. He was stunned into submission.

“-so I was right. Now, go out with me, Bitch.”

“Thanks. But I’ll pass.”

“I-“ Bakugou made a sputtering noise. (Y/n) wasn’t sure if he was caught off guard or sputtered out of sheer anger. “What?! Why the fuck not?!”

“Dude, how do I know you aren’t like, I dunno, being bribed by Kaminari or something to try and ‘prove that I’m bi’? Or that your just mocking me?”

“Idiot! Why the fuck would you think I’d listen to a dumbass like dunce face?! I fucking like you, you like me, I don’t see the problem here!”

(Y/n) knew he wasn’t lying. Bakugou was many things, a shithead, a piece of angry trash, but he wasn’t a liar. Still, he sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Dude, as much as I’d love to go out with you, there’s too much cons to it. I mean-first off, I don’t want people calling you a fag or anything because you’re with me...second, I’m...scared of how the class’ll take it, especially for someone like you-“

“Eh?! What’s that supposed to mean?! Are you fucki-“

(Y/n) pushed past him, accidentally brushing his shoulder in the process.

“...And third, even if I’m too scared how the class would react, I’m too prideful to let Kaminari ‘predictions’ win.”

He was gone before Bakugou could turn around.

————

(Y/n) was late to class on purpose that day.

He didn’t want to risk it with Bakugou, Kaminari, anyone. He’s more afraid of the class than he is of getting scolded by Aizawa. And that was saying something.

So when he walked in the door, Bakugou gripping Kaminari’s tie and releasing small blasts in the air with his wound up hand, he didn’t know if he should replace ‘Getting Scolded By Aizawa’ with ‘Getting Murdered By Bakugou’ in his worries for today.

“Fucking idiot!” Bakugou growled, spit flying onto Kaminari’s face as he set off another blast. It was small enough not to cause damage to any desks or chairs around them, but it was close enough to Kaminari’s face to make him yelp. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Ow!” Kaminari half yelled-half whimpered. Bakugou’s hands heated up, glowing orange from under Kaminari’s chin. “Hey-HEY! Chill-!W-what did I even do?! OW!”

Bakugou slammed him against his desk by his blazer. “It’s your fuckin fault that shit-for-brains won’t go out with me!”

Another blast. This time, fired in the air but much bigger than before. Kaminari flinched. “Ah! S-shit-for...(L/n)?! How is it my fault?!”

“It’s your fault because you made him all scared and shit to go out with me! With your stupid prying ass! Now he won’t go out with me until I get you to apologize! So apologize so I can have a fuckin boyfriend! Go die!”

(Y/n) looked around the room. No one was trying to stop Bakugou from literally roasting Kaminari alive. Not even Iida. Everyone stood there, eyes locked on Kaminari or recording them while stifling snickers. (Y/n) walked up to Mina, who was recording and whispering commentary near the speaker.

“Uh...what’s happening? Why’s no one stopping Bakugou?”

Mine looked up. “Well-he kinda deserved it. I mean, he did act like a dick to you a few days ago. Bakugou’s just givin’ him a piece of his mind.” She fixed her angle on her phone, hunching down slightly in the process. “Also, glad to see you talking to us again, (L/n)~”

(Y/n) glances around the room once more. Everyone seemed to silently agree. Though, Iida looked like he was going to explode in his seat. Poor Iida. Poor Kaminari.

(Y/n) was brought out of his mind when Mina slowly panned her phone over to him. He was about to question her, when Kaminari was thrown carelessly at his feet. Bakugou kicked at Kaminari’s hunched figure, stepping on his back with his hands clenched in his pockets.

“Say it.”

Kaminari made a wheezing noise.

“FUCKIN’ SAY IT!”

“I-I’m sorry for outing you in-in front of our classmates...”

Bakugou dug his foot into Kaminari’s back. “LOUDER!”

“I’M SORRY-OW! FOR O-OUTING YOU IN FRONT OF OUR CLASSMATES-!”

Bakugou gave Kaminari a look saying to ‘keep going.’ Kaminari shot back with a face that said ‘dude. What you want me to say is fucking stupid.’

Bakugou snarled and fired another mini explosion into the air. Kaminari squeaked and looked up at (y/n), who had the most confused look on his face. Kaminari sighed.

“And...totally I don’t think that you and Bakugou are gonna get together...totally unexpected...”

Kaminari, even if he was about to be best to a pulp, couldn’t help the snicker from leaving his mouth. Bakugou, you dumb fuck. He was probably thinking back to the time (Y/n) said ‘I’m too prideful to let Kaminari ‘predictions’ win’. Even so, that was just dumb. Even for Bakugou.

Bakugou huffed contently, while Kaminari shakily pulled himself up. Bakugou thunked him on the head again. “There. Now you have no fuckin’ reason not to be my boyfriend. If you don’t I’ll kill you.”

(Y/n) hummed out of hesitation. “Ehhhh...but...”

“We allowed Bakugou to rough up Kaminari, which is a CLEAR violation of the rules, the least you could do is say yes, (y/n)-kun! Though I do believe Bakugou should be punished for his harsh actions.”

Iida jutted out from his seat, swinging his arm in the air. Everyone stayed silent for a second, until Tsuyu stepped forward. “I agree with Iida-Chan, kero. You two would look nice together.”

One by one, the class started saying how ‘cute’ they’d be together or that they didn’t care that (y/n) was Bi, much. It was different from when the class was clamoring around him, instead of all their voice blending together in one big ring, he could hear every single persons song of praise. He supposed it was alright. It wouldn’t hurt as much as he think it would.

(Y/n) sucked in a breath, and turned his head to Bakugou. He looked at (Y/n) almost expectantly.

“...fine....you win...you better take care of me, Bakugou.”

He turned his head and scoffed. “Idiot. I was gonna do that regardless.”

Mina started clapping and wolf whistling. Eventually, everyone started to clap and ‘aww’ed, before quickly rushing to their seats once they heard groggy footsteps approach the door.

A man with shaggy hair walked in. The class sat silent, staring at Aizawa. He sniffed and trailed his eyes around the room.

Setting his sleeping bag behind his podium, he pursed his lips. “Where is Kaminari?”

“W-whey...”

Kaminari was laying on the floor next to (y/n’s) seat, smiling dumbly with burn marks. He was pumping his fists with his thumbs sticking out. Everyone broke into a cold sweat.

“Would anyone like to tell me why Kaminari is out of his seat?”

Oh fuck.

Bakugou got 3 days house arrest.

——————

Jdjdjejejc this was real fun to write HAHAHAHA I’m lowkey proud of it

[august-bleeds-red]

Tag Team

In which the AFAB!Reader discovers what Bo and Vincent can achieve when they work together.

Dedicated to the fabulous @quiveringdeer for being my sounding board and general awesome human, and to the absurdly talented @thesightstoshowyou for igniting my love for these boys with her phenomenal writing!  ❤️ NSFW under the line.  

You know you’ve been in the Sinclair household too long when you can identify the person behind you by how they grab your ass.

 “Bo,” you sigh, glancing over your shoulder at the smug bastard smirking at you. You’ve been cleaning almost all afternoon, sweeping and scrubbing under the kitchen units, and the stove is your final task before you allow yourself some rest. “Really? Right now?”

 “Hell yeah right now,” he chuckles, smoothing a large hand over your jeans-clad ass cheek. “You’re puttin’ on too much of a show here for me to wait, darlin’.”

 Setting down the dishrag you’ve been scrubbing the stovetop with, you wipe your hands on the ratty old T-shirt you’re wearing and turn to face him. You can’t lie – even after all these months, he’s still more than a little intimidating to you. Six-foot-one of sinewy red-blooded Louisiana male, leering down at you like a fox cornering a baby rabbit.

 “Now, what made you think I was interested in seein’ your face?” he says, gripping your hips and swivelling you back round to face the stove. He’s undoing the button on your jeans when a shadow falls across you from the doorway. You both turn to see Vincent staring at the two of you. He’s dressed casually, meaning in clothes that aren’t caked in wax, his long hair pulled back in a messy ponytail at his neck.

 “Little busy here,” Bo warns.

 Vincent looks to your face, already flushed with expectant arousal.

 It’s my turn, he signs.

 “Fuck off it’s your turn,” Bo snorts. “Go on, get.”

 But Vincent’s not budging this time. Three long strides and he has his hands on you, jerking you from Bo’s grip and pinning you to his chest.

 “The fuck?” Bo looks genuinely annoyed now. “Y’think you can just barge in here and blue-balls me?”

 You groan in exasperation. Usually this kind of She’s Mine play would have you feeling hot under the collar, but it’s been a long day. “Look, one or both of you just do it or let me get back to work, okay?”

 A thread of silent communication seems to pass between the twins, and Bo’s lip curls mischievously. “You want front or back?” he asks.

 Vincent holds his hand out flat in front of his face and moves it downwards to his chin.

 Bo shrugs. “Fine by me.”

 Before you can so much as question what’s happening, Vincent hauls you up and over his shoulder, carrying you like a sack of potatoes to the ancient shag-pile rug in front of the TV. Setting you down, he quickly pulls off your T-shirt while Bo tugs at your jeans. You step out of them almost automatically, the cogs in your weary brain piecing together what’s about to happen. Forcing you to your knees, the brothers both unbuckle their belts.

 “Eldest first,” Bo grins, grabbing a fistful of your hair and guiding you to his waiting erection. Your mouth opens automatically and you take him inside, bracing yourself against his thighs as he drags you back and forth along his length.

 “Ahh yeah, that’s it, baby.”

 Knowing what’s expected of you, you scramble blindly for Vincent, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking it. He lets out a rasping moan and thrusts into your loose grip. Bo allows you to break free and you turn your attentions to Vincent, sucking on him until he’s rock hard against your tongue. You’re vaguely aware of Bo rummaging for something in a nearby drawer, and when your eyes focus on the blue bottle he unearths you realise “front or back” was not referring to Vincent in your mouth and Bo in your pussy.

 “Wait—” You try to pull away, try to stand, but Vincent already has a hold of you.

 With a strength that always manages to surprise you, he drags you down to straddle his hips, one hand already on his cock, nudging the tip at your slit. Despite your disquiet at the way Bo is approaching leisurely from behind, you can’t stop the moan that falls from your lips as you’re impaled on Vincent’s impressive girth. He may be the quieter of the twins, but he’s by no means merciful – not with his victims, and not with your body. You thank stars for the natural lubrication of your arousal that allows him to penetrate with little resistance, the sting of the stretch lasting only a moment before the warmth of pleasure blankets you. Vincent’s hands settle on your waist, easing you slowly – but firmly – down, until your thighs meet his hips. You unconsciously push upwards as he lifts you, chasing that spark of bliss that curls through your lower belly. Vincent’s thumbs paint patterns in your skin, hips thrusting to meet your downward strokes. You cry out, palms flat against his chest, the muscles in your legs burning with the effort to keep elevated.  

 “Room for one more?” Bo’s liquor-smooth voice murmurs in your ear, and you feel the straps of your bra ping loose. Throwing the offending undergarment aside, Bo cups your breasts and squeezes hard. You gasp and he claps one hand across your mouth, slipping two thick fingers inside. You taste traces of engine oil and tobacco, the smoky-sweet scent you’ve come to associate with him. Combined with the aroma of wax and clay that clings to Vincent, you’re deliciously trapped in a cloying fog of aphrodesia.

 Releasing your mouth, Bo’s hand traces the curve of your spine, pressing between your shoulder-blades to force you into a more accessible position. Your heart pounds and you glance anxiously over your shoulder at him. His eyes glint wickedly back at you, one hand stroking his cock with obvious intent.

 “Bo,” you whisper. “Please. . .”

 “Please what, baby-doll?” he purrs.

 “Don’t hurt me.”

 “Now why would I do a terrible thing like that?”

 He rubs the tip of one finger, wet from your mouth, against your rear hole; Vincent slows his thrusts to a slow, crawling pace, just enough to keep the fire lit. You squirm as Bo’s digit pushes past the tight ring of muscle, the intrusion not big enough to hurt, but enough to feel unusual. When he adds a second finger, however, you flinch.

 “Aw, too much?” You can hear the gleeful grin in his voice. Pushing both fingers in to the second knuckle, he splits them into a V, stretching you in preparation. You guess you should be thankful he’s giving any at all. You feel strangely empty when he pulls them out, but only for the briefest moment before you feel something bigger take their place. Vincent falls still as a figurine, his one sky-blue eye watching your face intently. Reaching between your bodies, he rubs the fore and middle fingers of one hand against your clit, sending a hum of pleasure murmuring through you to counteract what’s happening behind.

 “Oh fuck, baby,” Bo grits his teeth as his cockhead disappears inside you. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

 By the time he’s fully sheathed, you’re trying to remember your name. You’ve never felt so full as you do now, you would go so far as to say . . . complete. Vincent drinks in your kaleidoscope of expressions like a man dying of thirst; the holy sequence of pain and pleasure that crosses your face more beautiful than any art he could create alone. He gives an experimental thrust and you see Heaven. When the brothers begin moving together, you can just barely cling to your sanity. The warm, soothing ecstasy from Vincent integrated with the sharp, gratifying pain being served to you by Bo takes you to a new plane of experience.

 “Y’like that, huh?” Bo threads his fingers through your hair and pulls your head back, exposing your neck. “Y’like being stuffed like a little slut?”

 “Nng . . . uhh . . .” Your tongue feels too big for your mouth.

 “Say it,” Bo licks a long stripe up the side of your neck. “Tell us what you are.”

 “I-I . . .” the tempo of the two of them inside you sends lights popping before your eyes. “I’m— I’m a slut.”

 “And who owns your pretty little pussy?” He deals a sharp slap across your ass cheek. “Who does this ass belong to?”

 “You!” You’re almost sobbing, your pleasure rising within you like the sun. “Oh God, Bo . . . Vince . . .”

 Bo quickens pace, hips smacking into your ass with ruthless force, and Vincent hand is almost vibrating with the speed at which he’s massaging your clit. Your combined gasps and moans rise in harmony, Bo turning the air blue with lustful curses.

 “Oh god, oh fuck,” you whimper, white heat radiating upwards through your body from where you’re connected. “I’m— I’m gonna cum . . .”

 “That’s it, baby,” Bo grunts, his thrusts evolving into mindless snaps of his hips, jerking so sharply you wonder if you’ll have bruises there tomorrow. “You’re gonna be drippin’ with cum after this. Gonna fill you so fuckin’ full.”

 Your scream must echo to the church when you finally finish, your inner walls pulsating against Vincent’s cock and drawing his own orgasm from him. The warmth of his seed fills you, spilling down your thighs.

 “Gonna cum in your ass,” Bo’s breathing is ragged, you can tell he’s close. “Gonna fuckin’—”

 The sensation of cum shooting deep into your ass is an interesting one, but the wild howl of ecstasy that emits from Bo more than makes up for it. Both brothers are twisted, broken, often cruel, but God if they don’t give you pleasure the like of which you’ve never known; or likely ever will again.

 You collapse onto Vincent’s chest as Bo pulls out of you, unable to keep your balance any longer. Vincent’s softening cock is still inside you, twitching occasionally when you move. Bo staggers to his feet and cups your jaw in his palm, claiming a feral kiss from your dry lips.

 “You’re ours, Y/N,” he says.

 “Yours . . .” you nod dazedly. You think you might pass out.

 Both of you glance down at Vincent. It’s not often that he speaks, but the monosyllabic moments he does are always worth the effort. Lifting his wax mask from his face, he gives his own interpretation of Bo’s signature smug grin.

 “Ours.”

[babbushka]

Beyond Reasonable Doubt (ch.3)

–      A Lawyer AU      –

You and Kylo Ren have hated one another for as long as you can remember. He, a criminal prosecutor, and you, a defense attorney should be natural-born enemies, and you are. But when Kylo comes to you seeking representation after being charged for a murder he didn’t commit, you both learn a thing or two about life, the law, and love…

[5k, cw: mentions of murder, rivals/enemies-to-lovers, adult language/name calling; NSFW: PIV, shower sex, oral sex, biting/marking]

Tumblr Masterlist || Available on AO3

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

The sun hasn’t risen, when the alarm goes off. Much like every other day, you wake up too early, with too little sleep. One would think you’d be used to it by now, it’s the same routine you’ve had for years and years, but something about letting the pull of sleep drift away always makes you a little annoyed, especially when you’ve had such good dreams.

And oh, were the dreams good! Stretching awake, your hand absentmindedly shuts off the alarm, and in the dark of your bedroom, you shuck the covers off of your legs, letting your feet slide into the slippers you keep in the perfect spot so that your toes don’t have to touch the cold floor. Cracking your joints and shaking away the lingering desire to crawl back into bed, you let out a little sigh.

What an overactive imagination you had, you chuckle a little to yourself as you scrub a hand over your face, eyes blinking into the nothingness. You can see the lights in the distance, the city that never sleeps waiting to greet you as your cheeks heat from the visions of Kylo’s body that float behind your eyelids. The way he had moved around you, over you, made your mouth water, and you shook the thought from your head, because you had to actually be productive today. You couldn’t think about Kylo’s body when you had to worry about his case.

Which is why you nearly scream when a strong hand wraps around your wrist, and deep voice rumbles out a stubborn, “No.”

You’re stunned, and confused, to say the least. Blinking a little more rapidly, in the dark you see the shape of a figure in your bed, nestled against the pillow and tucked under the covers. Or well, he was tucked under the covers, until you threw them off, waking him up. He’s not happy about that, if the way he’s tugging you back down onto the mattress with a little too rough of a pull is anything to go by.

“What..?” You start, not really knowing what exactly you’re asking.

What are you doing here? is a good bet, but this early, it could really be any number of things. Kylo rarely slept over at your apartment after he fucked you hard, much preferring his own penthouse to that of your one-bedroom.

“Go back to bed.” His voice is thick, he’s not even awake himself, halfway between dreams of his own. You briefly wonder what he’s dreaming about, and then all you can think of it how strong this massive bear of a man must be, for him to have such a strong grip when he’s not even conscious.

“I can’t, I have work.” You try to get out of said grip, eyeing your clock.

Kylo doesn’t play nicely, but then again, when does he ever?

“Call out.” He manhandles you a little, waking up enough to get his other arm around you, pulling you closer closer closer to him, until you’re back in bed fully, your face tucked under his chin. His breath smells bad and you crinkle your nose at him when he mumbles, “Tell them you’re busy.”

“No, Kylo, I can’t – ” Protesting, you swat at his shoulder a little, but it doesn’t do anything other than make a dull thudding sound. He’s too solid, the bastard.

“Here I’ll do it for you.” Kylo reaches over for your phone on the nightstand, and is dialing before you can even threaten him about it. “Ms. Heart? (Y/N) won’t be coming in today. Something’s come up, she’ll be in tomorrow. Uh huh. Mhm. I’ll tell her. Thank you.”

You’re positive that he’s not going to tell you whatever it was that Neisha told him, and you’re also positive that you’re pissed at him, illustrating that anger with a snappish, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Someone who just got you a day off.” Kylo replies tiredly, locking your phone and setting it back on the nightstand.

“I don’t want a day off, Kylo, I have – oh shit, the meeting!” You accidentally smack his face with yours as you sit upright in bed, the cold rush of realization crashing through you. At once, you’re groaning, your head falling into your hands.

“What meeting is more important than – ”

“My promotion, Kylo. That’s what’s more important.” You snap, “They’re never going to make me a junior partner if I keep blowing them off like this.”

Kylo’s quiet about that for a blissful three seconds, before he’s settling back down against your mattress, rubbing his hand over your bare arm to coax you back under the sheets. You hate him so fucking much, as you shove yourself against his chest, his arms automatically curling around you.

“You say it as though you make a habit of ignoring work, which we both know is the opposite of the truth. When’s the last time you actually called out of work?” Kylo mumbles into your hair, still somehow asleep, his eyes not having opened once this entire time.

“That’s not the point – ”

“When?” He urges, and you bite him sharply on the shoulder for being right.

“Six years ago.” You admit, even though you’re not happy about it.

“Exactly.” Kylo sounds entirely too pleased with himself for it not even being five in the morning, “Now, back to bed.”

It is absolutely not snuggling, the way that you press your body against his. He’s a space-heater and nothing more, that’s all. Even with the heat turned on in your apartment, Kylo radiates warmth and you’re comfortable under the covers with him, as the winter rolls on outside your windows.

But as comfortable as you are, your routine has your eyes open, and you start to get antsy just lying there.

“I’m too awake now, I’m hungry. What do you want for breakfast?” You nudge him with your palm, making him groan as if you’re the one who is insufferable here. You quickly amend your question with a disgruntled, “And don’t you dare say pussy, because that’s not happening.”

“What? Why not?” That wakes Kylo up, has him sitting up against your headboard with a scowl as he turns on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room with a gentle orange glow.

“Because you’re an asshole, that’s why.” You explain with a scoff, and Kylo only rolls his eyes and grumbles something unintelligible under his breath. You want to kiss him, so instead you stretch and ask, “Why don’t you go make yourself useful and run to the deli?”

“I’ll have my assistant do it, what do you want?” He’s reaching for your phone again, and you don’t care enough to stop him this time.

“The usual. You want money?” You offer, but he only frowns at you with a shake of his head, as if the offer is insulting.

With a deep sigh, you throw the covers off your legs once again, your eyes trailing up and down Kylo’s naked body as the movement reveals him. He really is fucking sexy, you think. Too bad he’s the biggest pain in your ass to exist.

“I’m going to shower, are you coming?” You already know the answer, but Kylo likes to hear you ask anyway, so you do, and he does.

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

Your moans echo and bounce off the shower walls, as he presses your face against the warmed tile. His body covers yours, he’s touching you all over, his hands broad and wide and searing hot. Hotter even than the water that runs over your shoulders, soaking your hair, pooling into your mouth where your jaw is dropped open as he fucks you hard.

It took all of two seconds for him to get hard, and you weren’t in the mood to waste a perfectly good opportunity to come first thing. In the shower, it felt so secretive, so secluded, just the two of you in this little rectangle of space, curtains drawn, no one around to see the way your body begs for his.

He’s got you pressed against the tile so you have something to brace yourself on as he hikes your leg up and plows his cock into you. Soapy sudsy water slicked up your bodies and the two of you groan and gasp and moan moan moan as he fills you completely, his mouth latched to your throat, pressing his teeth into the muscle there.

“Goddamn – ow, shit – ” You wince when he thrusts a little too hard a little too fast, and he stills at once, kissing your shoulder and your throat, the spot behind your ear, your jaw and your cheek to soothe you.

“You okay?” His voice is deep, it sends a shiver down your spine despite the steam that fogs up the room, crystal clear above the noise of the water cascading around you.

“Yeah just, just a little sore from last night.” You admit with a sigh as he continues his pace for a few more thrusts, going slower, deeper. You squeak out a moan as he drops one of his hands to massage at your clit, your nipples rubbing against the tile wall as he grinds his cock into you.

“C’mon let me eat your cunt, I’ll make it feel better.” He licks across your jaw, broad thick strokes of his tongue, a preview for how he wants to lick into your pussy.

“Yes, okay yes – Kylo!” You moan with a nod, and you can feel his grin on your throat when he manhandles you carefully, making sure you don’t slip. He almost landed you in the fucking emergency room that way once, and you still haven’t let him live it down.

Kylo turns you around so that your back is against the wall, and he drops to his knees in front of you. Carefully, he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, your hands grasping at his arms to steady yourself as he nuzzles his face right between your thighs.

“Attagirl, I know I’m a lot to take but you do a damn good job, don’t you?” Kylo praises you with that deep rumbling baritone of his as he bites and kisses dark marks into the flesh of your inner thigh, and the way it travels up your body has you dizzy, has you breathing in deep lavender scented breaths from the shampoo he’s stolen off your shower caddy.

“You fuckin’ bet, I’m the only one who can.” You groan, fisting his hair and pushing him closer, until you can hear him chuckling at how eager you are for his nose to prod against your clit.

He doesn’t respond, only spreads your folds with his big thumbs and gets to work, making out with your pussy in a way that has you moaning from deep in your chest. Your eyes shut as his tongue wriggles and thrusts inside of you, teeth lightly scraping enough against your clit to make your body jolt from the barely-there friction.

You could do with a finger or two shoved up your cunt, and you’re about to ask him if he would, when you feel the steady rhythmic shaking of him jerking off. He grunts and groans into your pussy as he kisses and licks and sucks sucks sucks, drinks down all your slick in a way that has your eyes rolling back into your head, the hot puffing panting breaths he ghosts over your walls have your knees shaking. He laps you up like he’s desperate for it, and with the way he keeps bucking into his own fist, you know that he is.

You grind your hips against his mouth, the hand in his hair tight tight tight, holding him there, suffocating him almost. His nose is too big for that to really happen, but it’s right where you want it to be, and he moans and grunts as he breathes the heady scent of your arousal in, your body undulating above him until you’re coming down his throat.

“I’m gonna come.” He mumbles into your body as he sucks and slurps it down, a messy sloppy sound that makes your chest tighten with mild embarrassment. Kylo doesn’t seem to care about the noise, he’s so lost in his own pleasure as he speeds up his fist on his cock, the head leaking and dripping pre-come down his shaft only to be swept away by the water from the shower.

“Where?” You pant, “Want to come in me?”

“I – shit.” He spills over his fist at the very thought of it, and grunts out small groans in rapid succession as he milks it for what it’s worth, wringing out every drop that he can.

It’s almost bittersweet, you think, watching his load swirl around and around down the drain. But then you’re shaking your head, and you take back your leg, planting your foot firmly on the floor. Kylo is still on his knees, and he’s panting, his cock softening, his hair inky black as it covers his face.

Spent, he leans against your body, shoulders rising as he gulps down lungfuls of air. You push the hair away from his eyes, and in a moment of tenderness, he rests his head against your stomach, turning to press a chaste kiss to your belly-button.

“Maybe next time.” He finally musters up the strength to say, and you don’t let him see you smile as you reach for the conditioner and begin working it through his locks.

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

Nearly an hour later, you and Kylo are drying yourselves off on the padded rug that covers the heated tiles of your bathroom floor. You tie the sash of a terry-cloth robe around your waist, and he secures a towel around his hips, and you almost want to say something about how he’s so annoying for taking your favorite towel, but you let the comment go.

Instead, you have an altogether different comment, when you exit the bathroom and smell the familiar savory scent of your deli order wafting in from the dining room. It only takes a moment to recognize that Dopheld must have picked up the order that Kylo placed, and brought it to you before leaving, making you scowl and ask, “Since when does your assistant have a key to my apartment?”

“I made a copy when you gave me one, figured you wouldn’t mind.” He’s quick to reply, which has you sighing in exasperation.

“Maybe I do mind.”

“Do you?”

The two of you stare are one another, and when Kylo raises his eyebrow, he knows he’s won.

“No.” You admit, more annoyed on behalf of the principle of the thing than the thing itself, but, “I’m too hungry to really care.”

And you don’t really care, you’re just slightly embarrassed again at the idea that Dopheld heard you calling out Kylo’s name, in the brief moments that he was in the apartment. You knew your walls weren’t that thick.

“Want breakfast in bed?” Kylo doesn’t seem to be phased at all by the idea that you’ve been overheard, so much like the towel, you let that go too. There were too many battles to pick with Kylo, the key didn’t need to be one of them.

“No we are going to sit at the table like civilized people so that someone doesn’t get crumbs in my sheets like a messy college boy.” What you won’t compromise on though, was sitting at the dining table, shooting him a dirty look.

“I resent that.” He jabs a finger in your direction, the intensity of the gesture undercut by the towel that is barely hanging onto his wide hips.

“Good.” You snort out a chuckle, before he chases you into the dining room where your breakfast awaits.

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

Sitting in your robe and towel, you and Kylo dig in to the deli takeout while it’s still nice and hot. You got your usual order, and Kylo got his, and the two of you even indulge in hot steaming cups of coffee that Dopheld must have picked up on his way back to your apartment.

Eating in companionable silence, you get nearly halfway your food before letting out a sigh. Kylo wasn’t just here to be annoying, he was here because he is your client. The trial is a month away, and that seems both like the most time in the world, and tomorrow at the same time.

“You’re going to have to tell me everything you know, you know.” You bring it up finally, now that it’s after eight-o’clock in the morning and you should really be in the office dealing with this very thing.

“Can it wait until after breakfast at least? I don’t want to spoil our appetite.” Kylo waves it off, not too keen on getting down to business yet. You can’t really blame him, the man isn’t even dressed after all.

“Fine.” You amend to after breakfast, “I’m going to arrange a meeting with the prosecutor in the next couple of days to figure out what their angle is, and if you’re being framed like you say you are, I’m going to need every single scrap of proof you can give me before I go digging.”

“I’ll tell you everything, including my suspects for who actually did it.” He sips his coffee.

“This isn’t about who actually did it, this is about convincing the jury that it wasn’t you.” You remind him, and he chews carefully, thoughtfully.

“I’ve seen you, on the stand. I know that we could get them to confess.” The way he so easily switches from charming to serious gives you whiplash, the smoldering of his eyes boring into yours has you reminded of the way he moves through the courtroom.

The implications of that wording have you internally wincing, and you have to be sure you know what he means, so you clarify, “Plural?”

He nods, and you sigh.

“Let’s just take this one step at a time, okay?” You can already feel a headache coming on, and you’d like to preserve the good mood that he put you in from the shower for a little longer. “Eat your breakfast, tell me exactly what you were doing, and we’ll go from there.”

You dig back into your breakfast, mind already reeling about the facts of the case. You don’t really know anything yet, the paperwork for the case is sitting on your desk and you haven’t gone into the office to read through it. You’re curious who the prosecutor assigned is going to be, you wonder which judge you’ll have. You’re already thinking about juries and evidence and alibis and and and, that you almost miss the way Kylo seems to be staring at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You have to ask, unable to place the expression he wears.

He seems to debate his answer in his head, you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes and it only makes you more curious when he eventually blinks and shrugs, wiping at his chin with a gentle, “You have schmutz on your face.”

Frowning, you wipe at your own chin with the back of your hand, and lo and behold he’s right. You wonder how long that’s been there, before a sound from the street calls your attention.

“Do you hear that?” You turn your head towards the window, training your ear to try and figure out what going be going on.

“Hear what?” Kylo doesn’t seem to notice, and because he’s never any help, you get up and go to the window yourself.

“…Oh for fuck’s sake.” You groan, quickly ducking away from the window the second you realize what’s going on.

“What is it?” Now curious for himself, Kylo does the exact same thing, leaving the both of you on the floor, crouched underneath the window of the dining room.

Down the several stories below, standing outside your apartment building is what can only be described as a swarm of paparazzi. It looked like dozens of photographers, at least four news trucks, reporters and journalists all clamoring to try and catch a glimpse of someone. And you seriously doubted that the someone was anyone other than your own Mr. Ren.

“Guess the news is out.” You sigh, aggravation bubbling up in your chest.

“Good thing we’re up here and they’re down there, huh?” He doesn’t seem too ruffled, which only aggravates you further, since he’s the reason they’re all there.

“No, it’s not a good thing! We aren’t going to be able to leave now unless we want to get fucking swamped.” You groan, shuffling away from the window with Kylo close behind, the two of you crawling around like idiots so that the photographers don’t see you, “Someone must have followed us from the restaurant last night. Next time we go out we’re using aliases.”

“Yes ma’am.” He replies, and you give him a glare over your shoulder.

“Now’s not the time to be cheeky.” You stand up when you know that you’re out of sight, and immediately make a beeline for your closet.

Kylo follows suit, and begins to put on the clothes that he wore last night. They’re slightly rumpled from being thrown on the floor, and you know how much he hates that sort of thing. You briefly entertain the thought of keeping a stash of clothing here for him, but then dismiss the idea. That’s far too domestic for the no-strings-attached arrangement that you have both agreed on.

“It’s early, I’m sure in an hour they’ll get bored of crowding the streets or the cops will shoo them away.” He shakes his head, pausing as he does up the zipper and button on his trousers, “Or…”

“Or what, Kylo?” You’re almost afraid to ask, with the way he trails off like that. It’s usually never a good idea, when that happens.

“Want to sneak out and go to my apartment? I can show you documents and whatever else I have, things that will help our case.” He offers, confirming your fears.

“The building is surrounded by photographers and news trucks, how do you propose we slip past them?” You continue to dress yourself, putting on something smart yet comfortable. There was no reason to be in a suit today, a rare opportunity that you’re only secretly excited to indulge in.

“Dopheld can pick us up by the service exit in one of the cars I don’t use often.”

“And what makes you think that there aren’t vultures waiting at your apartment either?”

“Oh I’m sure there are, but my building is way fucking nicer, and I figure if we have to be stuck somewhere, why not there?” Kylo snorts, and you scowl at him.

“You’re such a dick, don’t insult my apartment.” You put your hands on your hips, halfway wanting to send him out into the public by himself, to brave the paparazzi and reporters on his own.

“You didn’t build it, did you?” Kylo only retorts sarcastically, quickly adding, “Besides, you won’t let me smoke here.”

He got you there, Kylo did. In all honesty, you’re surprised he’s managed to go this long without a cigarette, and you’ve seen how crabby he gets when he hasn’t had one. If you’re going to be stuck with him for the day and need him to be cooperative in giving you information, you’re going to want nicotine in his system.

“…Fair enough.” You acquiesce, and try to ignore how smug he must look as you grab your purse.

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

Your apartment building is nice, far nicer than most. You had a doorman and elevators and that was more than most people could dare to dream of having in New York City. It was a pre-war building, one of those big beautiful testaments to architecture, filled with details that you just couldn’t find in the cookie-cutter-pre-fabricated high-rises that they keep building. One of those features, was an absolutely huge service elevator, that you were told was used to move big pieces of furniture like grand pianos, in and out units.

Despite it being a nice apartment, you didn’t quite have the space in your particular unit for a piano, but still, you took advantage of the service elevator and tried to ignore the anxiety of the possibility that the entire building was surrounded with people wanting to catch a glimpse of the accused.

“Your phone is blowing up.” You’re concentrating so hard on ignoring that possibility, that you don’t realize how many notifications you’re getting until Kylo points it out.

“Yeah it’s probably my fucking boss wondering why I’m ignoring her for the second day in a row.” Muttering under your breath, you pull your phone out of your purse and turn it on do not disturb, hoping that it’ll be out of sight and therefore out of mind.

“You’re busy.” Kylo shrugs.

“She’s not going to care.” You keep your eyes trained on the numbers of the elevator as they ding one by one, a steady descent to the ground floor.

“She’ll understand when you tell her what’s going on, if she hasn’t figured it out by now.” Kylo says in a strange attempt to keep you calm, but you can only chuckle dryly.

“Oh I’m sure everyone in the office has figured it out; gossip travels fast.” You sigh.

You got lucky that no one else needed to use the elevator for anything, but why should they? It was still too early for deliveries, and for that you’re grateful. You almost feel bad for anyone trying to get to work, leaving through the front doors.

The elevator finally slows to a stop, and Kylo nudges your elbow with his.

“You ready to make a run for it?” He asks, and you hate feeling like you’re sneaking around, even though that’s exactly what you’re doing. You simply nod, and when the elevator doors open, Kylo practically lights up, point out, “Look, there’s the car right there. No paparazzi in sight, just like I said.”

Not wanting to waste any more time, you make a beeline for the car. Kylo’s a gentleman enough to open the door for you, and the second that it’s closed, his assistant pulls onto a backstreet, away from the commotion entirely.

“Hello again Dopheld.” You greet the young man, wanting to at the very least be civil despite your mood.

“Morning Ms. (L/N), I’m sorry, I feel like this is all my fault – ”

“What? Don’t be silly, you aren’t the one accused of murder.” You interrupt him, shooting Kylo a glare.

“There’s no need to be a bitch about it.” Kylo lights up a cigarette and sucks down a few drags, cracking the window to blow the smoke out as he mutters, “I didn’t even do it.”

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

Kylo’s penthouse apartment isn’t that far away from you, but the traffic always makes driving around Manhattan insufferable. Eventually though, you do arrive at his building, and are relieved to see that no one is out front crowding the block in the same way that they crowd yours. You were right, someone must have seen and told their peers that Kylo was at your place.

Still, to take every precaution, Dopheld drops you off around the side service entrance of his own building, bypassing his doorman and luxurious art-deco lobby. It takes two minutes in the elevator to get all the way up to the top floor that only Kylo’s key can unlock, but you don’t release the breath that you’ve been holding until you’re safely and securely in the foyer of his place, the door closed behind you.

You could spend time marveling at the penthouse, admiring all the windows. You could, but you have more important things to do, and Kylo knows it. So, without a word, he leads you through the penthouse, down a hallway and around a corner and then down another hallway, into his home office.

It’s dark in there, and kept nice and cool to preserve all his books in the antique bookshelves that line the walls, and when Kylo sits behind his desk, you can’t help but be impressed. He looks like a right and proper lawyer, a powerful lawyer – and that’s because he is.

He also, happens to be, for the first time in his life, a client.

“Alright, where do you want to start?” You sit down on the couch that’s in the room, another antique piece of furniture that’s nestled next to a coffee table, where you settle your purse and pull out a tape recorder.

“I think it only makes sense to start at the beginning.” Kylo shrugs, and you nod, turning the recorder on so that you can focus on simply listening now, and taking notes later. He clears his throat, and cracks his knuckles, and begins with: “It was a dark and stormy night…”

“Kylo.” You warn, and he chuckles to himself just a little, making you shake your head in mild exasperation.

“Okay okay, fine.” He combs a hand through his hair, and sighs himself.

Whatever this was, however this was going to go, if you were to win you needed him to be frank with you. No jokes, no teasing, just the facts. This was going to be a gnarly and nasty case, and you aren’t so sure how much help you’ll have to win it – if you’ll have any help at all.

He knows this, and after his initial little joke, a familiar scowl settles deep into the features of his face, reminding him of the formidable opponent and rival that you knew him to be – the unstoppable force to your immovable object.

Kylo takes another drag of his cigarette, holds the tar in his lungs for a moment or two before exhaling a big cloudy puff of blue-grey smoke, and runs his hand through his hair again, a nervous habit.

“It starts, with my grandfather, Anakin.”

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

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Tagging some Kylo lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @lovinghufflepuffgirl @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @angstywhore @theinfinitenerd @whateveryousay-dude

[slashersins-abandoned]

someone like me

this was written for @idontevenknowanymoreatthispoint​

Bo’s reaches out , gripping your calf , nails digging into the skin there as he lets out a huff of laughter . You make a sobbing sound as he jerks you back from where you tried to crawl away from him . Who would’ve guessed something so small like you would put up such a fight . Bo would be lying if he said tonight’s hunt hadn’t been fun . He grip tightened harshly as he jerked you , pulling you towards him , lifting up to grin down on you , knife in his hand . “Sorry , darlin’ . Can’t get away from me , now .” He smirks down, moving his grip to your ankle so he can stand and drag you kicking and screaming back to that chair of his and tie you up . But no sooner did his fingers graze over the skin of your ankles did you let out a distressed noise and start clawing at his hands , desperately trying to get them off .

“Don’t look ! Don’t - Don’t look ! Don’t !” You’re voice held fear , panic , but not aimed at Bo . He glared down at you , taking your clawing fingers and gripping them tightly in his hand . This was fun , but he was losing his patience .

“Don’t what , darlin’ ? Don’t look at what ?” He sneered down , eyes drifting to your ankles , curiosity getting the best of him at your little fit . But he stilled at what he saw .

“ The fuck …” Thick raised pink scars littered your ankles . Cuts and slices that had been headed and torn open again and again . Scars that seemed so familiar . Dark eyes moved from your marred flesh to his own . They were nearly identical , a damn near perfect match . You’re ankles . His wrists . He breathed out slowly , dangerous eyes glinting as he shot a look to your face . Tear stained and wild eyes as you kept repeating “Don’t look . Don’t - Please don’t look .”

There’s a sharp sting in chest , a heavy weight in his stomach , a feeling of … He shakes his head , chasing away the feeling and letting his need to end your life take over . He smirks , running a thumb over your scars . You could have gotten them from anywhere . It didn’t matter . So why not tease you and make you cry more ? Why not regain his control over the situation ?

“Well , I guess you an’ me are both all scarred up . Did mommy give you these , too ?” He snickered cruelly , tugging your ankle and dragging you closer . He wanted to see you shake your head , or look at him with wide eyes that said those scars were just something you got as being a dumb little shit as a kid . He’s ready for you to cry out , to call for your momma like she could stop him from ending your life . He didn’t expect to see you hold your breath , almost terrified that he’d found out some dark secret . You don’t have to nod your head for Bo to see the truth .

His grip falters , eyes darken as those feelings he’d been trying to push away rise up in him . “Fuck .” He eyes the scars , seeing them next to his own and panting as anger starts to course through him , familiar and hot and blazing . His eyes seem to grow dazed as he stares at your matching scars .

The sound of someone walking into the shop draws his attention , looking up . The footsteps aren’t Vincent’s or Lester’s , and the frustrated call of a woman’s voice confirms his suspicions . He glares up for a moment , looking back only to see that you’ve stopped moving , stopped breathing , staring up in terror at the slots in the ceiling of his little lair . You’re terrified . More afraid of the woman bitching upstairs than of the man who currently has a knife in one hand and your leg in the other . It pisses him off in a way that he hasn’t ever been pissed before . He looks away from you before muttering curses under his breath .

He grabs your face , tugging you close as he glares with deadly intention . “Scream and I’ll gule those pretty little lips shut . You understand ?” You nod frantically , obediently as he tugs you up , tossing you over his shoulder . You don’t fight , instead clinging to the back of his coveralls and pressing your face into his spine . Every step he takes fills him with more and more of that twisting emotion . He hears his mother’s scolding shouts in the way your’s bitches up above them . He feels the duck-tape tighten on his wrists , he feels the need to thrash and scream and roar and . He sits you in the chair rougher than necessary , panting as he takes your face in his hands . Bo’s eyes are wild , searching your face for something , and it seems like he finds it . He mutter’s another low “fuck” before roughly pressing his thumb over your lips . “Not a sound .”

You nod frantically , wincing when you hear your mother let out a loud expletive and once again shout out to see if anyone was in this damn shop or not . Bo glances up briefly , taping tape and wrapping it around your wrists and the chair . You won’t be going anywhere . He tosses the tape to the makeshift bed a few feet away , putting his knife in his pocket and putting on his hat before leaving you alone . Only the light from the slits in the floor and the sound of Bo’s boots and your mother’s harsh curses keeping you company .

Bo’s hyper aware of how you could scream any moment . But the fear in your eyes , the pure and utter terror … you felt that your mother was more dangerous than him . And he hated that he could taste it in the air . That it reminded him of the same fear turned hatred he had for Trudy . You could scream , Bo knew it . But you wouldn’t , couldn’t . And that’s what he was counting on as he fixed his hat and opened the side door , forcing a smile on his lips as he stepped into the shop .

“Sorry ‘bout that . Had to go get some tools from -”

“How much longer until the car is fixed ? I’m tired of walking around this podunk town . Can you even fix it ? Or are you just wasting my time ?”

Bo’s smile flickers to a deadly look for a second before he raises his hands in the air , stepping closer , trying to give a reassuring smile despite the itching irritation in his chest . “I’ll have it out and ready for ya soon . Just gotta switch out a few parts an’ you’ll be good as new . No reason to get all mean , ma’am .”

There’s a movement behind the woman that catches Bo’s eyes . Vincent takes form in the shadows , knife glinting as he nods his head towards the woman . Bo gives a sharp shake no of his head , sending the woman a pointed look as she raves about how much time she’s wasting in this backwater town . Vincent gives a nod , standing in the shadows , ready to help his brother if need be .

“Are you even listening to me ? Hello !” Bo’s eyes snap to hers , his temper boiling over as he stands straighter , shoulder squared . The woman blinks , taking a step back before straightening herself and raising her chin . It makes Bo wanna slice that wrinkled as fuck neck of hers for offering it up so stupidly . “Don’t you try to intimidate me . Now fix my car you lazy bumpkin ! I’m not going to spend the night in this -”

“I think you best shut that mouth of yours . Think you’ve done insulted me enough and my town enough .” And that was the least of this bitch’s sins . His eyes flickered to the slits in the floor only to fill with utter disgust and rage as he looked back at her , stalking closer with a snarl on his face . “All this time you’ve been bitchin’ ‘bout your shitty car . Ain’t even asked if i’ve seen your little girl . Know you came in with ‘em . Skittish lil’ thing . Least when she was ‘round you .”

The woman opens her mouth , looking taken back , but Bo doesn’t let her speak . “You ain’t the type of momma to love her babies , are ya ? No , you’re the type of momma to make your babies scared . To hurt ‘em . To give ‘em scars that ain’t ever gonna fade . Ain’t ever been fond of mommas like you .”

He’s nearly panting , seething with rage . In this woman’s face he sees his own mother , see’s Trudy’s anger and shock . See’s the emotions he wished he could have seen on his mother’s face for all the suffering she caused him .

“Be a real shame … a real shame , if your baby girl had to keep livin’ in the same world as a bitch of a momma like you .”

She doesn’t have time to let the words sink in before Bo is flicking his knife open and lunging forward . Vincent watches from the shadows , understanding sinking over him as he watches his brother’s brutal attack , as he listens to the screams of pain fill the air . This one won’t be a wax figure , it’s fine by him . He’ll just have Lester come and dispose of the remains . He turns to leave his brother to his fury , only casting a curious glance to the slits in the floor before leaving to go back to his workshop under the house of wax .

You’re still , so still when Bo comes back down stairs . Eyes focused on the puddle of blood that drips the floor from the slits in the ceiling . Bo snaps his fingers in front of your face , glaring at you as you come to and look up at him with wide eyes . He looks over you , then to the puddle . Another curse falls from his lips as he stares at you . There’s no fight , just you sitting there , looking at him almost like a lost puppy . He runs his hand through his hair , huffing . “You’re a good girl for keeping your mouth shut .”

He clenches his teeth , taking out his knife and flipping it open . He doesn’t miss you flinch and tense as if you’re accepting that you’d be the next one killed by it . He felt his anger rise , but shoved it down as he slipped the knife under the duct tape and cut it . He pulled it off your skin , tossing it to the floor before grabbing your wrist and tugging you out of the chair . “Come on, I’m fuckin’ tired .”

He takes you up and out of the basement and then the shop . You keep your eyes focused on his back , not daring to look at the corpse on the ground . If anything you speed your steps up with his long strides , your other hand moving to grab on to his trying to stick close . If he notices how you try to all but press into him , he doesn’t say anything . He’s too busy thinking why the hell he was keeping you . If he should just off you . If he could even do that .

He tugs you through the streets to his house , not giving you time to stop and take in the home before he’s dragging you upstairs and tossing you on the bed . He stood over the bed , fingers flexing as his mind worked with how to handle this . You only righted yourself , trying your best to not hyperventilate . You didn’t know how to feel . He’d been trying to kill you . And for some reason he didn’t . Instead he … he saw your scars . He saw them and he got angry , and for once the anger wasn’t aimed at you . He’d killed your mother . His words echoing in your mind . The hatred and fury in his voice , the way it rose in volume and deepened in tone . His accent slurring thicker and thicker before he’d …

“Try to run or sneak out an’ I promise you that you’re gonna fuckin’ regret it .” Bo’s threat pulled you from your thoughts . You nodded at him , trying to convey without words that you wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want . Bo huffed , rolling the worn belt in his hands as he leaned forward , putting a knee on the bed as he used the old leather to wrap your hands together tightly . After a moment , he loosened it just a bit . Didn’t need your hands falling off . His eyes drifted to your ankles , unease settling in his gut as he took another belt and wrapped them around you , a bit more delicately than with your wrists . You wouldn’t get any more bruises or scars from this , at least .

“Go to sleep .” It’s the last thing he says before he turns off the lights and slams the door shut , stomping down the stairs . You sit in the bed for a while , staring at the light coming from under the door . You test your binds . You let your mind drift back to your earlier thoughts . He’d killed your mother . Maybe he’d planned on doing it anyway . Maybe if he’d never seen your scars he might have killed you too without a care . But … He had seen your scars . And he had killed your mother . It was strange . It was wrong . So utterly wrong that you felt so … relieved . You mother couldn’t hurt you anymore . And he’d done that for you . Tears welled in your eyes as you laid down , letting soft sobs leave you . Relieved . You were so relieved . You’d never felt so safe before .

Bo’s drinks . He curses himself , curses the this fucking night he’s had , curses his own rash decisions . He’s sprawled and pissed in his recliner when Vincent walks into the home , signing to him that Lester’s picked up the body and he’d cleaned the shop . Bo just glares and huffs , ignoring his twin the best he can as he clenches the half empty bottle in his hand . There are six others empty on the floor around him .

Vincent doesn’t let his elder brother get away with his fit . Squatting in front of him and giving him an even look , hands moving to ask him questions . Bo doesn’t want to answer , downing his last beer before tossing it on the floor with the others . Vincent doesn’t move , but he does see how Bo rubs over the scars on his wrists . Bo glares at his brother , giving a curse as he starts to spill about the entire fucking thing . Vincent is patient , listening , Bo’s words so slurred that he has to start signing , but even his movements are sloppy and if it wasn’t for the years he’d spent with his brother , he might not have been able to decipher what the man was saying .

In the end Vincent leaves Bo with a sigh , telling him to go to bed . Watching as his grumpy twin stands and stumbles up the stairs muttering under his breath . It seemed Bo had become rather attached , feeling a connection through similar abuse , towards you . And perhaps it would be good for him . He’d keep a close eye , watching how it played out . But maybe , Vincent thought , it would be a good idea for Bo to keep you around .

Bo managed to get up the stairs , getting into his room and stripping down to his boxers . You were sleeping , curled up on your side facing the wall . He stopped , looking down at you , staring hard before cruising and climbing into bed . He turned away from you , back to back . But his drunken mind wouldn’t get the look of fear off your face when you’d heard your mother . He couldn’t not think about the raised pink scars on your ankles . with a grunt he turned , glaring at your back .

You make a noise , distressed and curl in harder . Bo frowns , scooting closer and mummering for you to shut up , you’re fine now , ain’t no one gonna hurt you . Despite the roughness of his whispered voice it seems to settle you , and he isn’t sure how he feels about that . His hand moves to your ankle , fingers brushing under the belt keeping them together .

Bo works his fingers over the marred marks , brain cloudy with booze . “ Jus’ - Jus’ like me . Jus’ fuckin’ like me . Maybe - Maybe I should keep ya . Would ya like that ? Bein’ kept by a bastard like me ?” His words are slurred , eye  heavy . The alcohol in his system , the warmth of his bed , the sound of your breathing and slight scent of your shampoo lulling him to sleep as he keeps stroking the marks on your skin .

[slashersins]

like me

female reader ; afab reader ; she / her pronouns ; family abuse tw ; scars tw ; toxic family tw 

this was written for @idontevenknowanymoreatthispoint

part one |

Bo’s reaches out , gripping your calf , nails digging into the skin there as he lets out a huff of laughter . You make a sobbing sound as he jerks you back from where you tried to crawl away from him . Who would've guessed something so small like you would put up such a fight . Bo would be lying if he said tonight's hunt hadn’t been fun . He grip tightened harshly as he jerked you , pulling you towards him , lifting up to grin down on you , knife in his hand . “Sorry , darlin’ . Can’t get away from me , now .” He smirks down, moving his grip to your ankle so he can stand and drag you kicking and screaming back to that chair of his and tie you up . But no sooner did his fingers graze over the skin of your ankles did you let out a distressed noise and start clawing at his hands , desperately trying to get them off .

“Don’t look ! Don’t - Don’t look ! Don’t !” You’re voice held fear , panic , but not aimed at Bo . He glared down at you , taking your clawing fingers and gripping them tightly in his hand . This was fun , but he was losing his patience . 

“Don’t what , darlin’ ? Don’t look at what ?” He sneered down , eyes drifting to your ankles , curiosity getting the best of him at your little fit . But he stilled at what he saw . 

“ The fuck . . .” Thick raised pink scars littered your ankles . Cuts and slices that had been headed and torn open again and again . Scars that seemed so familiar . Dark eyes moved from your marred flesh to his own . They were nearly identical , a damn near perfect match . You’re ankles . His wrists . He breathed out slowly , dangerous eyes glinting as he shot a look to your face . Tear stained and wild eyes as you kept repeating “Don’t look . Don’t - Please don’t look .” 

There’s a sharp sting in chest , a heavy weight in his stomach , a feeling of . . . He shakes his head , chasing away the feeling and letting his need to end your life take over . He smirks , running a thumb over your scars . You could have gotten them from anywhere . It didn’t matter . So why not tease you and make you cry more ? Why not regain his control over the situation ?

“Well , I guess you an’ me are both all scarred up . Did mommy give you these , too ?” He snickered cruelly , tugging your ankle and dragging you closer . He wanted to see you shake your head , or look at him with wide eyes that said those scars were just something you got as being a dumb little shit as a kid . He’s ready for you to cry out , to call for your momma like she could stop him from ending your life . He didn’t expect to see you hold your breath , almost terrified that he’d found out some dark secret . You don’t have to nod your head for Bo to see the truth . 

His grip falters , eyes darken as those feelings he’d been trying to push away rise up in him . “Fuck .” He eyes the scars , seeing them next to his own and panting as anger starts to course through him , familiar and hot and blazing . His eyes seem to grow dazed as he stares at your matching scars . 

The sound of someone walking into the shop draws his attention , looking up . The footsteps aren’t Vincent’s or Lester’s , and the frustrated call of a woman’s voice confirms his suspicions . He glares up for a moment , looking back only to see that you’ve stopped moving , stopped breathing , staring up in terror at the slots in the ceiling of his little lair . You’re terrified . More afraid of the woman bitching upstairs than of the man who currently has a knife in one hand and your leg in the other . It pisses him off in a way that he hasn’t ever been pissed before . He looks away from you before muttering curses under his breath . 

He grabs your face , tugging you close as he glares with deadly intention . “Scream and I’ll gule those pretty little lips shut . You understand ?” You nod frantically , obediently as he tugs you up , tossing you over his shoulder . You don’t fight , instead clinging to the back of his coveralls and pressing your face into his spine . Every step he takes fills him with more and more of that twisting emotion . He hears his mother’s scolding shouts in the way your’s bitches up above them . He feels the duck-tape tighten on his wrists , he feels the need to thrash and scream and roar and . He sits you in the chair rougher than necessary , panting as he takes your face in his hands . Bo’s eyes are wild , searching your face for something , and it seems like he finds it . He mutter’s another low “fuck” before roughly pressing his thumb over your lips . “Not a sound .” 

You nod frantically , wincing when you hear your mother let out a loud expletive and once again shout out to see if anyone was in this damn shop or not . Bo glances up briefly , taping tape and wrapping it around your wrists and the chair . You won’t be going anywhere . He tosses the tape to the makeshift bed a few feet away , putting his knife in his pocket and putting on his hat before leaving you alone . Only the light from the slits in the floor and the sound of Bo’s boots and your mother’s harsh curses keeping you company .

Bo’s hyper aware of how you could scream any moment . But the fear in your eyes , the pure and utter terror . . . you felt that your mother was more dangerous than him . And he hated that he could taste it in the air . That it reminded him of the same fear turned hatred he had for Trudy . You could scream , Bo knew it . But you wouldn’t , couldn’t . And that’s what he was counting on as he fixed his hat and opened the side door , forcing a smile on his lips as he stepped into the shop . 

“Sorry ‘bout that . Had to go get some tools from -”

“How much longer until the car is fixed ? I’m tired of walking around this podunk town . Can you even fix it ? Or are you just wasting my time ?” 

Bo’s smile flickers to a deadly look for a second before he raises his hands in the air , stepping closer , trying to give a reassuring smile despite the itching irritation in his chest . “I’ll have it out and ready for ya soon . Just gotta switch out a few parts an’ you’ll be good as new . No reason to get all mean , ma’am .”

There’s a movement behind the woman that catches Bo’s eyes . Vincent takes form in the shadows , knife glinting as he nods his head towards the woman . Bo gives a sharp shake no of his head , sending the woman a pointed look as she raves about how much time she’s wasting in this backwater town . Vincent gives a nod , standing in the shadows , ready to help his brother if need be . 

“Are you even listening to me ? Hello !” Bo’s eyes snap to hers , his temper boiling over as he stands straighter , shoulder squared . The woman blinks , taking a step back before straightening herself and raising her chin . It makes Bo wanna slice that wrinkled as fuck neck of hers for offering it up so stupidly . “Don’t you try to intimidate me . Now fix my car you lazy bumpkin ! I’m not going to spend the night in this -”

“I think you best shut that mouth of yours . Think you’ve done insulted me enough and my town enough .” And that was the least of this bitch’s sins . His eyes flickered to the slits in the floor only to fill with utter disgust and rage as he looked back at her , stalking closer with a snarl on his face . “All this time you’ve been bitchin’ ‘bout your shitty car . Ain’t even asked if i’ve seen your little girl . Know you came in with ‘em . Skittish lil’ thing . Least when she was ‘round you .”

The woman opens her mouth , looking taken back , but Bo doesn’t let her speak . “You ain’t the type of momma to love her babies , are ya ? No , you’re the type of momma to make your babies scared . To hurt ‘em . To give ‘em scars that ain’t ever gonna fade . Ain’t ever been fond of mommas like you .”

He’s nearly panting , seething with rage . In this woman’s face he sees his own mother , see’s Trudy’s anger and shock . See’s the emotions he wished he could have seen on his mother’s face for all the suffering she caused him . 

“Be a real shame . . . a real shame , if your baby girl had to keep livin’ in the same world as a bitch of a momma like you .”

She doesn’t have time to let the words sink in before Bo is flicking his knife open and lunging forward . Vincent watches from the shadows , understanding sinking over him as he watches his brother’s brutal attack , as he listens to the screams of pain fill the air . This one won’t be a wax figure , it’s fine by him . He’ll just have Lester come and dispose of the remains . He turns to leave his brother to his fury , only casting a curious glance to the slits in the floor before leaving to go back to his workshop under the house of wax . 

You’re still , so still when Bo comes back down stairs . Eyes focused on the puddle of blood that drips the floor from the slits in the ceiling . Bo snaps his fingers in front of your face , glaring at you as you come to and look up at him with wide eyes . He looks over you , then to the puddle . Another curse falls from his lips as he stares at you . There’s no fight , just you sitting there , looking at him almost like a lost puppy . He runs his hand through his hair , huffing . “You’re a good girl for keeping your mouth shut .”

He clenches his teeth , taking out his knife and flipping it open . He doesn’t miss you flinch and tense as if you’re accepting that you’d be the next one killed by it . He felt his anger rise , but shoved it down as he slipped the knife under the duct tape and cut it . He pulled it off your skin , tossing it to the floor before grabbing your wrist and tugging you out of the chair . “Come on, I’m fuckin’ tired .”

He takes you up and out of the basement and then the shop . You keep your eyes focused on his back , not daring to look at the corpse on the ground . If anything you speed your steps up with his long strides , your other hand moving to grab on to his trying to stick close . If he notices how you try to all but press into him , he doesn’t say anything . He’s too busy thinking why the hell he was keeping you . If he should just off you . If he could even do that . 

He tugs you through the streets to his house , not giving you time to stop and take in the home before he’s dragging you upstairs and tossing you on the bed . He stood over the bed , fingers flexing as his mind worked with how to handle this . You only righted yourself , trying your best to not hyperventilate . You didn’t know how to feel . He’d been trying to kill you . And for some reason he didn’t . Instead he . . . he saw your scars . He saw them and he got angry , and for once the anger wasn’t aimed at you . He’d killed your mother . His words echoing in your mind . The hatred and fury in his voice , the way it rose in volume and deepened in tone . His accent slurring thicker and thicker before he’d . . .

“Try to run or sneak out an’ I promise you that you’re gonna fuckin’ regret it .” Bo’s threat pulled you from your thoughts . You nodded at him , trying to convey without words that you wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want . Bo huffed , rolling the worn belt in his hands as he leaned forward , putting a knee on the bed as he used the old leather to wrap your hands together tightly . After a moment , he loosened it just a bit . Didn’t need your hands falling off . His eyes drifted to your ankles , unease settling in his gut as he took another belt and wrapped them around you , a bit more delicately than with your wrists . You wouldn’t get any more bruises or scars from this , at least . 

“Go to sleep .” It’s the last thing he says before he turns off the lights and slams the door shut , stomping down the stairs . You sit in the bed for a while , staring at the light coming from under the door . You test your binds . You let your mind drift back to your earlier thoughts . He’d killed your mother . Maybe he’d planned on doing it anyway . Maybe if he’d never seen your scars he might have killed you too without a care . But . . . He had seen your scars . And he had killed your mother . It was strange . It was wrong . So utterly wrong that you felt so . . . relieved . You mother couldn’t hurt you anymore . And he’d done that for you . Tears welled in your eyes as you laid down , letting soft sobs leave you . Relieved . You were so relieved . You’d never felt so safe before . 

Bo’s drinks . He curses himself , curses the this fucking night he’s had , curses his own rash decisions . He’s sprawled and pissed in his recliner when Vincent walks into the home , signing to him that Lester’s picked up the body and he’d cleaned the shop . Bo just glares and huffs , ignoring his twin the best he can as he clenches the half empty bottle in his hand . There are six others empty on the floor around him . 

Vincent doesn’t let his elder brother get away with his fit . Squatting in front of him and giving him an even look , hands moving to ask him questions . Bo doesn’t want to answer , downing his last beer before tossing it on the floor with the others . Vincent doesn’t move , but he does see how Bo rubs over the scars on his wrists . Bo glares at his brother , giving a curse as he starts to spill about the entire fucking thing . Vincent is patient , listening , Bo’s words so slurred that he has to start signing , but even his movements are sloppy and if it wasn’t for the years he’d spent with his brother , he might not have been able to decipher what the man was saying . 

In the end Vincent leaves Bo with a sigh , telling him to go to bed . Watching as his grumpy twin stands and stumbles up the stairs muttering under his breath . It seemed Bo had become rather attached , feeling a connection through similar abuse , towards you . And perhaps it would be good for him . He’d keep a close eye , watching how it played out . But maybe , Vincent thought , it would be a good idea for Bo to keep you around . 

Bo managed to get up the stairs , getting into his room and stripping down to his boxers . You were sleeping , curled up on your side facing the wall . He stopped , looking down at you , staring hard before cruising and climbing into bed . He turned away from you , back to back . But his drunken mind wouldn’t get the look of fear off your face when you’d heard your mother . He couldn’t not think about the raised pink scars on your ankles . with a grunt he turned , glaring at your back .

You make a noise , distressed and curl in harder . Bo frowns , scooting closer and mummering for you to shut up , you’re fine now , ain’t no one gonna hurt you . Despite the roughness of his whispered voice it seems to settle you , and he isn’t sure how he feels about that . His hand moves to your ankle , fingers brushing under the belt keeping them together . 

Bo works his fingers over the marred marks , brain cloudy with booze . “ Jus’ - Jus’ like me . Jus’ fuckin’ like me . Maybe - Maybe I should keep ya . Would ya like that ? Bein’ kept by a bastard like me ?” His words are slurred , eye  heavy . The alcohol in his system , the warmth of his bed , the sound of your breathing and slight scent of your shampoo lulling him to sleep as he keeps stroking the marks on your skin . 

Bo wakes just before the sun rises . His eyes squinting in the dark as he grunts , warmer than usual , something against his chest . It takes a moment for his hungover muddled head to replay the events of last night . The frown on his face softening as he hears your soft snore as you curl against his chest . Your bound wrists and ankles all but tucked into your own chest , hair splayed over the pillows . It takes a moment before he realizes he’s staring , and then another moment before you realized you’d begun stirring , eyes fluttering as you tilt your head up with a groggy look on your face .

He doesn’t wait for you to fully wake up , pulling away to get out of bed . A roll of his shoulders and crack of his neck and he’s moving to pull out a clean wife beater and tug it on . He looks back to you as he grabs a set of coveralls . You’re awake now , staring away from him with a flush on your face . Bo wants to grin at the fact that you’re blushing because of him , but manages to push it away .

“Can you cook or clean or do anything useful ?” He watches you as you blink up at him , you hesitate , and it annoys him . His irritation starts to show on his face as you keep silent on the bed . “Gonna fuckin’ talk or just stare ?” 

You jolt , sitting up and looking at him frantically as you start to stutter out , “I can - I can bake ! I can bake and clean . I clean very well . My mom always had me clean the house and -”

“I get it , Cinderella . Fine . Least you’re useful .” He mutters it , slightly less annoyed and yet still irritated all at the same time . He moves to where you sit , grabbing your calf and tugging the belt off your ankles and then your wrists . He doesn’t say anything else , just jerking his head to follow him . 

He guides you to the bathroom , opening the door and standing to the side . You manage a small thank you and move past him , only to stop and blink when he leans on the doorframe and stares at you . Unsure you stand there on the tile shifting nervously . 

“Well ? Get to it . I don’t trust you , so fucking get over your embarrassment and do what you need to an’ take a fuckin’ shower . You look an’ smell like shit .” He’s glaring at you , a smug satisfaction at your embarrassment as you move around the room . He’s polite enough to glance away as you relieve yourself , glaring at the chipping paint of the wall . You run the water , and undress , trying to quickly get behind the curtain , Bo barely looking up to catch a glimpse of you before you disappear . His eyes darken some , watching your shadow move behind the curtain . 

He nearly jumps when Vincent sneaks up on him , folded clothes from some previous victim in his hands . He glances to the shower and then back to Bo , a brow arched behind his mask as if judging his brother for being paranoid . He signs to his brother that he should play nice with his new friend or else they might try and run away . Bo only mutters for Vincent to shut the fuck up and takes the clothes . The younger twin brushing his shoulder against Bo’s as he walks past in a brotherly tease .

The sound of the shower being turned off brings Bo’s attention back to the bathroom . You peak your head out , blushing when you see Bo’s eyes on you . you try to reach out to the sink to grab a towel , but you’re too short and you have to quickly get out , trying to use the curtain to hide your body . Bo gives a snicker in amusement , grinning at your pathetic attempt to hide yourself . He knows you won't be able to completely hide when you change . But you prove him wrong as you thank him softly , take the clothes , and retreat to the shower to change in privacy . 

It’s another few minutes of quiet as Bo watches you dry your hair and then jerks his head for you to follow again , leading you down to the kitchen . “Said you could cook ? I’m hungry , go on .” He crosses his arms , eyes narrowed as you look at the stove . You worriedly move about the kitchen , not knowing where anything is . Your eyes keep moving to the stove with a nervousness that is so obvious . Bo gets agitated seeing how skittish you were . Didn’t you say you could cook ? No , bake . What was the difference between the oven and a stove top ? With an irritated grunt he pushes off , moving past you and grabbing a pan . 

“Ain’t nothing fucking scary about cooking some fucking eggs and shit . Go grab some bacon an’ shit out the ‘fridge and get over here . You’re gonna learn how to fuckin’ cook breakfast if you’re gonna be keepin’ that ass of yours outta the musuem .”

Cooking breakfast , sitting down to eat , all of it confuses you . This man was . . . strange . And you didn’t know how to feel about him . But he . . . in a strange way had protected you . Had taken out the person who’d caused you so much pain . And being close to him , even with his sour attitude and mean spirited mouth and smug grins , even after him nearly killing you , you couldn’t help but feel just a little secure around him .

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Our Doll 8//fighting in the sky

B.Barnes x S.Rogers, B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

Series Synopsis | After the events of the horrific past, y/n Stark, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have finally admitted their feelings for each other. But is life as an avenger whilst dating two super soldiers any easier than anything y/n’s experienced in the past?

sequel Series to Their Doll

Series Warnings | smut, violence, torture, swearing, threesomes, drug usage/substance abuse

Chapter Summary | the Sokovia fight ends a little...differently.

Warnings | violence, blood, bullet wounds, death, swearing

A/n | This is a sequel book/series to my fic Their Doll! This book loosely follows the mcu timeline, starting in CAWS in book one and starting just before AOU in this book. Bucky had been recovered and is safe, and Peter was taken under Tony's wing when he was much younger.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Bucky was still on the floor, y/n crouched at his side with a hand cupping his cheek and a concerned look dancing across her eyes. She'd got him propped against a table leg nearby as he'd groaned and winced with pain, flesh hand covering the wound in his shoulder as his breathing got heavier.

Whilst y/n made a fuss, the argument continued and got heated. But she refused to leave him, so much so that when Steve tried to check on them she told him to deal with Tony and that she had Bucky. Or even when Thor arrived, ready to set her dad's plan in motion, of which he did. So now, there was a floating, living computer less than two meters away as Bruce tended to the wound.

They were going to find Ultron tomorrow. Save the world, etc etc. But for now, y/n was much to concerned for her boyfriend who she knew would've healed completely by the end of the hour. Steve knelt down beside her, taking a hold of y/n's free hand and placing a gentle kiss to it before offering her a smile.

"How're you doin', buck?" Steve said softly, looking into the super soldier's cerulean eyes. The brunet offered him a small smile, lips tugging up.

"I'm doin' okay, Stevie." He hummed, before his lips were smothered in a sweet kiss. Y/n still felt a tingle of warmth run down her spine every time she saw them kiss. It was passionate, despite lacking lust in the current situation, and still made a weak pang of arousal crawl down y/n's spine.

"I love you two, so much." Bruce had retreated by this point, so only y/n, Bucky, and Steve were left sat on the floor. Both men before her smiled widely, and Steve leant to give y/n a kiss to the forehead.

"We love you too." Bucky said, and y/n nodded with a tear in her eye. "We'll survive this; we always do."

...

When the cobbles began splintering, and the ground began shaking, and the buildings began crumbling, all I could do was gasp. Sharp and quiet, the sound barely reaching the ears of those around me as I froze in place from where I'd been ushering a group of children towards the bridge.

We'll survive this; we always do.

Then followed the screams. Shock, fear, pain. The beeping of cars, shattering of glass, clanging of metal, thudding off rubble. Even as those around me fussed - backed away from the edge - I stayed frozen. Eyes locked on the earth we were leaving behind, ears perked at the sound of snapping metal and breaking rock. We were going up, and there was nothing we could do about it.

"Sokovia's going for a ride." FRIDAY's voice echoed through the comm, but the words barely fell on my ears as I remained locked, paralysed.

"Y/n!" Sam's voice ripped me from my trance, his slender arms wrapping over my shoulder as he knocked me down just in time. We rolled onto the floor, his wings breaking our fall against the stone and cocooning us. The sound of an explosion pulled my head up, Clint stood facing us with his bow out - no arrow loaded.

My eyes drifted then, settling on the shards of metal around us and I figured out what happened.

"T-thanks." I mumbled, grabbing Clint's hand as he offered it.

"No problem. Now get you're head in the game, y/n. We're really gonna need all the help we can get." Sam replied, expanding his wings again before he was in the sky above us.

"You okay?" Clint asked, brown quirked. I brushed my arms off, nodding slowly to the man. "Okay."

I sighed out in relief, kicking at the metal before me before shaking my head and putting on a brave face. I took off, running towards a scream I'd heard.

"Stark you worry about bringing the city back down safely," Steve's voice rang in my ear, "the rest of us have one job: tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed, walk it off." I let off a laugh, pulling a knife from it's sheath at my thing and raising my arm, pressing the blade into the robot's head and smiling at the cracklings sound of it shutting down.

"Nice speech, Stevie." I chortled through a smirk and Bucky chuckled. The woman before me strangled away and I watched after her before taking off again.

"Is he always so bossy on missions?" Bucky pondered and Sam's laugh could be heard through my earpiece.

"Yes he is." The Falcon sighed, and I could tell Steve was rolling his eyes with that ridiculous, toothy smirk.

"Remind me to punish you when I get home. Both of you." Steve sneered playfully and Tony gagged. Nat laughed.

"Ew. Please don't talk about your sex lives through the comms." Clint jeered disgustedly.

"Whatever you say, Captain." I smirked and Bucky chuckled again.

It was awhile before anyone spoke again, all wrapped up in crushing the robots. By now I'd found Bucky, and we fought back-to-back as Sam and Rhodey cleared the skies. Bucky held a gun in hand, shooting mercilessly at the gadgets as I threw knife after knife, never even missing once.

"Hey, Doll?" Bucky shouted over the noise as I sent another knife flying into a head.

"Yeah?" I called back, letting out a grunt as I rolled out the way of a bullet.

"D'ya think your powers work on these things?" Bucky asked again, turning around and shooting the one that still had its sights on me.

"Thanks. And I don't know, I haven't tried."

"Well maybe now is about time!" I heard steve voice through the comm again. That when I started to hum, that unfamiliar, dangerous tune. Bucky froze in space, gun lowered at we marvelled at the convulsing robots around us. Their heads crackled as spurts of electricity danced around them, before they all simtaneously exploded, pieces of flaming metal sent spinning through the air.

Bucky pulled me into him, crouching down and shielding us with his metal arm as a few stray pieces were sent towards us.

"Well, I'd say it works." Bucky mumbled through a laugh and I joined him, both of us straightening up and running in the direction of where steve was.

"So it works?" Pietro called down the comm, and I shared a look with Bucky.

"It fuckin's works." Bucky smirked before I interjected.

"Kind of. If people are in the vicinity they may get hurt. I'd only be able to use it on a good enough scale if we evacuate this thing." I said and Tony scoffed.

"What do you think we've been doing?" There was a silence again after that.

...

"Hey Steve!" Bucky yelled, waving the to blonde super soldier as he turned around from where he was stood beside Nat.

"Glad you like the view Romanoff. It's about to get better." I came to a halt at the sound of Fury's voice in my ear. Bucky stopped beside me, both of us only a few feet behind Nat and Steve as the whirring of Bucky's arm filled the silence.

Then we saw it. The ship rose gracefully through the clouds, big and glorious and full of the promise of victory.

"Fury you son of a bitch." Steve clipped and I heard Bucky's low chuckle from beside me.

"Oooh, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" I found myself laughing to at Fury's comment.

"This is SHIELD?" Pietro asked, entranced as he walked up beside us.

"This is what SHIELD is supposed to be." Steve affirmed and Pietro's smile just grew wider.

"This is not so bad." The lifeboats began landing, pulling up to the edge of the rock before Steve was barking orders down the Comm again.

"Let's load 'em up." So that's what we did.

...

It was so close. We were so close. Barley any civilians remained, the last of them just getting onto the last of the lifeboats at the moment. The plan to take out Ultron was in play.

Me, Pietro and Clint were the only avengers in the area, about to get on life boats ourselves when a woman began begging and crying.

"Her son isn't here. We need to find him." Clint mumbled quickly as he walked passed me, hand wrapping a round my bicep and pulling me with him.

"Well where could he be? We've looked everywhere!" I explained in a whisper, eyes wide with fear. I didn't like the idea of anyone dying by our hands, besides those horrid, evil robots.

"I don't know, just-" Clint cut himself off, his jittery eyes landing on the boy as he struggled and shouted for help. "Wait here."

And with that Clint was sprinting off, leaving me stood only a few feet from the edge as Pietro made sure everyone else was safely on the lifeboat.

"Shit." I murmured, reaching for a dagger, but my fumbling hand couldn't find one as I say the robot stagger towards Clint and the boy. "Clint!" I shouted, finally finding a knife sheathed in my back pocket and letting it slide from my hand, the rigid metal burying itself in the thing's skull. It shut down immediately, dropping to the floor. Clint raised an arm in thanks, quickly turning back to the boy to lift him up.

I found myself laying behind a nearby piece of rumble before I could make sense of it, winded and groaning as I peered over at the sound of the gunfire.

Where had it come from? The last of them should be dead now. My thought were racing, horrified. But it didn't compare to my disjointed scream. The blood staining Pietro's back was seeping, leaking onto his shirt as he swayed, his faint voice making the sob catch in my throat.

"You didn't see that coming?" My eyes drifted to the sky, the ship nearly out of my reach and the bottled, bubbling anger surfaced again. Only this time, I didn't let it simmer back down again.

We'll survive this; we always do.

The sound that tore from me could barely be described as a hum, let alone a song as the pained sound channelled through me.

You didn't see that coming?

A burst of light, a spark that set fire into a rapid succession of aguish; agony. A wave that knocked everyone to their feet, pushing Steve back as he ran towards Clint, who was hunted over Pietro's limp body.

Don't turn your back on me!

Lifeless, the bodies that sunk into the seats behind me enticed gasps from Clint as he slowly stood, eyes locked on the sight over my shoulder.

I love you two, so much.

I turned with a horrified, disgruntled noise. One of shock, pain, fear, guilt, dread all mixed into one horrid, ugly noise.

Ultron has won.

And maybe he has, because the sight before me  was not one of victory. He had succeeded in some form, no doubt. The wing of grey soaring past me causing me eyes to narrow, and my heart to shatter.

This is what SHIELD is supposed to be.

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[scaryscarecrows]

Breathe In, Breathe Out (Let the Human In)

AN: Happy deathday, Jason! Title from Of Monsters and Men's 'Human'. Arkham Asylum alternate ending thingy.

TW for attempted suicide.

* * *

It’s the Joker’s fault.

Well, okay, fine, it’s ninety percent the Joker’s fault and ten percent Cobblepot being a nosey Nellie, but because she hates him and he isn’t her boss, Dove is going to lay all the blame on the clown.

And he’s the one who made this spectacle, so there.

Whoever’s fault it is, Cobblepot demanded they trek to Arkham. He says that it’s because he’s a donor and has rights to see what’s going on. Dove knows for a fact he hasn’t donated a damn cent since his stint as the mayor way back when, but he’s playing at being Legal for now and, well, she’s curious too. Batman is there. Arkham’s got a pretty full house tonight. And the news is saying something about monsters.

The news is not wrong. Batman is here, on the roof, with--

Oh my God.

That’s. That’s Joker, but...but he’s done something to himself. Something awful. He’s monstrous, with...with spines (no, not spines, his spine, his bones) jutting up out of his torn back, and he’s. He’s huge, big enough to pick up Batman. And Dove’s been up close to Batman before, been picked up by the guy, even. He’s not small.

“What’s going on?” Cobblepot demands. He’s not alone. She recognizes some of the men gathered here, at the police barricade. Most of them are as corrupt as they come. “Jim! Jim, come here, I demand--”

“You don’t get to demand anything--”

Above them, Joker laughs. Dove has faith that Batman will stop him. He always does.

(He has to.)

She ducks, though, when the clown turns to peer down at them, and turns her head away. And that’s the only reason she sees the thin, trembling shadow stumbling out from one of the buildings.

Between the floodlights and the chopper, the lawn’s lit right up. The orange jumpsuit sticks out like a sore thumb and her first thought is ZSASZ.

“Harvey!” Harvey Bullock turns, toothpick already half-shredded in his teeth. “There’s a--”

“Shit--”

The shadow goes down and no, that’s not Zsasz. There’s hair. Harvey approaches so Jim can deal with this shitshow, turns the man(?) onto his back. There’s silence, followed by a horrified, “What the fuck?”

“What now?”

“What is going on--”

“Harvey?”

An explosion draws Jim back to his radio, shouting at the chopper to GET BACK GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW. Dove risks inching towards Harvey and the orange shadow.

“Harvey?”

“Jesus Christ…” He’s all but sitting on his hands. “Jesus Christ, kid, what happened to you?”

Kid? That’s a kid?

“Who is that?”

He looks up, hat falling off.

“I think it’s Robin.”

No, Robin would be...up…

Oh.

Oh, my God.

She does go closer at that, and it is Robin. Not the current one, the new one, but the one before. The one Joker...Joker’d got hold of him...God, over a year ago, now, sent a tape out a few months back.

He’d been dead. Finally, Dove remembers thinking guiltily, out of his misery.

But apparently not. He’s older than she remembers (of course he is), but...but there’s a brand on his face, a goddamn ‘J’ burned into his skin like he’s a piece of meat rather than a boy, and he’d had that…

“Robin?” she whispers. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

He’s breathing, harsh, ragged gasps that stutter and catch (broken ribs or scared or...?), and he flinches when Joker starts laughing again.

“What did that bastard do to you, kid?” Harvey breathes, finally inching out a hand to brush against the orange jumpsuit. The thing’s hanging off the kid’s frame and it’s stained and torn. “Jesus…”

Robin’s eyes flicker open, and a second later he jolts upright for all of four seconds before collapsing back to the grass.

“No no no--”

“Robin. Robin! Look at me, sweetheart, c’mon, you’re okay, you’re okay, just--”

He freezes, eyes going from the medical building to Harvey to her. Then he swallows, hard, and whispers, “This is real?”

Harvey shucks off his coat and lays it over him as gently as possible.

“Here you go, kid. Just. Just stay real still, huh? Everything’s fine. You’re fine.”

“You promise--you promise you’re not--”

“Shh.” Dove reaches over, intending to just...ruffle his hair, or something, and he flinches back, eyes squeezed shut like he thinks she’s going to hurt him.

“No no please m’sorry m’sorry--”

“Don’t be sorry, honey.” Jesus… “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay, it’s over. We’re not gonna hurt ya, honey, I promise.”

He just lies there, shuddering under Harvey’s coat, and finally opens his eyes to look up at the sky.

“S’over?” he breathes. “I...you promise…” He cuts himself off with a choked sob and spits out, “I can’t go back.”

Jim’s suddenly there, confused and demanding to know, “What’s going on? Who the hell--”

Robin jerks at the suddenness of it all and the next thing Dove knows, he’s jolted up and all but crawled into her lap.

“What the hell--”

“Please--”

“Dammit, Jim, now look what you did--”

“Sh-sh-sh, kiddo, s’just Jim. S’just Jim.” Robin the Second is not pocket-sized. Once upon a time, almost. Enough. But pocket-sized or not, he’s emaciated and feverish and terrified. “S’just Jim.”

“It’s Robin,” Harvey’s explaining, voice cracking and shocked. “Jesus, Jim, it’s fuckin’ Robin, Joker didn’t--he’s still alive--”

Robin cringes at another explosion, scrunching down and burying his head against her neck with a whimper. Dove risks touching the back of his head, and when he doesn’t panic, runs her fingers through his hair. It’s matted and stiff and there’s a lump at the base of his skull.

“Shh, shh,” she murmurs. “It’s okay, you’re okay...we gotcha, we gotcha…”

“Mm--”

“Shh, Robin--”

“Jason,” he whispers, so quiet that she nearly misses it. “S’Jason--h-he would’a come for Robin an’ he left me with him--”

That is a can of worms she’s not getting into.

“Okay. Okay, Jason.”

He’s quiet after that, breathing slow and careful and clearly trying to calm himself down. And he’s almost there, or at least he’s not crying anymore, when Batman is suddenly there.

“Jim--”

Jason flinches and tries to curl into a ball, whispering, “Nonono I can’t do this again I can’t do this again…”

Batman stills and sinks into a crouch. Jason’s trembling in Dove’s arms and when Batman half-reaches towards him he all but knocks her over trying to get away.

“Shh, baby, shh, s’just Batman--”

“Get away!” He pulls free and crab-crawls backwards before collapsing on the grass. “Get away from me--please--”

She’s seen Batman be still before, but not like this. He’s, well, he’s shocked. Jason’s shuddering with dry sobs, and when Batman does finally move again, he squirms back behind Dove.

“Sweetheart, no one’s gonna hurt you--”

“You left me!” He jabs an accusing finger at the Bat. “You left me with him, you replaced me, you left me to die!” He struggles to his knees, wheezing. “Joke’s on you, Batman, I didn’t! So tell them! Tell them what happened, just...just…” He wobbles and winds up curled on his side, shaking. “Where the hell were you?”

Batman just looks at him like he can’t believe he’s here and breathes, “I thought you were dead.”

To be fair, that was...everyone did. Joker had sent that tape around, laughing all the while, and…

“Not the whole time,” Jason spits. “You replaced me in what, a week? If? Come on, Batman, quit hiding behind your pathetic excuses! World’s greatest detective, my ass, if you were, you would. Have. Looked.”

“Robin--”

“I’m not Robin anymore! Robin’s dead!” He pauses, and a sick smile creeps over his face. “Or. I guess not, huh? You got a nice, shiny new one! Where’d you find this one, the Wal-Mart parking lot? Amazon dot fucking com? Inquiring minds wanna know!”

Batman’s still and silent. Twenty feet away, the Joker’s being loaded onto a gurney. He’s normal-sized again, looks like shit (good), and giggling; until he thrashes his head.

And sees what’s going on.

Joker doesn’t laugh all the time. That’s a common misconception. But he laughs enough that when he stops, when that smile drops, that most people would rather be locked in a room with Scarecrow than be anywhere near him.

And he’s not laughing now.

“How did you…”

Jason freezes, smile vanishing. He manages, somehow, to go even paler before curling into a small ball, arms over his head.

“Get that animal out of here,” Batman snarls, and Dove’s never heard him sound like that. She’s not scared of the Bat...but tonight, she could be.

“How did you get out, you sorry little brat?!” The clown jerks against the restraints and they rattle. They’re not gonna give, surely they’re not gonna give, he’s small again--

Batman’s suddenly right up against him, hand at his throat.

“That’s enough.”

Joker looks from Jason to Batman and back again before plastering that godawful grin back on his face.

“You don’t think he wants you back, do you?” His voice is strangled. “Not after everything you’ve done--oog!”

Mercifully-finally-Batman slams his head back hard enough to either knock him out or shut him up. Dove doesn’t care which. He steps back, turns around, and finds Harvey Bullock in his space.

Harvey...Harvey talks a big game. But he’s a big old softie, really, and he had a fondness for Robin the Second*. And a long-standing distrust of Batman. With everything that happened, that distrust had only grown.

“I think you owe the kid some answers,” he says, voice trembling with barely-suppressed rage. “Where were you, exactly? How did you miss this?”

“Get out of my way, Bullock.”

“How long was he missing before you mentioned it? Or kidnapped the current one, huh? If you’d kept that pointy nose of yours out of our cases for once--”

“Bullock--”

“--you might’ve found him!”

Batman is, surprise, surprise, silent. Dove knows this kind of silence; men get like this before they. Before they hurt people.

“Bullock,” he says at last, voice very, very, low, “step aside before I force you aside.”

He’s bloody, holding one arm funny, and breathing far too evenly. Even Jim’s wary now, one hand inching towards his gun. Harvey huffs.

“Screw you,” he says, but he’s not dumb enough to fight Batman, and he steps aside. Batman’s still pissed, still ready for what Dove knows will be a one-sided fight, but he manages a stiff nod before turning that laser-focus back to Jason.

Jason’s still huddled in a ball. The fight’s gone out of him, the insane smile and that...that shine in his eyes. He’s not looking at Batman though, or at Joker. He’s just curled over his knees, arms wound around his ribs and head ducked down. Defensive, ready for a beating.

“Hey-hey, baby,” she murmurs, “no one’s gonna hurt you. Come on now, you’re okay.”

Jason uncurls a little, eyes wide, and before anyone can react he’s lunged at Jim and gotten the pistol out of his holster and aimed it at Batman.

“M’not doing this again,” he says, carefully flat. “M’not falling for it.”

“Robin--”

“Kid--”

“M’not falling for this again!” His eyes are wide and tears are running down his cheeks, but his hands are steady. Too steady. “I remember! I learned my lesson! M’not gonna let you get close enough to beat the crap outta me again!”

“Robin,” Batman breathes, and he’s not scary anymore. He’s just a man. “Robin, I never--”

“Stay back!”

Everybody knows Batman can disarm people in the blink of an eye. Dove’s not so sure he can get that gun from Jason before he pulls the trigger.

Jesus Christ, what did Joker do to him…

“All right,” Batman says softly. “All right. I’ll stay right here, and you can put the gun down--”

“No!” The word echoes off the buildings, a frantic, NONONONONONONONONO! “You think I’m stupid?” He laughs. It’s a flat, angry laugh that reminds Dove uncomfortably of the Joker. “You always did, huh?”

“I never--”

“Shut up!” Now he’s starting to shake a little and she sees Harvey shift, just a bit. Jason doesn’t appear to notice. “Just shut up, stop talking to me!”

“Hey. Kid.” What the fuck, Harvey? “C’mon, look at me.” Harvey steps closer. “C’mon. He’s not gonna get ya, just look at me.”

Dove doesn’t think he will, but she’s proven wrong. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t lower the gun, but he looks at Harvey.

“Good. Good, kid. Now just calm down, okay? No one’s gonna hurt ya, this isn’t…” He takes another step. “This isn’t like that.”

“No, no…”

“Hey. You’re not gonna break my heart an’ tell me I laid a finger on ya, are ya?” Harvey manages, God knows how, to give Jason a real smile. “And you know Dove’s not gonna hurt ya, right? You’re out, kid. You’re okay. So Bats is a bit of a dope--” Batman radiates mild offense. “--but he’s been lookin’ all over the place for you. So come on. Put the gun down.”

People underestimate Harvey sometimes. He’s a disaster, smokes too much and doesn’t clean and yeah, his landlord did try to murder him that one time and Dove could totally see where he was coming from, but...he’s a good guy. Mostly. He’s the kinda cop that she would’ve talked to as a little girl, y’know? He does his best for this hellhole of a city.

Jason’s arms shake and the guns do start lowering. Dove’s just thinking maybe he’ll be okay when he looks back at Batman and whispers, “I can’t.”

“Can’t what, Robin?” Batman’s voice is very, very soft. “Talk to me, son.”

Jason hiccups and spits out, “I killed people! Beat ‘em to death because they looked like you, they looked like you, they were gonna kill me--”

Jesus. Jesus Christ--

Jason’s still blubbering, voice thick and angry and horrified.

“--you’re not gonna want me anymore and I can’t go back to him I can’t I can’t--”

“You’re not going back to him,” Batman insists. “You’re never going back to him, we’re going--”

“No.” Jason swallows and when he speaks again, his voice is steady enough. “No. S’okay, B. There’s no fixin’ me, I know. S’okay.”

He raises the gun again, presses it to his head.

“M’sorry.”

Dove doesn’t see Batman move. One minute he’s over there, and the next minute, Jason’s disappeared under a shadow and the gun’s out of his hand. Jim grabs it and backs away.

Batman stands up, keeping Jason’s arms behind his back. Jason’s slumped forward, breathing hard.

“Listen to me,” he says, the softness of his tone a stark contrast to the firm restraint, “there is nothing you could do that would make me leave you with that monster. I promise.”

“But I--”

“Agent A’s missed you,” he continues. “And Nightwing, and. And Batgirl. I’m sorry, Robin, for failing you. But I never left you, and I certainly never replaced you. We can fix this, at home.” He sighs. “Come home, son.”

Jason bursts into tears, legs buckling under him, and Batman turns him around to hug him.

“Dad--”

“I’ve got you,” Batman murmurs. “I’ve got you. We’re going home right now.”

Dove wonders how-they all saw the destroyed car, Cobblepot had laughed about it-when there’s a noise that can only be described as Hell dropping out of the sky and a…

Oh. Right. Batman not only has a car, he also has a goddamn plane. Because that’s just something that he needs.

The plane lands on the lawn. Batman picks Jason up-looks a little awkward, with the growth spurt the kid’s managed-and turns around.

Nobody tries to stop him. Nobody even says anything until the plane’s in the air, and then Harvey sighs, flicks his toothpick away, and turns to Dove.

“Fuck it,” he says roughly. “You got a cigarette?”

She should say no. He’s been tryin’ to quit, doin’ real good, but…

She needs a smoke too, after that.

“Here.”

THE END

*Canon! (It’s mutual. It’s precious.

[snickiebear]

Hello, snickiebear! Congratulations on your 200 followers! If you have the time, would you mind writing Shisui x Sakura in a nonmass au? I’m actually curious about your take on a time travel scenario with this pairing, but I also understand that a lot of works have been written on time travel already, so it’s still awesome if you don’t do the time travel part!

Congratulations again and thanks for taking the time to read this ask! Your works are really enjoyable to read. Thank you so much for writing and for doing this 200-follower event!

hello lovely anon!!! thank YOU for reading and requesting!!!! this one was so much fun to write! you ask for time travel + nonmass + shisaku? i am helpless to deliver!! this is a bit more angsty than i wanted but are we surprised? (nope, not at all lmao) this is also now on AO3 bc i really liked it!

also, apologies that this took a bit!! lifes been a real fuckin bitch and the wall of writer's block hit me like a train AHAHAHA but i hope you like this one!!! :)))

The sky is sunny and the spring beautiful when the sky splits itself in half with a brillant, blinding flash of light.

Shisui, masked and riding the after mission high, can only stare as a body plummets from that crack, limp and silent.

It is as if the heavens have spit out what they have deemed unworthy.

Or perhaps, the heavens are dropping a gift on their doorstep.

Either way, Shisui is moving before he knows what is happening, catching that body— a woman with shaven pink hair— and holding her close, head tucked under his chin.

She’s breathing, chest rising and lowering feebly.

Shisui catches his breath as the fracture within the sky closes and only then does he notice the mask.

Porcelain and painted. A combination of a snake and fox, a wolf and slug.

His ANBU team materializes next to him, Dog-taicho’s chakra going from lazy to alert at the sight of the woman. “That’s…”

“Yeah.” Shisui says hoarsely. “She- she needs medical attention. I think.” There is a lot of blood, she’s dripping in it. But he can’t see where she’s bleeding from… or if all that blood is even hers.

“Let’s go.” Dog-taicho cuts through his thoughts, voice hard and a bit panicked. Afterall, Kakashi owes his life to this woman, they all did.

Team Ro blurred out of existence in their race to Kohona, their Savior clutched within his arms.

.

.

.

It's funny, really. When she looks back, as she so often does now, it's laughable. The fact that Haruno Sakura, the civilian born, the nobody, the weak one of Team 7 is the only one left.

Sakura was the only one left in the war against Kaguya and she had done what she has always done; what was needed.

So, Sakura was the only one left and she figured out what was left of Naruto’s seals and shot herself through time to fix everything, to save everyone. To take down Danzo, Hanzo, Madara, to save Sai, the Uchihas, Kakashi.

She was the one to heal Obito, to save Rin, to make sure that Itachi’s hands would never be stained with his family’s blood.

And now, now she sits in a T&I room and she laughs, laughs herself hoarse because she succeeded, she won. And now she is in the future, her intended destination, but it is not the same.

In this future, Haruno Sakura does not exist. She is nothing and no one.

Naruto and Sasuke are alive and well and happy. They get to live the lives they could have only dreamed about.

And Sakura. She doesn’t exist.

She laughs herself hoarse, the laughs turning into broken sobs and she drops her forehead to the table, hiccuping and clenching her hands into blood inducing fists.

Alone. As she always has been.

The door creaks open and Ibiki steps in, a folder in hand.

Sakura’s head snaps up, wiping her face as she almost sighs in relief. She loved (loves?) Ibiki, he once was one of her closest friends near the end. She knows Ibiki, trusts him. Or, at least, she had.

Sakura straightens in her chair, careful of the chakra suppressing handcuffs that really do nothing for her, just acting as a hindrance. But, she does not remove them because she is not a threat to Konoha, she never has been, never intends to be.

Ibiki sits down in front of her, eyeing her carefully and it almost feels like coming home. “You say your name is Haruno Sakura.”

“Yes.” She rasps, licking her cracked and bleeding lips. “That’s right.”

Her eyes flit to the glass window, ignoring her own reflection as she narrows her eyes at whoever is behind the wall. An unknown chakra signature, wild and worried. And— and—

Kakashi.

His cool and lazy chakra, almost like a current of electricity. She would know that chakra any where, as if it is engrained deep in her bones. And right now he’s interested, almost antsy.

Swallowing, Sakura looks back to Ibiki, who had been watching her keenly. “You already had Inoichi-san do a mind walk. You know everything I do.” Shoulders back, chin tilted, spine steeled.

The dead man that sits in front of her hums and opens a folder, “We believe you—”

“It is not a matter of believing.” Sakura snaps, eyes flashing. “You know it is a fact. He saw, he showed you, you saw. How could I ever make something like that up?”

“What we know,” Ibiki says too calmly, too pleasantly, “Is that you are severely traumatized.”

And Sakura well, she laughs again. Because. Because what else is she supposed to do? She gives and gives and gives and is given nothing back.

There are no fruits for her labor, no reward for her sacrifice.

Shoulders shaking as she cries and laughs, scrubbing at her face. “We were friends, you know.” She manages. “I made you laugh twice, once after I lost my middle finger,” Sakura holds up her hand to show him, unsure of why she is even talking. “The second when you were dying in my arms.”

Silence rings out as Sakura gathers herself, swallowing harshly. Ibiki is still looking at her, but the way is no longer cynical, no longer studying.

“Haruno—”

“Just Sakura,” She says wearily.

“Sakura-san,” He continues, “When you were brought in you had a mask on. A mask that has been seen countless times saving Konoha shinobi.”

Sakura does not dare mention the fact that she has also interfered with Suna, giving Gaara the childhood he deserves. And with Mist, cutting the head off the snake quickly enough that the caste system would never truly solidify.

So, she nods. “I am aware.”

“And you claim you are the person behind the mask on every occasion.”

Sighing, she runs a hand over what is left of her hair and makes direct eye contact with her once friend, giving a curt nod, “I am the person behind the mask.”

“One last question, Sakura-san.” Ibiki murmurs, jotting something down in his folder. Sakura forces herself not to read the familiar writing. Though, she is well equipped to read upside down. “How did you come to possess the rinnegan?”

The air drops from mildly uncomfortable to freezing and Sakura does not balk at the question. “You saw it for yourself, Ibiki. It was a gift.”

“Yes, but from who?”

Her heart aches, squeezes at the thought of Naruto, of Sasuke, phantom pains. It is as if she has lost a limb, a piece of her heart when they had turned to ash between her fingers. But Sakura does not waver as she says, “It was a parting gift from Uchiha Sasuke before he died.”

The unknown chakra behind the wall erupts into a mess of emotions while Kakashi’s is mildly surprised if not wary. There is tension between the both of them though.

Which is incredibly amusing considering it wasn’t until much, much later did Kakashi ever see anything to be wary about in her.

(It took her flicking the ground and allowing it to split open and swallow any of their pursuers to convince him that she could very well tear him in half without a second thought.

She wouldn’t though. Team 7 and its members will always be a soft and deeply bruised spot for her. A wound she could never quite heal. Sakura cannot remember a time when she has ever been bruiseless. She has come to terms with being wounded.)

Ibiki closes the folder and taps it on the steel table between them, he motions over his shoulder and the door opens swiftly, revealing Kakashi and another Uchiha with curly hair.

He’s just as she remembers him, except not. Her Kakashi had slouched, had a certain energy about him.

This one, he looks the same, has the scar, the slight slouch. But it is clear that ghosts no longer beat on his back, the world's weight no longer bends him to its will.

Pain races through her heart, echoing physically throughout her body. It hurts. It shouldn’t, seeing her old sensei, her once friend, happy. But it does.

Because while she cannot live without Team 7, it is clear Team 7 can live without her.

She straightens, eyes sharp and body tense as Ibiki stands, chair scraping harshly against the floor and then takes her hands into his, calluses and scars scraping against each other.

Sakura could only imagine what Tsunade-shishou would say if she were to see her, riddled with scars and missing fingers. She could have healed them without a second thought, but chakra had been precious then. Every single ounce had been poured into keeping her precious people safe and herself alive enough to keep fighting.

Her once friend produces a key and unlocks the handcuffs, letting them drop heavily into his awaiting hands before standing up, “Sakura-san, this is Hatake Kakashi,” Her former teacher gives her a hard once over. “And Uchiha Shisui.”

Her skin itches and crawls at Kakashi’s look, cold and unfond, nothing like how she remembers him. And of course, of course he wouldn’t be the man who she had come to adore. He is someone else in this carefully constructed future of her own doing.

The blame, as always, rests upon her weakening shoulders. Sakura is crumbling, her sanity chipping away ever so slowly. It is laughable, really. She wants to throw her head back and howl, she wants to bow and allow herself to scream.

But, if she were to begin to scream, she is not sure she would be able to stop.

So, she gives a curt nod, “Hatake-san. Uchiha-san.”

“Shisui, and therefore the Uchiha, have volunteered to bring you into their custody.” Ibiki goes on, taking a step back. Sakura stays where she is, rooted.

A chill runs up her spine and she looks to Ibiki almost pleadingly. “And you can’t simply dump me into ANBU instead?”

“Mah, Sakura-san.” Kakashi drawls and Sakura’s will cracks. (That bruise will never quite heal.) “I can promise that the Uchiha aren’t as bad as they seem.”

Shisui smiles and it is unlike any smile she has seen before.

She cannot remember the last time she had seen a smile.

“Don’t listen to the old man, Sakura-san.” Shisui says and she’s caught off guard at how friendly he sounds, deep and welcoming. Sakura swallows harshly. “We’re a bunch of assholes but no harm will come to you, we can promise that.”

Uchiha men, she thinks with distaste, will always hold a knife to her heart. And they will always know how to twist the wretched blade to get her to bend for them.

But. But perhaps Sakura could bend, bend and lay and rest. Just once. And this time she'll bend for herself. Perhaps.

She finds herself nodding, hands shaking despite the steel in her spine, her shoulders still straight. “You’re going to just let me go.”

Ibiki gives her a hard look and Sakura’s lips twitch. Ah, of course not. The Uchiha compound is just a glorified prison. Then again, it is much better than anything she thought would happen.

Then again, Saura never thought this would happen.

Too desperate, too blind with the possibility of a chance to see them again, to be whole again. She, for all her brains, all her genius, had not even stopped to think of the possibility that her future would no longer exist.

It is laughable, really.

So she laughs, she clutches her stomach and laughs because what else can she do?

Sakura has done what she has always done; what was needed. And once again, like every other time, there is nothing but black at the end of the tunnel. No light exists for her.

She is to blame for her own destruction, her own crumbling.

.

.

.

“You can come out,” Sakura’s voice calls out and Shisui grins.

He steps from the shadows, two mugs in hand as he comes to sit next to her, offering her the drink. She takes it without hesitation but swirls it before sipping from it, Shisui watches as her eyes light up just a little bit.

Hot cocoa with peanut butter. He had noticed, the last time the clan had it, that she’d snuck four mugs worth.

If Sakura was surprised he noticed, she didn’t show it. She was like that, a one way mirror, giving nothing away even as she saw everything.

“Did you want something, Shisui-san?” She twitches as he scoots a little closer, the fireflies floating around the backyard. “Or did you just want some company?”

Shisui smiles boyishly, tilting his head back to look at her, “Heard that Minato-sama called you into the Hokage’s office again.”

“You mean you heard from Genma, who told Itachi while on their date, who then told you that the Hokage summoned me for the fourth time this week.” Sakura snorts, taking a long drink from her mug. There's a little foam on her upper lip that he fights to not wipe away. “He and his wife keep trying to convince me to let them look at the seals I used.”

Shisui pauses, eyes trained on Sakura as she looks to the sky, head leaning back. Her hair has grown out a little, more fuzz on her head than anything, she looks more alive, well fed. Deep bags under her one visible eye, three nasty scars dissect her face and the rest of her body isn’t any better.

She is the most beautiful, most terrifying, most devastating thing he has ever seen.

“The seals you used…”

“To go back and hop through time like a jack rabbit to save the entire world?” She asks, a wry smile on her face. “Yes, Shisui, those seals.”

He hums, leaning back on the heels on her hands, “Why don’t you just let them look?”

“They aren’t my seals to share.” Sakura half snaps, shoulders curling in, her body strung tight. “Naru— my friend was the one to draw them out, I just figured out the last bit of it. Plus, there is no reason why they need to see those seals.” Her tone sharp, unyielding almost pleading.

Shisui stays quiet until Sakura begins to slowly relax. She gets like this sometimes, tense and defensive. As if trying to convince herself rather than him of her deeds. He knew better than to push, he knew that she had gone through more than anyone would ever go through.

The way Ibiki and Inoichi look at her with the utmost respect can verify that. The way Kakashi and Rin and Obito have gone out of their way to greet her, to help her speaks volumes.

He takes a drink from his mug, studying the stars winking above them. “Hey Sakura,”

“Yes?” She sounds oh so weary. His very soul aches.

“Thank you, for everything.” He doesn’t dare look at her, barely hearing himself over the pounding of his heart. “You don’t talk much about what happened but I know, I can tell that it was horrible. And thank you for saving us, the world.”

She had lost everything, everyone. In that future that she had protected them from Sasuke died, Itachi died, he was dead. He could only imagine what the ruins of that world looked like. He could only imagine what Sakura had to do to survive.

Sakura’s fingers are cold, freezing as they brushes the back of his hand. Shisui fights a shiver, the trail of goosebumps, the thrill. “Oh, oh Shisui.” Her voice is heartbreaking and full of nothing but steel. “I would never allow anyone to endure that. You will never have to endure that, I made sure of it. Never. No one will. I promise.”

Her hand draws back as she brings her knees to her chest, eyes far away and breathes quick. And Shisui, he doesn’t know what comes over him as he scoots even closer and carefully wraps his arm around her strong shoulders, drawing her closer.

And. And Sakura, she allows it. She moves to his side, not quite leaning but touching.

“Are you happy here?” Shisui finds himself asking after long minutes of silence. Sakura’s breath evened out and she sits with her chin on her knees.

Her eye flits to him, weighing and heavy. She looks at him and Shisui cannot help but see the age, the ancientness that has taken root. He wants to pull out the misery within her, wants to hold her tight enough that she will never fall apart without somewhere there to catch the pieces.

He wants to love her, he wants her to let him love her.

“No.” Sakura whispers, as if her unhappiness in a world that does not know her, that has done nothing for her is such an awful, wretched thing. “I miss everyone.”

Shisui cannot say anything so he does what he does best; what he wants.

He stays with her, arm resting on her shoulders and slowly, Sakura allows herself to lean into his side.

Around them, the night settles and the crickets chirp. The heavens had nothing to do with Haruno Sakura, with their Savior, coming to them. No, Sakura is the catalyst of this, of this paradise they now all reside in.

If anything, she is the heavens themselves. And it is about time someone tells her that, shows her that.

.

.

.

Sakura sees them for the first time in the five months she has landed in this new future. Itachi invited her to meet his genin team. Itachi, the man who had once been a mass murderer, is now a mednin and a jounin sensei.

Shisui joins her because of course he does, he has been the one constant throughout this entire ordeal. The Uchihas are nothing like she thought they would be. The Uchihas are everything she hoped they would.

They are loving, friendly, welcoming, and thankful. Mikoto is nothing but heaven sent sunshine and cloud soft embraces, Fukago is nothing but a deep rumbling laugh and fond looks.

No one is the same, nothing is the same.

Shisui is there though, at her side, at her back. She trusts him, gods, she trusts him. Despite her better judgement, despite everything. Sakura trusts Shisui.

So, Shisui joins her as she takes to the roofs and to training field 7. She’s finally been cleared for the mission roster and given her jounin blues. Though, Sakura has yet to decide if she even would enjoy going on missions.

Maybe with Shisui.

But she does not think she has a taste for violence anymore, for killing. Maybe she'll spend her days with Kakashi's dogs and holed up in the libraries. Maybe she'll visit Gaara or Chojuro.

She had yet to meet Tsunade, who had been hunting for her since Minato (the bastard) had let it slip that Sakura was in possession of the rinnegan and the byakugan seal. Shisui is exceptionally good at playing discractor as Sakura flees to rock in a corner until he finds her. He's good at that, holding her, letting her breathe, allowing her to find solace within his arms and his space.

They step onto the training fields and Sakura freezes mid step to watch as Sasuke, Naruto, and Sai (oh, oh Sai. Sweet Sai, oh.) attack in perfect sync.

They’re fourteen if her math is correct.

They move smooth and swift, nonverbal communication as if they had been working like this for years. It's beautiful, really.

Something ugly claws at her heart, catching on an already scabbing part to rip open a new wound. Simply another reminder that Sakura is not needed. She never was.

It's laughable, really.

Shisui’s fingers massages the sides of her neck with his fingers, the spot where her skull and neck meet. “You’re tense.”

“They have beautiful teamwork.” She chokes out.

He looks at her, long and open, “We can go home, if you want.”

Shisui’s good at that t00, the open ended question, the way of making her not feel trapped. He's too perceptive for his own good, she has yet to tell him anything except what is on record. But, but. He knows. He knows of Kakashi, of Naruto, Sasuke, and Sai. It is both a relief and a terror. “No.” She manages, curling her hands. She is Haruno Sakura. She has faced the impossible her entire life. Ghosts are nothing compared to gods.

At least, that is what she tells herself.

“I’ll be fine.” Sakura glances up at him, licking her lips. He watches the movement before his eyes flit back up hers and he offers one of her favorite smiles. The one where his dimples are visible, where she can see the small chip of his front tooth and the way his top canin is a little crooked.

Itachi calls the spar minutes later, the boys slumping onto the ground and breathing heavily. Sakura offers a small smile as Itachi nears them, waving a hand in greeting.

“Ah, Sakura-chan.” He grins, then looks to Shisui, dry amusement clear in his tone, “Shisui.”

“You’ve trained them well,” Sakura praises, watching as Naruto (oh gods, Naruto with his big blue eyes and blonde, blonde hair) pulls a limp Sasuke (a Sasuke who laughs freely, who smiles, and is loved) onto his feet, Sai huffing a chuckle from the ground.

Itachi practically beams at the praise, “They are very talented. And you would like to meet them, yes?”

Shisui’s thumb traces the bumps of her spine and Sakura is reminded that she has forged herself from the ashes of her friends, that she is borne from war and steel. She can do this. Shisui is here and she can do this. “Yes, I would love to, Itachi.”

Shisui’s hand burns through her clothes as they follow Itachi, the boys immediately catching sight and freezing at the sight of them. Sakura will never admit it out loud that she has been avoiding any and all people from her past (present? future?).

One look at Ino, whole and happy and sassy, and Sakura had almost gone insane. And then Shikamaru and Chouji, all together, all smiling. Gods, Sakura had fallen to her knees at the sight. Such grief, such loneliness—

She’s better now. She is.

“Team 7.” Itachi says, “This Haruno Sakura, and you already know Shisui.”

Silence.

Sakura shifts under the wide eyed gazes of the boys, the men she loved (loves?) with her entire being. “It is a pleasure to meet you,”

Naruto recovers first because of course he does. And he smiles at her, he smiles at her and Sakura wants to claw at her skin and cry. Shisui intertwines their hands, as if sensing that urge.

“I’m Uzumaki Naruto!” He’s fourteen and he's alive and he’s happy. He isn’t out of the village, he’s here because he has a clan, he has a family. “Is it true that you’re the Savior?”

Sasuke smacks him in the back of the head with a scowl, “Be polite, dobe.” To Sakura he offers a bow, “It is pleasure to meet you, Haruno-san. I am Uchiha Sasuke.”

Sakura’s lips twitch despite herself. Never, not once, did Sasuke ever bow to anyone. He had always been arrogant, but here? Now? It's laughable, really.

She glances to Sai and he isn’t as pale as he once was, his cheeks are full of color, his eyes brimming with life. “I am Senju Sai, Haruno-san.”

And. Sakura pauses at that. Senju Sai, huh. Perhaps she'll have to face Tsunade sooner than later. The thought added to the dread filled pool in her stomach. But. But, she could do it. Maybe.

“It is very nice to meet you all,” She croaks and then offers a very brittle smile. “And Naruto-kun,” She fights a shiver at the honorific. “That information is S class, but find me when you make jounin, hm?” And for a moment she could pretend that everything was okay and she was teasing her Naruto. Just for a moment.

Much to her amusement, all three boys pout, looking to Itachi who shrugs, “You heard Sakura, now, let’s see formation Alpha but reverse.”

The boys groan and Sakura can’t help the smile, a smile with teeth.

She can feel Shisui’s eyes on her before she even turns to look at him. Her body is shaking, Sakura realizes blankly but Shisui still holds her sweating hands, squeezing ever so slightly. “Ready to go?”

Sakura swallows, staring up at him, studying him. And oh, she is so tempted to uncover her eye, to memorize his face. “Yes. Let’s… let's go home.”

.

.

.

He wakes to warmth pressed against his chest, warm breaths against his neck. Their legs are tangled, her arm thrown over his side and brushes against the bare skin of his back. Both of them are missing their clothes, Sakura preferred being able to feel the skin on him, the brush of flesh between them.

What they have, it is something deeper than any type of physical act. No, what they have… well, Shisui can not put it to words. There are no words. There will never be words.

It is rare for Sakura to sleep soundlessly and through the entire night. Shisui kisses her forehead, above her seal, on one of the many scars of her face. She doesn’t stir except to shift ever so slightly, hugging him closer.

And if Shisui’s heart melts, no one else is there to see the absolute brilliant smile on his lips.

“Sakura,” He murmurs because if she doesn’t get up soon, she’ll miss her lunch with Ibiki (who gets very grumpy when his time with Sakura is cut short), “Sakura.”

She grumbles, limbs tensing for a moment, a single breath before melting once more. “Shisui,” Her voice is rough with sleep, the sound swirls and dances around his bones. “G’mornin’.”

Shisui laughs, a soft push of air, as Sakura leans back to peer at him, both eyes uncovered as she studies him, the look like a physical caress. “Good morning.” He whispers, kissing her forehead once again.

“What time is it?” She murmurs, eyes drooping closed.

“You’ve got about an hour before Ibiki comes knocking.” Shisui chuckles.

Sakura snorts, pulling away to stretch her arms above her head, arching her back in the way that Shisui can admire every muscle, every scar, every part of her. “Then I better get up,”

“Or, you could always stay,” Shisui cajools, to which Sakura only laughs. The sound is beautiful and full and makes his heart beat a little faster.

“The last time I canceled on Ibiki was when I had to help Itachi with his and Genma’s wedding plans, and he sent little Terror Ino after me for a week.”

Shisui cracks an even wider grin, “Well, at least you got some nice clothes out of it.”

Laughing again, Sakura leans down to kiss him, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Go on,” Shisui shoos, making a little gesture with his hand. “Have fun, I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

She cups his face, thumbing the sharp of his cheek bone before leaning forward to kiss him again, "I love you." Then. "I am glad that my suffering brought me to you, that I landed here."

"I love you." He returns, barely a whisper as he brushes hair behind her ears. His heart beats for her, cracks and aches and swells. All for her. "There will never be a time that I will not love you. There will never be a time where I do not see you and see everything you are, everything you have done."

The sky is sunny and the spring beautiful as Sakura, the very heavens themselves, mouth splits into a brilliant, blinding smile.

(Sakura has crumbled and broken, she has fallen apart over and over. She has always known how to put herself together, until she couldn’t.

But Shisui, oh Shisui, he has always been readily available with glue and tape. He will always be there to hold her together with his bare hands, ready to bleed for her, with her.

She has given and given and given. He is willing to give everything back to her tenfold.

It is the very least she deserves, the very least the world can gift her. Shisui will always be willing to give more.)

[imagine-the-fanfics]

Honesty

Characters: Goro Majima x Reader X Daigo Dojima

Warnings: Cheating, dubious consent (drunk), fighting (couple), mentions of sex (no smut), strong language, toxic relationship

Inspiration: “Honest” by The Chainsmokers; “2” by H.E.R.; “Story to Tell Your Friends” by Every Avenue

A/n: I don’t have anything to say that hasn’t been said already.

You slid out of bed, taking a moment to look over your shoulder at the naked man sleeping next to you. As wrong as it was, your thoughts were with someone else. It hurt knowing he wasn’t with you tonight, and it was likely he was in someone else’s bed, too. You almost couldn’t help but laugh at the fucked-up mess your once sweet relationship had grown into. Neither of you knew where the other was, and you weren’t sure either of you really cared anymore.

Your steps were soft as you walked around the hardwood-floored room, gathering your clothing and dressing as quietly as possible. Memories of screaming Daigo’s name echoed through your mind. The arrangement between you and the sleeping man was one neatly arranged. You’d have sex, hang out till he slept, and then leave. In return, he took you to nice restaurants and on nice dates, buying you everything you could possibly want, and gifting more money to you than you could ever spend. Majima still paid your bills, otherwise this man likely would do that, too. It was an arrangement that suited everyone else just fine, even though everyone complained about it.

You took your phone off the dresser near the bedroom’s door, checking it for any messages from your boyfriend, but there was none. Of course there wasn’t. Why would you think anything else? You hadn’t heard from him in over two weeks, why would that change? Goro had told you to call off your relationship with Daigo long ago, but you never did. How many times had Goro cheated on you before you got with Daigo? And how many times had he cheated after telling you to call it off? Too many, on both accounts.

Okay, so maybe having your boyfriend’s boss as your Sugar Daddy wasn’t the best idea, but you didn’t care at this point. There were so many times that you had thought about just breaking up with Majima for Dojima, but you knew better than to think you and Majima would ever let the other go. This was too toxic a relationship for that. You knew he’d kill anyone you tried to be with after him, even his boss, and you knew that you would be crawling after him, begging him to take you back if he ever left you. You knew this because both had already happened. Multiple times.

You ran your fingers through your hair in an effort to get your post-sex bedhead under control. It was, naturally, a futile effort, but still an effort worth making as you prepared to leave your Sugar Daddy’s secret apartment. It didn’t take long to have everything packed up into your purse before leaving, quietly closing the door behind you and locking it with your key. In the hall you started humming to yourself, checking your phone again.

Why you kept checking it was beyond you, but you still did. You guess part of you just wanted him to miss you. To want you. To do something. He wouldn’t. You knew he wouldn’t because he never did.

You hailed a cab, hopping in and returning home.

 ~~~ 

Majima sat in the back of a private car, playing on his phone while some drunk hostesses sat on either side of him. He looked up at the clock and sighed. It was 5 am and all he wanted was to go home. All he wanted was to hold you. The thought to text you and ask you to come home was one not easily dismissed. “Majima~” one of the girls called, grabbing his arm and pouting. “Why are you on your phone? Pay attention to us~”

“Whatever ya want, ladies,” Majima said as he smiled, sliding the phone back in his pocket and resting his arms on the back of the seats. The girls leaned into him, giggling as they traced their fingers over his tattoos like you had when things were still good. Those times were some that he longed to return to, but that was no longer an option. The two of you had made your bed, and the two of you had to lie in it.

The girls kissed him wherever they could. One focused on his neck, the other turned his head towards her and kissed his lips, her hand reaching over to get tangled up in his hair. She was giggling into the kiss, drunk as shit. He was drunk, too, so he didn’t care. All he wanted to do right now was forget about you. If these two women wanted to give it a shot, he wouldn’t stop them.

The driver left them outside of a love hotel, leaving to find a place to park as the trio stumbled inside.

 ~~~ 

When you arrived home, you came home to Majima sitting at the dinner table of your small apartment, taking a drag off of a cigarette. Why he was there was beyond you, but you reminded yourself to get his key before you broke up with him. If you ever broke up with him. It wasn’t likely, but still something you hoped to do someday.

“You’re home awfully late,” Majima acknowledged, sighing but not looking at you.

“I was out with a friend, sorry. I didn’t think you were coming over. You haven’t talked to me in weeks, so…”

“Don’t gimme that shit, Y/n.” Another drag. “You with Daigo again?”

“You told me to call it off, so I did. I haven’t seen Daigo since we called it off.” It was a statement you both knew was a lie. You didn’t really have friends, at least none that you would be out until 8 am with.

“Why d’ya always insist on lyin’ to me?” Majima’s face and tone were deadpan. “Ya know how much it hurts me, Y/n.”

“Does it?” You were growing frustrated. “Does it hurt you to stick your dick in every pussy in town? Does it hurt you to disappear for weeks at a time? Does it—”

“If you don’ shut the FUCK up…” Majima’s voice trailed off as he took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling as he spoke, “The people that make accusations like that are cheatin’ shits.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” You hissed. “I can’t deal with this, get out of my apartment.”

Majima calmly put his cigarette, turning to look at you. “Why would I do that, Darlin’? I’ve missed ya. No one makes ya scream like I do. No one screams my name like you. Baby girl, don’t make me spell it out for ya,” he sighed standing up and walking over. “C’mere,” he stuck his arms out to hug you, stopping as he caught your scent. “You reek of sex.” The coldness in his voice sent a chill down your spine. “Fuckin’ LIAR!” He shouted, turning away from you, kicking the chair so hard that it groaned against the floor as it slid, nearly falling over before it hit the table leg with loud thud.

��Look who’s fucking talking!” You called back, hands raised in frustration. “Why are we even doing this anymore when we both clearly don’t want this toxic ass relationship?! Let’s just end it and be free of each other! There’s no reason we have to live like this!”

“I LOVE YOU!” Majima screamed, followed by a, “FUCK!” He kicked the table, knocking the ashtray onto the floor, ash spreading everywhere. Thankfully, the ashtray was a sturdy plastic, so it didn’t break.

“REALLY?!” You shouted in response, walking over to him. “YOU CALL THIS LOVE?!”

He put his hand around your throat and kissed you. “I love ya,” Majima muttered, his lips hovering over yours, “but ya have to knock this shit off. All it does is piss me off, and when I’m pissed off, I lash out.” His lips pressed against yours and he pinned you to the wall, still holding your throat.

You hated how much you wanted this, and how easy it was for him to get your body purring for him. The kissing grew more intense, and before you knew it his shirt was off and so was yours. He lifted you up, wrapping your legs around him before carrying you to the bedroom, dropping you on the bed carelessly before undoing his belt.

 ~~~ 

“I have to be honest…” Hesitation. “I can’t do this anymore,” You say quietly as you stare at your breakfast, unable to eat.

“Sure ya can, Darlin’. Ain’t no reason to worry your pretty little head about,” Majima assured.

“I’m not an idiot, Goro.” You looked up to meet his gaze. “We’ve both been cheating. I can’t live like this, constantly wondering why I’m not good enough, finding security and validation in people outside of our relationship while you chase bugs around town. I can’t live with the anxiety anymore…” You paused before continuing, “I’m tired, Goro. Let’s just call it quits and move on, okay?”

“Are you serious?” His voice was soft, fake accent gone, as he looked at you, searching your eyes for any hint that this wasn’t happening.

“I am. I need this to be the last time we call it quits, and for you to not kill the people that I date. A clean break for both of us after years of pain. Can you do that? For me?” You looked back at your breakfast. “We had something so good when this started but look at what it’s turned into. We can’t keep living like this, Goro.”

“You’re right,” he said as his gaze shifted to his own breakfast. “I’m too old to be playing these games, Y/n. We should just… Move on.”

“Exactly. I always wanted a family, Majima. I want to try and find that for myself.” You didn’t mention how you had thought you found that with him before things turned into the poisonous disease your relationship had degraded into. “I want that for you, too. You’ll find someone else, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, standing up. “I… I’m going to leave. No sense in waiting for the inevitable.”

You looked up at him, seeing the vacant expression you’d seen a hundred times when he was lost in his own mind. Your heart broke to see him like this, but you knew this was for the best. You bit your cheek, resisting the urge to stop him. You needed to let him go. You didn’t have the choice if you wanted to start over with someone new. You watched as he worked the key to your apartment off of his keyring.

“I’ll pay your apartment for three more months. After that the lease is up and you can sign a fresh lease. You won’t hear from me anymore, and I hope you won’t contact me either.

Still, it was strange that he was going so quietly. It made you uneasy as you watched him leave, though you were speechless. If you spoke it would only be to beg for forgiveness and start this endless cycle all over again.

He opened the door and looked back at you, nothing but pure sadness in his eye as he watched you. After a moment he closed the door. The second it closed you started to sob. As toxic as the two of you were together, you both truly loved each other deep down. This wasn’t romantic, this was tragic.

Together you were as toxic and violent to each other as Harley and Joker; breaking up was as painful as the ending of Titanic.

 ~~~ 

“Daigo?” You asked quietly, looking at the man lying next to you as you sat on the bed.

“What?” He asked, looking back at you.

“What are we doing?” You looked around the bedroom of the apartment.

“The same thing we’ve been doing for over a year… Why?” He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going, and the look on his made you worried about his reaction.

“I know the arrangement is that we don’t date, but I’ve been thinking…” A deep breath for courage. “Why don’t we date? We’re basically dating already.”

Daigo sat up, leaning over to grab his pack of cigarettes. “Because that’s the stipulation you put on this relationship. Majima and whatever. I like it, to be honest. ”

“It’s been over a month since Maijma and I called it off, and he’s been respecting the deal we made. I know you’ve had me followed,” you studied the pattern of the bedding, running your finger over it as you traced the patterns. He lit the cigarette and took the first draw as you spoke.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you—”

“I wouldn’t be mad at you if you didn’t, given my history with Majima, but I know it’s just for my protection,” you looked at him, seeing his cigarette between his lips as he took a drag. “Still, it proves to you that I’m not fucking around behind your back. I know we’re not in love or anything, and I’m not expecting anything serious. Still, I think we should give it a shot.”

“I don’t know, Y/n. What we have now is transactional. You provide me companionship; I provide money. No feelings; no attachments; no hurt when it’s over.”

“That’s true,” your gaze returned to the bedding and you traced the pattern again. “I think we could be good together. You mentioned that people are pressuring you to get married, and that something I want—”

“It’s way too soon to talk about marriage when we aren’t even dating, Y/n.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. We could give this a serious shot, maybe that would be in our future. Even if we kept it transactional, no emotions involved, it would save us the issue of finding a partner. I’d have the family I always wanted, and you’d have the wife you’re being pressured to find. We can date first, see if we’re a good fit, and go from there.” You weren’t sure if you’d done a good enough job explaining what you meant, but it would have to do, and Daigo looked like he was seriously considering the offer. “Like I said, if there’s no actual spark but we’re comfortable with the arrangement, what’s the harm?”

“You told me once you wanted a husband you loved and that loved you in return.”

“Well, time is running out on that. It’s more important to me to have a child than to have love in a relationship. I want a child in a marriage. Nothing wrong with being a single parent, it’s just not what I want.” You watched as Daigo flicked his ashes into the bedside ashtray.

“Alright. No sense in not giving it a try.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Sixteen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: A very special shoutout to @anonymouscosmos for all of their encouragement and support! You are a god among insects. I’d also like to thank the discord chat for enduring my nonsense, as ever. Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore and detailed descriptions of previous abuse. Stay safe!]

Her head had been blown open, or at least it felt that way. The explosion was so close to her face that her helmet had just peeled off like it was made out of shrapnel-laden papier-mâché.

  Sergeant Shaun 'Lucky' Cathan was flat on his back hardly a foot away from her, pinned under the weight of the debris that was slowly crushing his armor. 

  She couldn't move. Her arms and legs wouldn't respond. That blow to the head had been nearly fatal. She was trapped on her stomach, inches from him.

  "Backhand-" Cathan choked, his voice wet. His gauntlet fumbled for her own, large metal fingers gripping her hand. "End of the line for me, eh Handy?"

  She gurgled something, trying to talk. One eye still worked. Barely. It felt like it was full of glass every time she forced herself to blink. It was too dark to see much anyway, even if she squinted. Her head throbbed with the beat of her heart. 

  "Save--your strength, Vega." Cathan instructed. 

  She wasn't sure what strength he was even talking about. Her armor felt like it had collapsed down on her spine. "Sir-" Vega managed to say. "S'been an honor-"

  "Don't give me that-- shit , Vega." Cathan chuckled. "I was just another dog of war. You'll get out of this. Go back to that man of yours, have a few kids, live your life." He coughed, wheezing, "my time is up, Handy."

  "No, no I'm-" Backhand tried to pull him closer, tried to get upright. Pain jolted down her back and legs and she halted, trembling. "I c-can't leave you here, Sarge." She groaned, knowing deep down that it was futile but refusing to give up .

  Cathan's grip tightened briefly. "It's alright, Handy." Her CO murmured. "It's alright. Make sure Tabitha has me buried on American soil. Or chuck my ashes in the harbor, yeah? Piss off all those Cambridge fucks." He chuckled.

  Backhand nodded as best as she could, the tears stinging painfully against the flayed skin of her face. "I will. Promise."

  The rubble overhead creaked and groaned, dust falling down on top of them. "Won't be long now." Cathan mused faintly, "Not long at all…"

  …

  Danse struggled to sit up and roll Vega onto her back. His own injuries faded to the background of his mind as she laid unresponsive, blood slowly pooling in the dirt beneath her left side. Her mouth opened and closed in a spasm; her eyes had rolled back in her skull and her fingers twitched erratically. 

  Have to hold pressure. Stop the bleeding. Danse numbly pressed his shaking hands down on her side just below her ribs, his body suddenly awash in a cold sweat as he realized just how much blood she was losing. He could almost hear Haylen rambling about the arteries, internal bleeding, penetrating damage, Worwick and Brach and Dawes and Keane and Danse felt like he was going to be sick. 

  "H... Haylen! " He yelled desperately. It was the only thing he could think to do.

  Then, against all odds, startling the everliving daylights out of him, Vega sat up . " Oh , you fuckin' asshole! " She hollered at Maxson around Danse's body while the paladin scrambled to attempt to stem the flow of fresh blood that her motion sent spurting out. "You really fuckin' shot me?! You're the worst kind of dick! " 

  Danse was flabbergasted. Her state was clearly compromised, how was she even conscious-

  "Fuck!" Vega growled in pain, dropping her forehead to rest on Danse's chest. "Oh fuck, fuck fuck you, you told me Danse was fuckin' dead, you liar! You expect me to just stand by and let you kill him in front of me?!" She continued to rant at Maxson, her voice muffled somewhat by Danse's shirt. "You dumb fuckin' prick, you stupid fuckin' dipshit motherfuck son of a cockass! This ain't exactly my first time gettin' fuckin' shot, you fuckin' fuck!"

  Danse realized that Arthur hadn't said a damn thing, possibly just as bewildered and awestruck by Elizabeth's impressive grasp of blue-streaked vernacular as he himself was.

  "Paladin Brandis, if I may…?" Haylen's voice was almost inaudible over Backhand's continued snarling. Danse jerked his attention away from Elizabeth, trying to blink the sweat out of his eyes in order to determine the field scribe's location.

  "Scribe, get the hell back behind the line!" Maxson barked. 

  Heavy footfalls heralded the arrival of Rhys and Haylen, the knight using his power armor like a shield to protect the scribe as if they were out in the field. Haylen was suddenly there , on her knees in the gravel next to Danse and Elizabeth. The paladin's eyes were now blinded with tears of gratitude and he huffed out a breath. "Danse, I'll get to you in a second." Haylen said softly, patting his hand. "Let me have her, okay?"

  "Haylen, I…" the large man didn't know what to say, his words failing him. He clutched pitifully at the scribe's hands, sure that he was gripping too tight.

  "I've got her, Danse. It's okay." Scribe Haylen soothed.

  "Yeah Danse, s'okay." Backhand said blearily, "s'Haylen, she's great. We love Haylen." Her head lolled back like it was too heavy for her to hold up. "Haylen made sure I got to eat and stuff."

  " What? " Danse rasped. 

  "The tactics Elder Maxson used during her incarceration…" Haylen trailed off, grimacing and then continuing in an undertone, "I made sure Rhys smuggled in something for her when he brought Brandis' meals."

  "Vega, Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry." Danse apologized needlessly, resting his forehead against Elizabeth's as he supported her neck. "I didn't think anything would happen to you. I...I didn't think in general, I guess." He admitted.

  Vega smiled . "Hey, I'd say whatever shit I went through was a pretty decent tradeoff for finding out that you didn't bite it after all." She slurred. "Missed you."

  " Christ , Vega." Danse muttered in dismay, fighting to untie her hands. Haylen took over after a moment, the scribe's fingers infinitely more steady than his own.

  "I need a Stim and a bloodpack!" Haylen announced after examining Vega's abdomen, looking up worriedly. 

  Not a soul moved. The only sound was the noise of Maxson wriggling in the grip of the armored knight who finally had him secured. "Listen to the scribe!" Brandis shouted to the mute crowd. "You have a sister bleeding in front of you and you would be still and silent? Where are the brave, compassionate soldiers I once knew? Knights! Scribes! Are you not Brotherhood?"

  Two aspirants finally elbowed their way through the throng, making a wide berth around Maxson. One of them bore a large canvas bag. "Good, good work. Drop it here." Haylen instructed, unrolling her field kit. "Can I get a scribe with steady hands and another knight for the opposite side?" She called. 

  A knight thundered past Maxson, the man throwing Danse of all people a haphazard salute before he took up his post at the other end of the group. Maxson practically seethed with rage. "Knight, how dare you salute that--that thing! "

  "That thing is still Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel, Maxson." Brandis growled. "He won the trial fair and square."

  "I will not allow it to live!" Maxson shrieked hysterically, struggling against the iron hold of the knight bear-hugging him. "I don't care how many of you I have to take down, Danse dies today! "

  "Maxson!" Brandis chided. "Do you even hear yourself? You sound insane! Think about what you're saying before you do something you'll regret!"

  "Not before he dies! "

  "Which would you rather be known as, Maxson? The abuser or the synth fucker?" Maxson froze at the sound of Danse's voice. The burly paladin shot the elder a bloodied sneer, his head tilted to the side at an almost arrogant angle. "After all, you got fucked by a synth." What the hell was he saying? Danse felt unhinged , words flippant, his tired limbs barely cooperating as he forced himself up on his knees and then to his feet. "You let a synth fuck you, Arthur." 

  " Abomination -"

  "You ordered a synth to fuck you." Danse reminded him, voice grating as his words came faster. "Demanded it to fuck you. Abused it. Threatened it with a certain death mission if it didn't. Then gave it that mission anyway." Danse rubbed at some crusted blood beneath his blackened right eye, grimacing. "Does it make it better if you didn't know I was a synth? Because then , you have to justify the reality that you molested a soldier in a compromised emotional state utilizing your privileged position of authority. Can you accept that , Maxson?"

  "You...Maxson, is this true?" Brandis asked incredulously.

  "That thing is clearly lying!" Maxson scoffed, looking around at the spellbound crowd like he expected everyone to agree with him. "Dammit, I am the elder -"

  "Did you hope that I would die out here, Arthur? Or did you assume that I would come crawling back to the Capital Wasteland after my inevitable failure in the Commonwealth?" Danse cut him off bitterly. "Did you think I would be easier to break once I had lost everything , Maxson?"

  "He always fights with Danse!" A tiny squire chimed in. Danse hadn't realised that Maxson had Ingram summon the damn children to watch their trial. "We heard them fight!"

  "Silence, brat! " Maxson screamed, his face purpling with fury. "I am the elder of this chapter, last of the Maxson line, and I will be given the respect I deserve! "

  "Cade's records can verify my story!" Danse shouted hoarsely for everyone to hear, his shoulders heaving with emotion. "Every time we engaged, I did not escape unscathed. Nearly every injury was documented. The dates will align with high-stress situations, and I'll stake my life on there being a long stretch of shit mood during the absence of your preferred punching bag, Elder! "

  " Liar! "

  "Abuser!" Danse yelled in reply, "murderer! You killed Cutler, through your biased orders! You killed Knight Astlin, Scribe Farris, Knight Varham! You killed my brothers and sisters!" Danse's fists clenched tight enough to ache. "And for what, Arthur? For a synth? Or for a man that had no interest in you? Either way, I refuse to accept their blood on my hands, Maxson!"

  " You killed them and you know it!" Maxson shrieked, kicking his legs desperately. "All you had to do was obey me, Danse! Was your pride worth their lives?"

  "There was once a time in my life where I would have done damn near anything you asked of me." His anger petering out, all Danse felt now was weary and bruised. "I loved the Brotherhood, Maxson. I still do. But the path we have taken under your leadership is heinous."

  "Don't you dare to lecture me about devotion, you mechanical mockery! " Maxson retorted.

  "This body may be synthetic, but my heart and mind…" Danse paused, saluting once more. " Those belong to the Brotherhood, Maxson. To my brothers and sisters in arms. Nothing can change that. Not even the knowledge of my true identity."

  "That's what you think!" Arthur flailed in the knight's grip, trying in vain to escape. No doubt so he could pitch himself at the paladin one final time.

  "Elder Maxson, through your words and through your deeds, I deem you unfit to lead our chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel at this point in time." Brandis announced abruptly. "As the senior ranking officer, I, Paladin Brandis, will function as the interim elder until we receive proper instructions from our superiors." He removed his helmet, staring down at Arthur sternly. 

  The young man was quite the pitiful sight, bedraggled from trying to beat Danse within an inch of his life as well as from his struggling afterwards. He still looked mad enough to kill, those blue eyes almost crackling with pent-up fury. "You planned this, didn't you?!" His paranoia on full display, Maxson made no attempt to maintain any sort of composure. "Just how many synths have infiltrated our chapter? Well Brandis?! "

  "Arthur, that's enough ." The senior paladin said in reply, his tone measured. "Don't make an even bigger fool of yourself. Bow out while you still have some dignity." He sighed. "Perhaps the stress of this campaign has been too heavy of a burden to bear for you. I sympathize, but I cannot permit you to carry on in this manner, Maxson." Brandis raised his eyes, scanning the crowd. "Cade! Knight-Captain Cade, please see to Maxson. He is obviously unwell."

  …

  Vega flickered in and out of consciousness. The weeks of abuse culminating in this final (though inadvertent) attempt to end her seemed to have nearly been successful. She only barely remembered Haylen treating her wound, mumbling out an apology to the younger woman for leaning so much weight on her. She caught snippets of Danse and Maxson shouting at each other, bits of the trauma that Danse had endured coming tumbling out and making Vega wish that she wasn't half-dead so she could at least flip Maxson off.

  " Rest , Vega ." Haylen had ordered. " You need rest ."

  And really, who was Backhand to refuse? 

  When next she opened her eyes, she was greeted by a canvas ceiling overhead. Vega squinted a little at the brightness of it. How long have I been out for?

  "Welcome back, General." That familiar voice snapped her out of her staring contest with the tent above her and she rolled her head to the side, unable to help her smile at the sight of Danse. Still a little bruised and banged-up, but alive . 

  Tears streaked down her cheeks and Backhand wished that she could have stopped them, sniffling loudly and covering her face.

  "General Vega, there's no need for that." The paladin chided her softly. Something bumped against her knuckles and she realized after a second that Danse was attempting to give her glasses back. 

  Vega accepted the glasses mutely, grabbed Danse's hand and used his arm as leverage to pull herself up off the cot. 

  "Wait, Elizabeth you-" The paladin began to protest, rising to his feet to stop her. Her legs nearly gave out but Danse managed to steady her, one large hand splayed on the small of her back. "You shouldn't be upright yet, Vega." He scolded.

  I missed you. I thought you were dead. The words tangled up in her mouth and instead Backhand mumbled, "I thought I missed you." Danse's brows furrowed in confusion and she hurried to correct herself, "I mean--I...I thought you were dead!"

  "I needed some time to regroup. Straighten my head out. Heal." The paladin explained quietly. "The O'Brians nursed me back to health."

  "What happened , though?"

  "What happened to you , Vega?" Danse asked instead, gripping her elbows carefully to keep her upright. 

  Backhand shrugged weakly. "Maxson thought I knew you were a synth."

  " I didn't even know I was a synth." Danse huffed, thick eyebrows raising once again. "How on earth would you have known?"

  "Maybe he was going on a witch hunt, trying to get me to confess even though I wasn't guilty of anything." She closed her eyes as she mumbled, "I missed you."

  "I thought of you every day." Danse replied bluntly. Her head shot up and she stared at him, watching as a flush crept up his neck. "I er, I...I am not good at these sorts of things," he admitted. "But it's true. I thought of you and...and of your son. Of the life you should have had. When Preston tracked me down, we realized that something must have gone wrong. So I...came back." 

  Oh . She hated the disappointed pit that yawned open in her stomach. She should have known that he wasn't thinking of her in the same way that she had thought of him. 

  Backhand rested her forehead on his chest, willing her tears to abate. "We need to get them out of the Institute." She said thickly. "All of them. Anyone that will come, Danse."

  "I think you and I should speak to Pal-- Elder Brandis. He has expressed interest in working with the Minutemen." Danse sighed heavily, then continued, "I cannot recommend that we work exclusively with the Brotherhood. There are years of prejudice that have been beaten into these men and women. The allowance of my presence is a show of good faith, but I don't know if I trust the rank and file to storm the Institute without turning it into a massacre." He gave her a wry smile. "I cannot blame them. Even knowing what I am now, it's going to take me some time to remove my knee-jerk reaction."

  "There's always something else to do." She wasn't trying to complain , but God she was tired .

  His facial hair brushed against her forehead, scraping the skin lightly. "I know. What was it you said in the Glowing Sea? 'A run ashore'?" He queried while giving her forearms a gentle squeeze, as if to comfort her.

  "I thought you were dead." She hadn't meant to say it again, watching his eyes go dark and kicking herself for bringing it back up.

  "I suppose I was, for a time." Danse murmured, his expression troubled.

  "I... please don't do that to me again." Vega begged. Her hands fisted in his fatigues, wrinkling the worn fabric. "This is going to sound really dumb and really selfish, but please . Don't."

  "When you thought I was dead, did you..." Danse hesitated. "I mean, did you really miss me? I'm not even...well, I'm not a..." He cast his eyes around, narrowing them like he was physically searching for the word he wanted to use. "Human." He finally managed to say, the admission obviously paining him. "I'm a freak of nature, Vega. A perversion of science and an example of where mankind has gone wrong--"

  "Danse." Backhand cupped his jaw, her palms smoothing over the bristle of his stubble as she coaxed him to look at her. "No offense, but you cannot be this stupid."

  "What do you mean?" The paladin asked, his confusion endearingly evident. "I'm not...how am I being…?"

  Backhand blinked. Maybe he could be that stupid. "You're probably the most human person I've ever met, Danse. The way you care about your squadron, the way you've helped me...look, I wasn't upset about you being a synth, I was upset about you being dead ."

  "Oh." Danse breathed. "Really? You... really? Me being a synth wasn't…?" His words kept faltering, uncertainty shining through with every hitch. 

  " You , Danse. I cried about you being gone ."

  "Elizabeth…" 

  "So don't you dare scare me like that ever again, got it?" Backhand leaned forward, boldly pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

  "I--yes. Understood, Knight. Uh, General." Danse stammered, his fingers absently touching the spot she had kissed. "W-We should...go speak to Elder Brandis. If you believe you can walk a short distance? I know better than to ask you to stay put and be patient."

  "Permit me the usage of your arm to keep me upright and yes, we can absolutely go."

  ...

  Please don't do that to me again .

  She had missed him, she said. She had mourned him, even. Cried over him. Danse's head was spinning.

  How could that even be possible? How could she...he was a machine . 

  No time left to consider such weighty problems, unfortunately, as he found that far too soon the two of them were approaching what had formerly been Maxson's quarters and now served as Brandis' war room.

  "Ad Victoriam, Paladin Danse and General Vega!" Elder Brandis greeted them warmly with a loose salute, gesturing around the war table afterwards. "Kells, Cade, Ingram, Quinlan, Doctor Li, I trust you all need no introductions?"

  The briefing was, as they usually were, tedious. Nothing brief about it, if he was being brutally honest. Vega held her ground though, which was all he really needed.

  "You boys aren't tyrants or fuckin' warlords. Not while I have any sort of say in the matter." She said sharply. "If you want Minutemen support, we are working as a team and the Minutemen have uninhibited access to all information as it is gathered. That means we'll need Quinlan's full cooperation." She held up a hand, staving off Quinlan's outburst. " Only in regards to the Institute. We don't want your super-secret Spec Ops sealed Brotherhood case files, so don't get those boxers in a bunch." Cade snorted and Proctor Quinlan looked absolutely scandalized, even as he grudgingly nodded. 

  "Now, General, this is all well and good but what does the Brotherhood get out of this bargain?" Kells asked pointedly. "As far as I can see, we're the integral piece in this plan."

  "' As far as you can see ' is an apt phrase, Lancer-Captain Kells." Backhand's tone was cool. This was General Vega for certain, the woman who had whipped the Minutemen back into shape. "Because what you can't see are the rest of my operations. The Minutemen aren't the only force I have at my disposal, just the most obvious." She leaned in a little, her eyes cold as ice behind the lenses of her glasses. "Do you really want to test me on my home turf, Kells? After everything that's happened?"

  "Not testing you, General Vega." The lancer-captain clarified, "simply identifying what seems to be an imbalance in the negotiations."

  "I got you Doctor Li." Vega retorted. "Without her, your Liberty Prime would still be a pile of junk. I've gotten your scribes tons of information to sift through, I've done everything the former elder asked of me."

  "Lancer-Captain Kells, if I might also interject?" Danse asked hesitantly, cringing on the inside as everyone turned to look at him like they had forgotten he was even there. Kells inclined his head after a moment. "Sir, we cannot be so quick to discredit our position. Due to our aerial location, we will be within the perfect striking distance to any sort of localized, above-ground assault."

  "I am more than aware of our position, Paladin . But that does not negate the fact that we have a much larger stake in this than anyone else-"

  "Larger than the locals who have been getting body-snatched for years?" Vega cut him off. "Let's not forget that myself and your new elder were starved and tortured for weeks , while the rest of you sat around and twiddled your thumbs out of fear and respect." She spat. "Don't fuckin' come to me with your scale-tipping bullshit . It took a synth to make you all sack up, and I don't intend to let you forget that." The woman straightened up, looking grim. "I'm not giving you anything else. You can either work with us, or you can keep pitching yourself against the Institute until they've all slipped away and you're left with nothing but an empty facility and unanswered questions."

  "She's right." Doctor Li affirmed tersely. "They won't just wait around to be pummeled. This isn't the Enclave. The board of directors will do everything in their power to avoid you and waste your resources at the same time."

  "We cannot afford to entrench ourselves in a drawn-out assault, Kells." Brandis reasoned. "When we strike, we have to do it decisively. Give it everything we've got and cut off the head."

  Kells nodded, seeming satisfied. "Understood, Elder Brandis. I meant no disrespect, General Vega."

  "None taken. I'm still recovering from getting the shit kicked out of me, so my manners aren't up to par quite yet." Vega rested her elbows on the table, steepled fingers tapping her chin. "I won't take anything from you that you're unable to give, Lancer-Captain Kells. If I can avoid using the BoS altogether, I will." She murmured, tilting her head. "I need to get in touch with some people before I can offer anything concrete, but once Lieutenant Garvey knows I'm alive I'm sure the rest will learn fast. We'll rally and plan accordingly." 

  "Well then, what are we waiting for?" Ingram asked eagerly. "C'mon Vega, let's head to the comm deck and get things squared away!"

  "Excellent plan. You two are dismissed." Brandis agreed, making a shooing gesture at the two women. Once they had departed, he turned his attention to Cade. "Do you have faith in our medical capabilities, Knight-Captain?" 

  Cade nodded. "We had been planning to attack them head on anyways, Brandis. If we're truly going in a little less 'shock and awe', we may actually tip more towards over-prepared."

  "I'm not certain how useful their teleporter will be to us once we get inside. I'm sure they'll lock it down with great expedience. However there is another possible egress." Quinlan spread the old blueprint out on the war table, fingers indicating a small service tunnel. "Now, if their measurements are accurate, power armored troops will not fit in this tunnel. But unarmored individuals most certainly will. This includes any…" he hesitated, like he was preparing himself to say it, "... refugees , or non-hostile denizens." 

  Quinlan referring to synths as anything but had Danse's head spinning. Vega was an absolute marvel .

  "It will be heavily guarded." Doctor Li warned. "They like to pretend that there's only one way in or out. Their precious molecular relay ."

  "Danse, I think you ought to take point when it comes to securing this tunnel." Kells remarked, making the paladin straighten up. "We won't be able to gauge our level of involvement until we have a full muster from Vega, but I'd like a senior-ranked soldier in the mix. And I know how much you enjoy being boots on the ground." The older man offered Danse a thin smile.

  Danse was so moved he needed to take a moment, finally choking out a ' yes sir ' with his hand over his heart. That Kells, even after all the years of growing to despise synths, would trust him with such a task-!

  Perhaps they did stand a chance, after all.

Part Seventeen

[mattzerella-sticks]

Supernatural Crack🩹tober

Day 20: Unfortunate Soul Marks

           Dean knew two things since he was born – his birthmark was in the shape of a dick, and his soulmate was a complete and total one. Because the mark isn’t only embarrassing, it’s impossible to hide. Which explains the latter. Who else but a total jerk would lay their privates on someone’s forehead? And, in true Winchester fashion, that kind of man would be the love of his life.

           He lowers the brim of his hat, cursing as wind whips across the sandy beach. “Fuckin’ beach,” he grumbles, “fuckin’ outdoors…” Having a dick stamped on his face meant Dean preferred not leaving his house. Growing up, he was the definition of an indoor kid. When he did leave his house, Dean practiced safety measures like having long bangs, wearing bandanas and hats, using concealer; it never worked as well as he hoped. Countless times these measures failed and exposed his shame to the world. Made school all the more difficult once the other kids realized what that shape meant.

           Dean never had many friends. No playdates, parties, or sleepovers. Not many people wanted a human unicorn hanging around them, despite how Mary tried encouraging him. All he could do was count the days until he graduated high school. Started working at his uncle’s auto shop soon after, as promised. Keeping his head buried under car parts saved him from many social interactions, where eyes could stare at his forehead and turn every conversation awkward. There was no need for him to ever leave the safety of the little bubbles he had.

           Except Sam. Used his intense puppy dog eyes, convinced Dean he would like the beach. As if being abandoned by his little brother and his soul mate were what he always wanted. They had a cute story. Sam took sign in college. One day, his tutor reached over during a lesson. Corrected the bend of his pinkie finger with her thumb and pointer. Sparks flew while the grey blobs of their marks darkened before disappearing immediately. A flip switched, and both he and Eileen knew what it meant.

           That’s probably the only part Dean looks forward to, when meeting his soulmate. The cause of his suffering was also who can save him from it. Once the shadow dick vanishes, maybe then Dean could enjoy the beach. Or his life. Although starting over at twenty-five seems too daunting. Better he sticks with what he knows.

           Like how he hates being outside. Especially at the beach. This close, winds from the sea blow with all their might in their attempts to steal Dean’s hat. Straw shield billowing from each impact. Dean keeps a hand firmly fixed atop his head as he wandered, protecting it. Pushing down hard enough he caused a minor headache not even kicking wet sand and trickling surf could heal.

           Dean also hates this hat. It’s not something he would wear, better for old women in gardens on sunny days. However, of his collection the straw provides perfect concealment.

           If it would just stay on.

           A few kids run past, Dean tipping its edge further down until he cannot see. Waiting for them to pass. He knew the earful that waited should one of them catch sight of his mark, and then raced off for a parent. Asking questions, pointing, getting Dean in trouble for something he had no say in.

           They leave with no trouble. Dean sighs in relief, body untensing. As this happens, a sharp gust strikes from behind. His hat tumbles out of his grip, skipping across the sand.

           Dean waits a beat. Then, he races after it.

           Chasing, one hand stretched far but never quite there. The other plastered over his forehead like an awkward bandage. If he used both, snagging his runaway hat would be much easier. It’s too risky, though. So Dean continues with his self-inflicted handicap. Blindly following as the accessory leads him towards a far part of the beach.

           It’s close. His fingers are nearly around it. Dean needed a burst of speed, and it would be in his grasp. He adds –

           Slam!

           Down. Darkness. Dean groans, dizzy from the collision. A sharp hiss greeting his own voiced pain, telling Dean he slammed into another person.

           Collateral damage, a Winchester specialty.

           “I’m so sorry,” Dean says, forehead burning. He wonders if hitting another person could cause blunt force trauma. At least enough for skin to break. A bloody wound is the last thing he needed. “I was chasing my hat and –“

           “I noticed,” the stranger says, deep voice sending chills down his spine. “Just as I was getting out of the water.”

           “Again, sorry.” He rises, “I’ll just be out of your…” Dean trails off, finally opening his eyes. The first thing he focuses on is a large, familiar shadowed dick. Then, he sees its true color reveals itself as grey transitions into tan. Which means… “Holy crap.” Dean looks at the other man. “Your soul mark was on your dick?”

           “I… yes, it…” He blushes, blue eyes comically large at Dean’s blunt observation. Running fingers through wet locks, he stammers, “I’m sorry, that you had to hit into – you were bent over, so of course – wait. What do you mean by was?”

           “As in… not there anymore?”

           The man looks at his dick, choking on a gasp. Seeing what Dean does. “It’s gone,” he says, glancing back at Dean, “I thought that was only supposed to happen when you met your –“

           “Yeah.” He doesn’t seem like a complete and total dick. His soulmate is awkward, confused, slow on the uptake. He’s also gorgeous, fit… and, well, Dean already knew how gifted he was. Although that doesn’t explain why. “Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

           “Uh…” he frowns, head tilting sideways, “this is a nude beach.”

           “A… a nude beach,” Dean scans the area, noticing many others who have chosen limited clothing for their stay. Many of them watching Dean and his soulmate with interest, heads turned their direction. Judgment hidden behind shaded lenses. He shrinks under their stares, rubbing at his forehead. Not that he has to worry, his mark should be gone. Years of practice are hard to overcome. “Is there anything on my forehead?”

           He studies it for Dean, shaking his head. “Why should there be?”

           “That’s where my mark was,” Dean explains, “where… your dick was.”

           “That’s… awful.”

           “You don’t know the half of it,” Dean says, leaning back. Hat miles away by now, not that he cares. His hands settle in his lap as he kneels, waves crawling forward and rushing over them. “I can fill in the blanks, though, over some food?”

           Smiling, finally, the man agrees. “I’d love to…”

           “Dean.”

           “Dean,” he says, tasting the word in his mouth. Enjoying it, if the curl of his lips means anything. “My name’s Cas.”

           “Cas.” Dean mirrors his expression, “I like that.” And he thinks he likes Cas. They… clicked. Hopefully the other man can prove having his dick on Dean’s forehead for twenty-five years was worth it.

           Dean has no doubt it was.

(Day 19 - Flipped?)