#i stick my finger out to steady the blade like you’re supposed to and the corners of it are out here papercutting me

[transmechanicus]

I figured out what’s been fucking slicing my finger every time i cook and wouldn’t you know it it’s the flat of the blade of my chefs knife goddamn it

[impala-dreamer]

Tell me about getting drunk and Dean tucking you in bed, taking care of you.

The drums kicked in and so did you, beating the air with your fists, banging your head to the music booming through the Bunker’s PA system. 

Technically speaking, you weren’t supposed to do that anymore- Sam had scolded you more than once with very long, very boring lectures about why it wasn’t only inconsiderate but potentially detrimental to the equipment. 

But Sam wasn’t home.

Nor was Dean… or Jack… Cas… Nope, you had the place to yourself. All the booze to yourself, too. Not that there was much left. 

After polishing off the decanters of whiskey in the Library, you’d sneaky sneaked into Dean’s room and pulled the spare, more expensive bottle of Kentucky Bourbon from his foot locker. He wouldn’t mind. 

No, he actually would, but under the influence of the oak-aged vanilla notes, you didn’t care.

For a few hours, life was good. The monsters in the dark were being taken care of by someone else, the laundry was all put away, and you were fucking loving blasting Alanis through the halls. 

Seriously, why does anyone listen to anything other than Jagged Little Pill? The thought raced through your head and you took a long swallow straight from the bottle. 

The room swayed a bit, but you ignored it. So what, if the floor was suddenly soggy. You didn’t have to stand on the floor. 

The glowing table seemed steady, so you kicked off your shoes and climbed aboard. Sam would be happy that you took your shoes off. 

“You took for a joke, you took me for a child-” Your voice rang out as you tried to outsing Ms. Morrisette, basically screeching at the top of your lungs as the angsty song settled into your bones. 

“Yeah. Fuck them! You’re not a child. You’re a grown-ass woman who’s damned sexy and quick with a blade!” 

Cheering yourself, you took another swig and the lights blurred. You teetered on the tabletop but turned it into a dance, rocking out. 

With all the charisma of a drunken karaoke bachelorette, the bottle became your microphone and you let it rip. 

“Took me out to wine, dine, sixty-nine me! But didn’t hear a damned word I said!” 

Air drums were the best. Why didn’t you do this more often?

The big door above you opened but there was no way to hear it. The music was too loud, you singing was too aggressive. A set of boots thudded down the metal staircase and green eyes burned into you. 

“Y/N/N?” 

“Well, hello mister man- I didn’t think you’d come back--”

Dean laughed and came forward, tossing his duffle bag onto the chair at the head of the table. 

“What are you doing?” He yelled, sticking a finger in his ear as the crest of the song bled through the speakers. 

“I’m being awesome!” you shouted back. 

He bit his lip and nodded, watching you dance with a growing smile. 

As the song finished, you tried to do an impressive twirl but the booze decided that was too stupid not to fuck with, and you tumbled… off of the table… right into Dean’s strong arms. 

Terrified, you stared up at his handsome freckled face and laughed. “My hero!”

“My drunken rockstar,” he teased, carefully shifting to set you down on your feet. 

The floor still seemed to be made of something akin to watery jello, and you swayed, grabbing onto his flannel for help. 

“I think I have dranken too frequently upon this event,” you confessed, licking the last drops of bourbon from your lips. 

Dean laughed under his breath and wrapped his arm around you, holding you steady. “Uh, yeah, you can say that again.” 

A burp tickled your throat and you squinted at him, concerned. “No, Dean. I don’t think I can do.” 

Somehow, you made it to bed, but since your feet didn’t remember moving, you were pretty sure Dean had carried you there. The bedroom walls were spinning too, but at least the bed was comfy and the pillow was soft. Smelled like Dean. 

He was hovering above you, tucking the thick woolen blanket around your sides and smoothing it out. 

“You good?” 

His smile was beautiful and you reached up to caress his cheek but ended up slapping him. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” 

Dean leaned in and kissed each eye closed, forcing you to settle down. “If you feel like puking, aim for the trash bin, please. The sheets are clean.” Another kiss landed on the tip of your nose. “And there’s water on the nightstand.” 

The darkness behind your eyes was undulating like you were in a funhouse, but you managed to nod and thank him. 

“I do see right through you, ya know,” you said as the mattress lifted from his departure. 

He turned back and looked down at you. “Is that a good thing?” 

“It is.” Smiling, you opened your arms for him and he went, sliding in next to you. “You’re all over tough on the outsides but inside… right through you where the oreo cream is- you’re just… the bestest best boy I ever have met in this crazy place that we live on.”

He laughed and nuzzled into your neck. “On Earth?” 

“Yeah… that place.” 

The lights were dimming in your head and the sweet tingle of sleep was upon you. You wrapped yourself tight around him and took a deep breath, breathing him in. 

“Simply… the best.”

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[b10hzrd]

The Tides of Fate- Chp 7

As the ship sailed towards Crescent Moon Bay, everyone sticking to their duties, it seemed the prince was having a hard time adjusting to his orders.

“Are we finished yet?” Corbin whined as he was mopping the deck. 

Caster was helping Marina steady the sails. Marina looked at Corbin then gave Caster an apologetic and annoyed look, Caster gave her a smile and shrugged. 

“Well, I suppose it is about time for us to prepare dinner,” Caster said.

“That's not what I meant,” Corbin sighed. 

“Follow me to the kitchen.” Caster beckoned him towards the rear of the ship.

They both entered the galley, it was a little cramped but big enough for both of them. Pots and pans were messily stacked on top of the stove, ingredients in sacks and barrels. The spices and utensils were all organized nicely.

“Chicken is on the menu tonight…” Caster began while he tied an apron around his waist, put his locks into a half up ponytail and rolled his sleeves up, “… I think I might pair it with some rice,” he mumbled to himself.

“So, what do you need me to do?” Corbin rolled his sleeves up and leaned against the counter.

“Could y-you not…lean on there? I need my workspace.”

Corbin raised his hands up and backed away from the counter. Caster walked into what seemed to be a small walk-in wine cellar and walked out with some bowls and tableware.

“Let’s start then, shall we?” Caster said, setting the items down. “Do you know how to cook?”

The prince looked around the galley, feeling more out of place than ever. "Cook? No, not really. I’ve always had someone else do that for me."

Caster nodded, not particularly surprised by Corbin's response. “Well, good thing the menu is easy tonight., you won't have a hard time learning.”

“Could you chop these? Just be careful with the knife.” He handed Corbin a knife and pointed to a pile of vegetables.

Corbin took the knife hesitantly, glancing at Caster for reassurance. “Like this?” he asked, slicing into an onion.

Caster watched him for a moment, chuckling at how nervously the prince was chopping the onion. “You’re doing fine, just tuck your fingers in so you won't hurt yourself.”

“You seem calm. When I met you, you seemed so uneasy,” Corbin said as he chopped the onion slowly, as to not cut himself.

Caster huffed a laugh, “Well, I’m not the most confident person. Compared to the others, I’m not as strong or as bold.” Caster sighed, “But, when I’m in the kitchen I feel at peace, cooking is my way of winding down after a long day.”

Corbin nodded, continuing to chop. The sound of the soft waves and the sound of the ship creaking, relaxing him, making the overbearing thoughts he has had recently quiet down. As he chopped, tears began to well in his eyes, he wiped the tear that was forming and looked at the droplet on his finger. 

“Everything alright Corbin?”

“I think I’m crying…” 

“That's usually how chopping onions goes, you get used to it after a bit,” Caster said with a smile as he was beginning to prepare the chicken.

Corbin looked back at the knife he was holding, a tear falling onto the steel blade. He looked at his reflection on the knife as his vision became blurred. The prince had never known he could cry, that he had the right to cry. More tears fell onto the cutting board, his face began to heat up, emotions that he had been surprising for so long all overtaking his senses. His chest painfully tightened, he gripped his shirt tightly, trying to compose himself. 

The knife clattered to the floor as Corbin turned away, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. He stumbled back, seeking some semblance of stability, but there was none to be found. Every breath felt like a struggle, every tear a release of years of pent-up anguish and sorrow.

Corbin covered his face in shame. “God…what the hell did I do?!”

It became increasingly hard for him to breathe, each breath became sharper and sharper as he continued to weep.

“What did I do?!” he choked.

Caster quickly stopped what he was doing and rushed to help Corbin stable himself.

“H-Hey…do you need a minute?” Caster asked nervously, not sure how to handle the situation.

The prince was unresponsive, his cries drowned out the world around him. He began to pull at his hair, punishing himself for being so pathetic. Caster looked at the rice that was boiling, then back at Corbin, trying to figure out the best course of action.

“Let's get you some fresh air,” he said, guiding the weeping prince to the deck.

The crew looked at Corbin then at Caster, who was behind the prince, with confused expressions. Ophelia sprinted towards Corbin.

“Corbin, what’s the matter?” She cupped his face, trying to wipe the tears off his face.

Corbin looked into Ophelia’s worried eyes, his vision still blurred by his tears. He let his head fall onto her shoulder and pulled her into a tight embrace, gripping the back of her blouse as if she were going to disappear. Ophelia gave into the embrace, softly patting his back, giving him a sense of reassurance. Corbin’s breathing became slower, though tears continued to fall, soaking into the fabric of Ophelia’s blouse.

“Well, it seems you have things under control, I’ll be back with dinner,” Caster awkwardly chuckled, rushing back to the galley.

The rest of the crew watched them in silence, not sure what they could do to help. 

“I’m pathetic,” Corbin said through a sharp breath, his voice muffled. 

“You are the farthest thing from pathetic.”

“I didn’t want this. Any of this,” Corbin choked out between sobs. “I hate this life. I hate what I’ve become.”

Corbin lifted his head and looked at Ophelia, “I should have never left Azalea.”

“If you hadn’t, I would have never seen you again.” She reached to caress his face.

He pulled her hand away, “Maybe, it would've been better that way.”

Ophelia’s face fell, “Corbin, you can’t mean that…”

“And what if I do?” The prince looked at her with a serious expression.

“You would be lying!”

“I killed a man!” He punched his chest, “I watched the life drain from his body. His blood is on my hands, no matter how much I scrub the blood off, I can still see it! I am haunted in my sleep by a man who did nothing but tell me the truth, a truth that now I have to bear with.”

“I can bear that burden with you! Corbin, you are not alone, I want to be able to help you, to understand what you're going through.”

“I don’t want you to bear it.”

“Why not?” Ophelia grabs Corbin's hands and holds them together tightly. “Corbin, this is not something you should be dealing with on your own.”

Corbin pulls his hands away from Ophelia’s grasp, he turns his back to her, ashamed to even meet her gaze. 

“Corbin…” Ophelia didn't know what she could do to reassure him. Every time she tried, he would pull away, making it harder for her words to reach him.

Elliot decided he had had enough of the dramatic scene he was watching unfold, he walked up to the pair and put his hand on Ophelia’s shoulder.

“I can take it from here, go make sure we’re still on course,” He said, giving a reassuring smile and wink. 

Ophelia nodded, slowly walking to the helm, looking back at the prince. He was so far gone into his own guilt, that she couldn’t recognize him anymore.

Elliot looks at Corbin and sighs, “C’mon, it seems we have some things to talk about,” he puts his arm around Corbin’s shoulder and leads him towards the starboard. 

“Beautiful, isn't it? The night sky.”

Corbin stayed silent, not understanding where the white haired pirate was going with this.

“Listen, Corbin, everyone on this ship has done something they regret. But we don’t let those decisions define us for the rest of our lives.”

Corbin sighed, “How can I just…move on from what I did?”

“At a certain point in your life, you have to just accept what you did.” Marina interrupted, “You can’t change the past.”

Elliot looked back at Marina with a slight glare, “Not helping,” he whisper-yelled.

“I wasn’t trying to be helpful. He needs to learn that he can’t stay like this forever.”

Corbin turned to Marina, anger flaring in his eyes. “You think it’s that simple? Just accept it and move on? I took a life. That doesn’t just go away.”

Marina crossed her arms. “What do you think dwelling on his death for the rest of your life will do to you? What’s done is done. You have to find a way to live with it, just like we all have done.”

“You don't understand!” Corbin clenched his fists. “None of you do! I am nothing like you, I’m a prince, not a pirate!”

Amidst all the yelling, Gulliver emerged from the hold, carrying a barrel over his head.

“What are you hearties squabbling ‘bout now?” 

An awkward silence followed his question, Gulliver analyzed the scene and shrugged his shoulders. He placed the barrel down and laughed at the silence.

“Perfect timing!” Elliot raised his hand in the air and walked towards the barrel.

“Can’t have drinks without food!” Caster came from the galley with a pan of food and a stack of plates in his hand. 

“Who said you were getting a drink?” Elliot laughed, “You, young man, will be sticking to juice.”

Gulliver crossed his arms, “Ay, let the lad ave’ some fun! I was his age when I started drinkin’!” 

“And look at how you turned out, you carouser!” Elliot joked.

Gulliver let out a hard laugh and playfully punched Elliot’s shoulder.

[drakenology]

𝐁𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  ♡  𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : smut!, daddy kink, violence & mentions of blood, established relationship, dumbification, face slapping (politely), dirty talk, degradation, a pinch of knife play (he just cuts your panties open), exhibitionism, breeding kink, cum, fingering, swearing and size kink if you get a magnifying glass. 

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Hey sexy bitches. This one’s for my Vice City event. I scrapped so many ideas to get here which is why I extended the due date for it.. Anyways! Enjoy, sluts. Daichi supremacy. 

He sat at the bar; tall, dark and handsome. He had this roughness to him, his hands riddled with scars and his face rocking one just above his eyebrow. He was one of your most handsome regulars. He always came in around 12 am on Friday, all blooded up and battered from god knows what. Tonight was no different. You sigh, taking in his strong arm that was now covered in bandage wrapping. You strut over to him, pulling your top up a bit to push up your breasts. 

“What can I get ya, handsome?” You ask charmingly. He looks up from his empty glass, his deep brown eyes soaking in your form. 

“Whiskey, neat.” He replied, smoky tone of voice vibrating against your ears as you bit your lip. 

“Comin’ right up” as you turn and walk away, adjusting your shorts after bending down to get his drink ready. His eyes trailed to your hips where your g-string sat snugly on those hips he often watched sway as you walked by to serve your patrons. Were you always this sexy? He never stopped looking at you as you poured him a drink, leaning over the bar to ask him something. 

“I swear every time you come in here you show up with a new injury. This is a bar, not a hospital. What the hell were you doin’?” You question, reaching a soft hand up to his brow as if to try and heal it with your touch. He didn’t even flinch either, almost leaning into your hand like a touch-starved puppy. You grab some napkins and wipe some blood from his leaking nose, tsk-ing at him as he sighed. He knew you’d give him shit.

“Got into this nasty scrap with some gang. One of ‘em tried robbing me.. I showed him why he shouldn’t have. His boys came after me and they caught me off guard. One of ‘em had a knife.” He admits. You flinch, looking at him in awe. What’s this guy into? 

“Be careful, Lui Kang.” You tease, sliding a glass of ice over to him from one end of the bar while you took some orders. 

Not even a few moments later, someone came up to you at the bar. This sleazy looking man with his hair gelled back so thickly it didn’t move as he craned his head to look you up and down. 

“Hey, sweetface. Get me a drink, will ya?” His voice like a natural irritant. You turn to him and take his order, your protective regular watching him closely as he sipped his drink. He hardly knew you; just some girl who worked at the sleazy bar he always finds himself licking his wounds in after a scrap. Still, you were always so nice to him; greeting him with a pretty smile, a cold drink and a conversation. He was just so used to violence, fighting for everything he has. He was grateful to have just one ray of sunshine. Vice City, nor his life had ever granted him that luxury. 

As you serve the man his drink, he takes a sip and makes this repugnant face. 

“Women. Not even good for making a man a fuckin’ decent drink.” He snaps, tossing the drink towards your direction; the glass almost hitting you. You scream as the glass shatters against the wall, your regular standing from his stool to give him a piece of his mind. 

“Fuck’s your problem, tough guy?” He spits at him, grunting when a fist suddenly meets the bridge of his nose. The thud causes you to jump, staring at the scene with wide eyes as your heart slammed against your chest. Of course you were no stranger to bar fights, but this? How could one man make violence look so tempting. You gasp as you watch him pick that grease ball up by his shirt and practically toss him out the doors of the pub. 

“Fuck off home, before I decide to kill you.” 

 He takes his seat back at the bar to find you cleaning up the mess, noticing your startled and clumsy movements from shock. 

“You okay?” He asked, concerned. You nod. As tough as you try to front to be, you were scared shitless. Though this wouldn’t be the first nor last asshole to grace your bar. 

“I can handle myself, ya know?”, putting up a front that you didn’t need his help. You were grateful. But he doesn’t have to know that.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Remind me not to interfere, miss independent.” You stare into his deep chocolate brown eyes and lean closer to him. 

“What, am I supposed to thank you now?” You tease, taking a cherry and sticking it in your mouth. 

“It’d be nice.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow at you. You giggle, leaning over to give him an innocent kiss on the cheek as a token of gratitude. 

“Thanks.” 

After that fateful day, you and Daichi were attached at the hip. He brought you everywhere with him as if his scene was safe and tidy. Most nights consisted of dressing his wounds after watching him roughhouse at his fight club. You never minded caring for him since you know he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat. 

The life he lived, the way he made his money just to get by was terrifying and... exciting. You always came with him for his matches whenever someone had bet big money on him or if some assholes wanna settle a score. You always stood in the loud crowd as they watched, beer bottles and cigarettes littering the concrete ground. Daichi told you to always wear his name chain so that the guys knew who you belonged to, those dudes can get real handsy and Daichi would hate to have to hurt a friend. God, you were such a distraction. Daichi stared at you almost too long; dodging a swing of a knife as he took his opponent down with his bare hands. The crowd smashed more glass against any nearby surface to celebrate, the other half of the crowd booing and hissing. 

After he was declared the winner, he got his cut of the bet in cold hard cash; about a nice $200,000. Boy was he frisky after that. His big hands stayed planted right on your ass as he walked you both out and onto the streets to walk home. Your walks were always so peaceful after the boisterous and rowdy night. But tonight, Daichi wanted to claim the second part of his prize. He swiftly scooped you up in his arms, sitting you atop a car parked on the side of the steady street. He pulled his knife out from his back pocket, spreading your legs with his palm. 

“Better not make a fucking sound, baby. ‘Else everyone’s gonna hear how much of a whore you are for your daddy.” He grunts, taking the blade to cut your panties apart by the crotch from under your skirt. Your pussy was now on full display for him and quite possibly the ongoing traffic driving by. You shudder as the cold breeze hits your bare skin, looking at him with doe eyes - only making him want you more. 

“What? Don’t act like you don’t want it like this, babe.” his voice thick with lust as his thick finger reach up to pinch your nipples through your thin top. “God, look at these.” as his hands grope and squeeze the softness of your breasts. You’re moaning into the air as his lips kiss your neck feverishly, taking your top and lifting it up over your breasts. 

“You want my dick don’t you, baby?” He whispers into your ear, your thighs starting to tremble just at the low, brassy tone of his voice. You nod, your cunt fluttering as it starts to drip with slick. Your obedience has him feeling firm, the brunt side of his hard cock starting to grind against you through his jeans. You gasp, Daichi’s hands still pinching and teasing your nipples as his hips grind to make you feel good. You start moving your own hips to follow his movements, Daichi groaning as he watched you try and get yourself off. 

“Look at you humpin’ me like a little bitch in heat.” He spat, a whimper leaving your mouth as you start getting desperate. His hands stop your hips in place, his eyes seemingly dilated with a dark appearance. 

“Take it out since you want it so bad.. yeah, put it in for me. Work for it, slut.” He demands, tapping your cheek to keep your eyes focused on his. He slaps the other side of your face as he snapped his hips, this chubby cock seemingly splitting you open as you cry out. He starts off brutally, as if he weren’t railing you out in public in the middle of the night on some stranger’s car. You weren’t making the scene any more discreet with all your pathetic groans, your hands pulling at his shirt to hold onto something. Your mind became cloudy, panting and sobbing like a real whore. Daichi’s just enjoying the sight of you ruined underneath him, slapping you in the face once more to snap you back from your daydream causing you to gasp. The sting faded as his hand went to stroke the blow with his thumb, the rest of his hand lifting your chin.

“Look at me. Don’t cum until I say so, got it? I feel your greedy cunt sucking me up already.” He says, thumb pressing up against your clit just to make it harder for you to contain yourself. You feel your walls squeeze him, whimpering with every vein of this cock sliding in and out of your walls so addictively. Your hands claw at his back, drooling into his shoulder as you start trying to grind your hips to change the pace. He grunts and holds you still as he slides his thick cock in and out of you slower to tease you, smirking when you start to cry. 

“Pl-Please go faster, Da-Daddy, please, I can’t-” You whine, interrupted by a harsh slap to your outer thigh causing you to yelp.

“You can and you will. Daddy’s almost there, c’mon. You don’t want me to punish you out here, do you?” He coos, opening your mouth by squishing your cheeks together, spitting on your tongue and tapping your chin. You shake your head and try your best to take him for a little while longer, your slick oozing all over the hood of the car you were pinned to. As your eyes roll back, you feel Daichi’s cock start to throb intensely, a sign he was close. Relief was soon to come. 

“G’head and cum for daddy, baby. Want you throbbing for me, c’mon, you wanted to cum so bad.” Daichi urged, swiftly flicking your clit to help you. You cum in a flash, white lights shining behind your eyes as you scream his name. Seconds later he fills you, pumping his hot seed into your pussy before pulling out to watch it spill out onto the cold metal of the car. 

“Sloppy little whore.” He spits, taking his fingers to scoop it up and shove it inside you, pumping his fingers to secure it inside. You pant, your thighs trembling as Daichi hoists you up on his back to carry you the rest of the way home. 

Your eyes close, humming as you lean into his shoulder. A silent “I love you”. The walk was silent and safe, dozing off on Daichi’s shoulder as he trudged through the mean streets of the neighborhood you both lived in. 

[lord-explosion-baku]

Sparrow

Prince!Satoru Gojo x assassin!reader

Warnings: violence, swearing, suggestive themes, dubious themes, blood

A/N: request numero dos is done! It’s kinda silly, but I think it’s pretty fun! I think it can be read as pretty lighthearted, even if it gets a little violent! it’s a little different that what was originally requested! I had the elements for a sword fight set up, but it wasn’t working out the way I wanted it to, so I took a slightly different route! theres still fighting though! I hope you like it!

It’s been a long journey to get where you are now, silently scaling the castle towers towards the prince’s bed chambers. An extra long journey, considering how many royal guards have been posted on top of kingdom rooftops. Like a shadow in the night, using nothing but the black elements to mask your presence, you’ve managed to slip by them, as well as the gatehouse soldiers, undetected, leaving only four men incapacitated, and not a vestige of your presence. All this sneaking around has been a trying job thus far, but it’s almost over now. You’re about to finish what you came to do.

Light as a feather, quiet as a dormouse, you swing your body up and over the limestone-clad palace window. The room is adorned with priceless artwork watched over by gilded ceiling paintings. Framing the biggest bed you’ve ever seen is a corona with royal blue drapery that hangs down to each corner. In the center of the bed lies the sleeping and wonderfully unaware prince.

His body is lopsided, and only partially covered by silk sheets. One of his feet hangs off the bed. Tousled white hair sticks out in every direction while still managing to frame his admittedly attractive face. Long white eyelashes. Peaceful and full lips. He’s young, you think, although you’ve been aware. But seeing him in the flesh solidifies the thought: you are about to be the end of his short life.

However, this mission comes with little remorse. There have been rumors that the Royal Gojo Family has been dabbling in alchemy for over a century now. To you, there is nothing more disgusting than the use of the unnatural sciences. It’s ungodly. And even then, this kill shouldn’t matter much since you can call it what it is: a job. This is what you do. Do as your master commands, kill without question, leave no trace, get paid, repeat. It helps that there have been rumors specifically centered around your charge; rumors that Prince Satoru is a complete and utter womanizer.

Well, not for long.

The bed doesn’t shake the least bit as you climb on top of him. The prince sleeps soundlessly and doesn’t stir when you situate your thighs over his firm hips. Normally, you’d simply slit your target’s throat, quick and easy, but since there are those rumors about the use of alchemy, you need to work a little differently tonight. To kill an alchemist user, one will have to pierce them directly in the heart with a silver blade. You don’t particularly believe that the prince is a user; his focus has primarily been on balls and parties and other social events, but you’d rather be safe than sorry. So, your primed weapon of choice, a silverlined dagger, slides up your sleeve and into the palm of your hand. You grasp its hilt, then line it parallel to his heart, pull up, and plunge it in.

Rather, you would be plunging it in, if it hadn’t been for the swift-acting hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

“Drop it.” The low, sleep-crackled utterance sends shivers up your spine. Acting fast, you use your free hand to push on the hilt, your strength against his, but it doesn’t budge a centimeter, and instead, both of your wrists are captured by the prince. His grip tightens, squeezing you so harshly that you feel the tips of your fingers tingle, but you don’t relinquish your weapon.

Vibrant blue eyes blink up at you, narrowing into a scowl. You try pushing harder, ignoring the fact that his eyes seem to glow in the darkness, ignoring the fact that they are the prettiest eyes that have ever gazed at you, ignoring the fact that those pretty eyes are now trailing down your body. Your skin burns at the attention. You can’t let yourself believe that he’s checking you out in a life or death situation, but then you figure it’s in your head when he says, “if you wish to keep your wrists intact, you will drop. Your. Dagger.”

Surrendering is not an option. It’s either kill or be killed, because even when you choose to not kill, your termination will be absolute. You will be tried by the king with his son at his right side, then you will be hanged for your crimes. So with shaking hands, you attempt to exert more pressure, trying to keep your breath steady to not raise a commotion.

Surprisingly, the prince chuckles. “Has a little sparrow flown through my window to try to kill me?”

In one fell swoop, Satoru manages to flip you onto your back, his hands bringing your wrists down on the side of the bed, forcing you to drop the dagger to the floor. He eyes you speculatively for a moment, then his mouth turns up into a half-grin.

“A woman, no less.” He muses incredulously. Then his eyes dart back down your body, and by the way his grin widens, you’re sure he actually is checking you out. “Are you supposed to be some kind of peace offering?”

What an odd man. Although you've just made an attempt on his life, he’s smiling down at you like you’re some kind of acquaintance—no, friend.

“I mean…sending a beautiful woman to my bedchambers says a lot, wouldn’t you agree?” Prince Satoru asks after taking in your dumbfounded expression. “Not much for words?” He asks. “That’s okay, little sparrow. We don’t need to talk.”

You gasp when he begins to lean down, eyes trained on your lips. Without a second’s hesitation, your feet meet his bare chest, and with all of your might, you kick off, throwing him back a couple meters. You flip back onto the floor and attack him with throwing knives while you search for your dagger. If he is in fact an alchemist, your other weapons won’t do much damage, but could slow him down if you could manage to hit him.

“You’re strong,” Satoru gleefully appraises, dodging another one of your throwing knives, and catching the other. He throws it back at you, but you manage to duck behind the corona curtain at just the right time. “And fast.”

The dagger is under the bed. You grab it, gulp some air, then use the curtain as a distraction before charging at the prince, using the same swiping technique your master has taught you. Your blade cuts through the air with one swipe, and another. You’re barely missing him, and it’s frustrating because that goofy grin stays plastered to his dumb, pretty face!

In a moment’s notice, he grabs your outstretched arm, pushing down on a pressure point that has your limb lock up. “But you’re messy and unrefined,” he says as a hand slides up your arm. Now behind you, he places his free hand on your waist, moving you into a stance similar to what your master has shown you. “Don’t you fret, little sparrow. It’s nothing a little polishing won’t fix.”

His breath is hot and fanning your ear. Your stomach knots when he squeezes your waist, and to your utter horror, his lips graze down to your neck, tongue sliding over your skin. “Mmm…sweet.”

“What! Are you—?!” Bouncing away from him, you cover your slick neck with one hand while the other continues to point the dagger outwards. What’s even worse is that he doesn’t look the least bit jaded!

He laughs. “Even your voice is cute!” In the dim light of the room, you can see pink beginning to bloom across his cheeks. “Won’t you speak more? Say my name, pretty please.”

“Prick,” you hiss, once again charging forward.

“Do you kiss your master with that mouth?” Satoru begins using his arms to block and redirect your attacks, until he’s twirling you around as if you’re dancing and not trying to kill him! You fume, hating the fact that the prince knows you have a master to begin with. “I should hope not. The only person I’d have you kiss is me!”

He dips you down low, your dagger somehow tucked between the junction of your arm, and very smoothly places his lips against yours. You’ve been kissed before, but never in such a way that made you feel like floating. Like gravity ceased to exist. Like you were falling into a black hole that you didn’t want to claw out of. Prince Satoru Gojo’s kiss is different. It’s light and it’s heavy. It’s heaven and it’s earth. It’s a blessing and a curse.

He hums into you, making the knot in your belly tighten. For a moment, you don’t struggle. Instead, your lips part, and you allow the prince to cup your face to pull you in deeper, tasting you, relishing you. You wind your fingers through the soft strands of his starry hair, and lose yourself in the moment. When he breaks the kiss, pulling away with an expression you can only call beguiled, his thumb moves along the bottom of your lip. Your mind is the fog that clouds the streets at night. It doesn’t mean anything to you when you kiss the tip of his thumb, but when that grin you hate so much comes back, your body erupts in blusterous rage.

Realizing what you just allowed to happen, you snap at his hand. He pulls it away just in time for you to reach for your weapon and slice it across his chest. You push him back, only allowing yourself a second to collect yourself before aiming the dagger at his heart. He catches your wrist before it makes contact.

“So passionate,” he says with a smile, but through gritted teeth. “I must admit, this has been the most fun I’ve had in my bedchambers in a very long time. You might even be spoiling all the fun that the future entails as well. And I don’t even know your name yet. How sad.”

Satoru throws you against the wall, pinning your dagger-wielding arm against one of his extravagant paintings. He nods towards your weapon. “Throw that away.”

“You scared, alchemist?” You bite back.

“I’m only afraid you might hurt yourself, little sparrow. Sharp objects are dangerous, you know. Wouldn't want to clip your wings.” He winks. “And you should be referring to me as your royal highness. I am a prince, afterall.”

“With the dark craft that you and the royal family use, you’re no higher than me.”

Satoru chuckles. “Won’t you please tell me your name? Or at least join me in bed before you insist that I need to be killed.”

“This is not on my insistence.” It’s a slip, but it’s a big one. You’d cover your mouth if your hands were free.

“So, who sent you?” The prince prompts. “It can’t be a scorned lover. Hmmm. The Fushiguro clan? Pshh. No. They’d do it in person.” He flashes his teeth, omniscience glowing in his beautiful blue eyes. “Master Suguru Getou?”

You suck in a breath and he reads it all too well.

“I already know,” he purrs, lips brushing against yours. “Your fighting style is very similar to his. I’m just surprised he sent somebody with so little experience. It certainly proves how much of a coward he is.”

Your blood boils. How dare he insult your master to your face! Satoru Gojo, the sleazy prince and a lowly alchemist. He is scum compared to Master Getou.

You ram your head into the prince’s. Pain shoots down your spine, but you ignore it and thrust your dagger forward. Satoru grabs your arm and pushes it down, and soon, you scream after hearing a tearing sound, and feel a very sharp stinging at your side. Sticky warm fluid seep through your fingers at your side. It’s not a deep cut, but it’s just enough to make you bleed.

“Oh no,” Prince Satoru says in earnest. “Oh, this was my mistake. Dear sparrow, that was a reflex of mine. I didn’t mean to—“

There’s a knock on the prince’s chamber doors, followed by someone’s low voice asking, “your highness, are you well? I heard screaming.”

Shit. This is it. You’re dead. Sure, the prince wants to play with you, but anyone else will have your head in a heartbeat if they see what you’re doing. You should say your prayers now and kiss the world goodbye. You’re sending a silent apology to Master Getou when Satoru lifts you up and carries you to his bed.

“Sir Nanami?” The prince calls while he throws the sheets over both you and him. He climbs on top, pressing his chest into yours. The side that’s injured seers with pain, so you let out a little whimper the moment you hear footsteps enter the room.

“Don’t tell me you have a woman in here,” the man groans. “You know the king has forbidden any partner of yours from walking through these palace doors until further notice.”

“She flew in through my window, actually,” Satoru slyly admits. “But she’s no ordinary woman. She’s very special to me.”

Both you and the knight scoff at the same time, though you hope he doesn’t hear you. If he can believe this charade, perhaps you can get on with your night. And once you kill the prince, there will be a knight who will think that his murder is nothing but a lover’s quarrel gone wrong.

“I see.”

You’re staring at Satoru’s chest, and you realize that his wound from earlier is nearly healed. If you had any doubts about the Gojo family using alchemy, they’re out the window now. You run a fine finger across the red line that contrasts against his ivory chest, feeling the smooth bump where you’d cut him. Will it scar? you think. Disappear completely?

The prince squirms and grabs your hand. “That tickles!” He exclaims, bringing your hand up to his mouth to pepper kisses all over it. Even though the attention burns the back of your neck, you let him, since it’ll only convince the knight that the two of you are in fact being intimate.

Finally, Satoru says, “did you need something, Sir Nanami, or are you ready to confess your voyeuristic sins?”

Sir Nanami sighs, but you hear him back up a few paces. “Then, nobody’s hurt, your highness?”

“No,” Satoru says dubiously, “however, if you could fetch the healing medicines, that would be appreciated. She’s a little feisty!”

You slap his chest and he yips playfully back at you. It would be good fun if the two of you weren’t enemies.

Once the knight leaves, you’re quick to slink out of the bed, albeit wobbly. Dots of blood line his sheets, the sight making you feel a bit dizzy, but it doesn’t stop you from picking up your weapon.

“You don’t tire, do you?” Satoru asks impishly. “As admirable as that is, I simply cannot allow you to try to kill me anymore! You’ll get more hurt!”

“You’re nothing but a dirty alchemist.” You weakly thrust the dagger forward, nearing the window.

“Well, and a dashing prince, but that’s besides the point.” Satoru steps forward and you step back, your legs hitting the window’s wall. “Your master is no better.”

You bare your teeth at him. “Don’t you dare say a word to me about my master!”

“Please, little sparrow, you’re injured. Step away from the window and let’s bandage you up.” He reaches a hand out, and you swipe through the air, splicing his palm. More blood falls to the floor. Unafflicted, Satoru says, “you can’t hurt me.”

“Then let me leave, so that when I return, I can hurt you!”

There’s a purse on his lips. A pensive pause. Then the prince raises both of his hands, one of which is already healed, in defeat.

“There’s a medicine man who lives south-east from the gatehouse,” he says. “His name is Kiyotaka Ijichi. He’ll be asleep by now, but he’s a bit of a pushover and a sucker for a lady in distress. If you wail a bit outside his house, he’ll come out to offer you aid.”

“I don’t need anybody’s help,” you spit as you begin climbing out the window. You half-expect him to push you then. It’s a wonderful opportunity, one that you would seize if you were in his position. But the prince just watches you begin your descent.

“Do try to not bleed on any of the garden flowers,” he calls.

You wordlessly growl back at him.

“Oh, and little sparrow! Should you return here tomorrow evening, or perhaps the next night, or even a week or a month from now, shall I prepare red or white wine for you?” Prince Satoru offers you a charming smile. “And would you like there to be a violinist present? Anything to set the mood?”

Once you’re on your feet, you glare up at the beaming prince. He’s far too confident, but you make a mental promise to ruin that confidence someday, somehow. You don’t answer him, like you’re sure he doesn’t expect, but you allow him to watch you disappear into the black from whence you came.

[heytherejulietx]

hey! i don’t know if i sent this before but could you write a richie x reader where reader protects the losers from bowers? and she gets injured but doesn’t show it until she passes out?

bowers - richie tozier

↳ i hope this turned out alright for you nonnie! 🤍

↳ content warnings - violence, bullying, injury mention, blood, swearing, sex jokes, aged up losers.

↳ 3.5k word count

↳ masterlists

@bucky-j-barnes @mikewheelerc join my tag list

y/n decided that she absolutely detested her english teacher.

it was one of the last days of school before summer, and yet she’d been kept back for an extra hour to tutor some asshole in her class who hadn’t even been bothered to read their set text for that month (to be fair, richie also hadn’t read the text, but she supposed he wasn’t as much of an asshole because she loved him. boyfriend perks or some shit. and she also wasn’t staying back to tutor him, too). so whilst the rest of the losers had been let out of school she had to wait until she could catch up with them after. so she hated her english teacher and by extension the idiot that she had to tutor.

she’d had one good tutoring experience, and that was because richie genuinely needed help writing a history paper. it was only good because they got ten minutes in before they forgot the essay completely and ended up making out in his bedroom for the rest of the “tutor session”. richie had said they spent their time well and he didn’t regret it when his paper was graded poorly, and y/n smacked the back of his head. it was his fault they ended up making out in the first place. obviously.

so when four o’clock rolled around y/n left the practically empty school with a scowl on her face. her bike - usually surrounded by the bikes of the rest of the losers - stood alone as she walked towards it and unlocked the bike chain before she got on and rode off away from the school. richie had said to find them by the clubhouse, but as much as she loved him, she took stan’s word that they’d probably be by the local park instead. stan usually had the best idea of what was going on.

after a little while of peddling through derry y/n found herself approaching the park with a sigh of relief. she was tired and honestly wouldn’t mind listening to richie and eddie bickering like an old married couple for the next however long. she’d have preferred it to tutoring the asshole. though as she came to the edge of the street she screeched her bike to a stop, spotting the losers on the other side of the street with bowers in front of them.

from where she was stood she couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but she could see richie stood right in front of bowers yelling something about “shouldn’t you be off blowing your cousin” and beverly stood beside him, hands on her hips as she glared bowers down. bill was stood behind richie, trying (and failing) to get him to back down, with eddie on his other side with an inhaler in hand. stan stood shuffling on his feet nervously beside mike, whilst ben was keeping an eye on beverly.

y/n got off of her bike and stood it up against the wall of some building beside her as she frowned at the scene. she hurriedly searched henry’s hands for any sign of his knife and was thoroughly surprised when she didn’t see it. until she noticed it peeking out from his back pocket.

memories of seeing ben’s scar on his stomach for the first time made her glower at the back of henry’s head, angry at the thought of him hurting any of the other losers again.

she spotted an empty glass bottle on the floor and without thinking lifted it up and hurled it through the air towards bowers. it shattered against his upper back and the shouting went silent as they all turned to face her, bowers with a murderous glare on his face.

“hey bowers!” she shouted, hands on her hips, matching bev’s stance. “what’s it gonna take for you to chop that mullet off, dude? shit’s fuckin’ ugly man!”

although y/n wasn’t completely alike her boyfriend (mostly in the sense that she could calm down if she wanted to, and richie was constantly at a state of maximum energy at any given point) they were alike in their mannerisms if y/n really got going. she maybe even had bigger balls than he did, as stan once pointed out. she didn’t shy away from conflict - she probably ended up making it worse sometimes, to be honest.

she didn’t look away from bowers but she could feel eight pairs of eyes on her. though the death glare that she was defiantly staring back at was definitely the strongest. she’d maybe even be a little bit scared if she wasn’t too pissed off to care.

as bowers started crossing the street towards her, shouting nasty and horrible things her way, y/n sent a look towards stan and bill and nodded in the opposite direction. they needed to get the losers away before it kicked off with bowers, because she knew that richie and bev would be eager to get themselves involved too. the whole point of distracting bowers was so they wouldn’t be.

stan and bill had hands on the other losers arms, and from where she was stood she heard something close to “she’ll lose him then meet us around the corner“. once she was sure that the boys had it covered she faced henry again, stepping back a little as he got closer though she didn’t lose her glare.

“what the fuck are you playing at?” bowers spat, stopping directly in front of her. she could see small shards of glass sticking in his hair and inwardly smirked to herself.

“the bully act is a little old, isn’t it? you’re pathetic.” she stood her ground with as much ferocity he had, momentarily forgetting about the knife he had, though it was quickly brought to her attention when it was taken out of his back pocket and the tip was pointed at her.

y/n stumbled back a little on instinct, though tried to keep her stance the same. bowers was slowly closing in on her - she only had so much pavement left behind her before a wall. though just as he raised it to send a slash her way, she spotted blue lights in the distance and smirked.

“i’d watch it, bowers,” she nodded in the direction of the sheriff’s cruiser, knowing fully well that his father was in the car. “wouldn’t want daddy catching you with a big-boy blade.”

the cop car drove right down their street and past them, and y/n thought that it would be okay to turn and walk away with a final gesture of her middle finger his way.

big mistake.

she got a few steps away as the cruiser went down the street, though she didn’t take into account that bowers might come at her again. just as she glanced down the street, wondering what side street the losers could have taken to get away, she felt a hand grab the strap of her backpack and yanked her backwards onto the floor, winding her with a wheeze as she landed on the pavement. as she tried to forcefully drag in a breath of air she could see bowers towered over her, blade still in hand, and panicked. he had a fucking knife and she was laying on her back, defenceless.

her hand reached out beside her to grab the first thing she could on the floor and when her fingers circled around one of the larger shards of glass from the bottle she threw mere minutes before she swiped at him with it, taking his moment of leaning back away from it to scramble up to her feet.

“the fuck is your problem, man?” she wheezed, still somewhat winded, now sounding like eddie. she could feel her heart beating out of her chest, almost painfully thumping against her ribcage.

instead of an answer bowers pushed her back again and she landed on the floor once more, the shard of glass falling from her hand. breathing through her teeth, knowing she didn’t have enough time to stand up again since bowers was so close, she rolled onto her stomach to reach and grab the shard of glass, planning to turn back towards bowers to defend herself.

y/n misjudged how long that would take, because before she could turn back around she felt a sudden pain to the back of her leg, along with the sound of her jeans tearing. fuck, did he cut her? if he did he probably didn’t do it very deep because it didn’t hurt terribly bad. y/n still yelped in surprise, though, and kicked him away before she got to her feet again, glass in hand again.

the knife he was holding was coated in blood and it made her feel sick to stare at him, a sadistic fucking smile on his face. y/n would honestly rather have tea with michael meyers over that.

thinking on her feet she threw the glass at him and managed to hit him in the face. bowers groaned in pain and immediately covered the spot with his hand, and y/n wasted no time in turning to run away from him.

through being winded twice the drags of air she took in were audible and wheezy, hurting her throat and chest with every intake of breath. she debated on tackling eddie for his inhaler when she saw him. her shoes slapped against the pavement loudly as she ran down the street and down the first alleyway she saw, hoping the losers were somewhere close. she could already feel herself tiering, and she didn’t want bowers catching up to her again when she had less energy. she’d be much worse off.

thankfully the losers were quite literally right in front her, as when she had turned to run down another side street she collided with richie and almost sent them both tumbling down, if not for mike and ben who managed to hold the both of them up.

“fucking hell-“ she was still wheezing, gripping onto richie’s ugly shirt in tight fists once she was back on her feet. “are you guys okay?”

“we should be asking you that, holy fuck,” richie’s eyes were wide as he held onto her arms to keep her steady. “you sound like eddie.” he added, ignoring the complaint behind his back at the comment.

with richie keeping his hands on her arms bev rubbed her back from where she was stood on her left side, eyes kept on her face. y/n had momentarily forgotten about the cut on her leg because the rush of adrenaline she was feeling kept her from noticing it, and she was wearing black jeans so the blood wouldn’t really show on the material.

“i’m okay,” she nodded, breathing slowly but surely becoming an easier task as she continued to hang off of richie’s shirt, which he seemed like he didn’t mind. “i’m fine.”

“badass taking on bowers like that,” eddie commented, earning a chuckle from the rest of the losers. “i don’t think anybody else would have actually done it.”

“hey!” richie complained, turning to face eddie though he kept a hand on y/n’s arm. “i totally could have done that.”

“no offence rich, but i do have bigger balls than you.” y/n poked him in the chest and earned a playful glare in return.

as richie and eddie started arguing like usual y/n blinked a few times. the adrenaline was wearing off, and the supposed scratch on the back of her leg grew more and more painful the longer she stood there. she grimaced, eyebrows furrowing slightly as she inhaled deeply through her nose. the back of her thigh felt oddly warm, like warm water was running down her leg, though she immediately dismissed the idea that it was blood. no, she’d know if it was that serious. she couldn’t have run all that way with a deep cut in her leg, could she?

“y/n?” she blinked a few times and looked up, meeting stan’s concerned gaze in front of her, soon followed by the rest of the losers taking suit. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” she exhaled deeply, attempting to step forwards, though the movement was so wobbly that immediately richie grabbed one of her forearms to keep her steady. “just peachy, stan-the-man. i think i just need to sit down…” she attempted to step forwards again, though this time the wobbling was more prominent, and she fell right towards stanley as her eyes rolled back.

-

“fuck!” richie had immediately reached forwards in the attempt to catch her before she fell on stanley, and with the help of stan and mike he managed to lower her to the floor.

“oh my god!” eddie was shrill with panic, taking in worried breaths already. “bowers killed y/n!”

“she’s not dead you fucking idiot!” stan yelled back, though his face was pale with worry too.

richie tried to block the bickering out when bev and mike joined too as he crouched beside her, hands a little shaky as he tried to check her over for any injuries, ben doing the same from where he stood. he couldn’t see anything, though a puddle of blood forming underneath her left thigh spoke for itself, and immediately he was panicking too.

“fuck! eddie her leg!” richie was shouting too, hoping eddie knew something about what the fuck was going on due to his extensive medical knowledge.

eddie crouched on the floor beside her leg, gritting his teeth to hold back the willing heave from the sight of blood as he tried to see what had happened. with the help of bev who lifted her leg up, eddie gasped and almost made richie go into cardiac arrest.

“what?! what is it?! is her leg falling off or something?!” now he was sounding like eddie.

“bowers cut her-“ eddie almost heaved again though swallowed it down to speak again. “it’s bad. she needs to get to the hospital she’s losing a fuck ton of blood.”

“fuck-“ richie felt nauseous with worry, and his hands shook as one moved to her cheek, shaking her slightly as if she would wake up. when she continued just to lay there he pulled off his shirt with trembling fingers and leaned over her body towards her leg. “she needs something tied to stop the blood flow, right?” he spoke quickly as he looked up at eddie, who had his hands clamped over his mouth as he tried to keep from throwing up. “RIGHT?” he yelled, impatient.

eddie nodded frantically as his hand dug into his fanny pack for his inhaler and richie wasted no time in wrapping his shirt around her leg, and tied a knot tightly above the cut, not bothered by the blood staining it. once it was tied beverly lowered her leg back down to the floor.

all of the losers had the same sort of expression on their faces; shock. whether it was shown through wheezing like eddie or standing as still as a statue like stan, they all had the same almost ghostly look to their expression.

“there’s a phone booth down the street, i’ll go call an ambulance.” bev announced before she took off running in the direction of the phone.

richie sat back on his heels, pretending his hands weren’t stained with his girlfriends blood as he took her hand and sat it in her lap. he could feel his heart thumping against his ribs and just prayed that the ambulance would get there soon.

-

y/n blinked almost furiously under the sudden harsh light, it hurt her head to look at it. the bed she was laying in was uncomfortable and the room smelt like disinfectant. eddie better not have cleaned my room again, she thought. the last time he had done it was because she had a stomach bug and “the germs could spread and get everyone sick!“, so she didn’t see why he had reason to do it now.

once her eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the room she glanced around and was suddenly taken aback by where she was; the hospital.

y/n immediately sat up, suddenly wide awake, though she flinched when she felt something grab her hand and turned to see what it was, thoughts of bowers and his blood-coated knife flashing in her mind. though she relaxed slightly when she saw richie sat there instead, his hand over hers.

“it’s not even summer yet and you’re already having adventures. look at you go.” his teasing voice filled the room, though she could see in his eyes that he wasn’t completely carefree like usual.

y/n smiled a little as she leaned back against the pillows of her bed and shrugged. “what can i say? i’m just way cooler than you.” she teased as she moved her fingers gently against his to link them together.

richie scoffed in mock offence though a moment later he’d leaned forwards, his other hand over their linked ones. “you feel okay?” his voice was soft and genuine, a tone she only ever heard from richie when they were alone.

she blinked a few times at the question, and suddenly the pain in her leg had registered and she winced. “my leg hurts.”

“i’d expect so after bowers fucking sliced you open,” richie grumbled. he looked angry and concerned and different. y/n rarely saw him so serious. “when i see him next i’m going to kill him.”

“no, rich,” y/n shook her head, frowning a little as she squeezed his hand a little firmer. “i’m okay. just leave it. it’ll get worse.”

richie sighed though nodded, his gaze focused on their interlocked hands. y/n waited another moment before she shuffled over on the bed (and grit her teeth to suppress the grunt of pain from moving her leg, which richie picked up on anyways) before she pat the bed beside her and tugged on richie’s arm. “in.”

“not the first time you’ve said that.” richie snorted as he stood up, and let go of her hand so he could climb onto the bed beside her. once he had settled comfortably against the pillows y/n tucked herself into his side, and closed her eyes once her head had dropped against his shoulder.

after a moment she could feel the tips of richie’s fingers dragging up and down her arm, tracing invisible patterns along her skin. his lips pressed to the crown of her head and in return she gently left a kiss to his collarbone with a quiet hum, though kept her eyes closed.

“you didn’t have to put yourself in harms away for us today,” richie mumbled. “i totally could have handled it.” he added jokingly, not able to stay serious for long.

“oh i’m sure,” y/n smirked slightly before she shook her head and sighed. “i saw the knife in his back pocket and thought of ben and what he did to him. i couldn’t imagine him doing that again to any of you. i’d do anything for you guys,” her voice was so soft it was almost a whisper, and when she looked up richie was already looking at her. “especially you.” she added, almost silent.

richie brought his tree hand up and brushed some hair out of his face as he looked at her, surprisingly not cracking a joke or even a smirk that time. instead his expression was soft; a rarity for sure. his gaze softened and he had a half-smile that made y/n almost swoon, despite being in a hospital bed.

“that means a lot,” richie told her genuinely. “i just don’t like seeing you get hurt, doll.”

“i know, but i’m okay.” she insisted, sitting up a little against his side as she looked at him.

“you’re almost okay,” he corrected, as his fingers tapped against the thigh of the leg that was hurt. “just don’t throw yourself in front of bowers for us again, okay?”

“‘kay. promise.” she smiled, and her eyes closed shut again when richie pressed a soft, loving kiss to her lips.

“as much as i’d love to enjoy this moment,” richie pulled away, his usual smirk back on his face. “eddie is probably outside going through his third inhaler, and stan’s hair probably dropped out from stress.”

y/n laughed and shook her head, though she knew richie really wasn’t far off.

almost as if the losers had heard them, the door opened so quickly and with so much force that it slammed against the wall beside it, revealing (surely) eddie hugging his inhaler and stan looking sick with stress, followed by the other losers.

“yo stan, you look like you just saw under eddie’s mom’s skirt.” richie called over, and immediately eddie was cursing at him as he stepped forwards.

y/n giggled to herself as she tucked against richie’a side, watching the usual bickering start up again. back to normal, she thought to herself.

[walkerwords]

“Lookin’ Out For Her” Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

GIF CREDIT: MTV/AMC

Request from Anonymous: Hello! I loved Walker Words, it was so well written! Could I request a Daryl x reader where the reader gets hurt and Daryl is the one to patch her up? Give her stitches and bandage her up and the like. If you wanted to keep going and have him take care of her and help her with everyday things while she heals that would be super sweet. Just craving some super fluffy care! Thank you!! Xoxo

Word Count: 4516

Warning: Swearing, Injury, Blood

Song I Wrote To: “Is This Love" by Corinne Bailey Rae

Note: And we are BACK. Thank you for requesting this!

---------

The Virginian sun was beating down on everyone’s necks as you worked in the lumber yard just outside of Alexandria.

Abraham had recruited you to help the Alexandrians build up their community. You didn't think it was that important but you said "yes" nonetheless. You had been travelling with your group for a while now. Meeting them on the road, Carl, Rick’s son, had saved you from a Walker that had pinned you to the ground. According to the young man, they had just lost their farm to a horde and were looking for a new place to stay. 

It was then that you noticed his pregnant mother and wanted to help. 

You hadn’t wanted to be near other people since the beginning of the end, but you had a good feeling about the Grimes family and their people. You were with them when Rick discovered the prison and you hadn’t looked back.

While you were close with Rick, Carl, Michonne, Rosita, and others, Daryl was someone that you had connected with unexpectedly. Daryl Dixon was an enigma, but one you loved to try and figure out. He was someone who you  never would have bonded with if it hadn’t been for the end of the world, but everyday you were grateful for him and the way he always seemed to be looking out for you. 

There was something unspoken between the two of you and any time that you were apart, you were constantly looking over you shoulder in hopes of spotting the archer. Just as you were now as you worked  near Abraham, cutting into the timber that would help reinforce the walls of your new home. 

“Who would’ve thought?” Ford said as he called out to you. 

“What’s that, Red?” you called back, looking at him through the bright rays of sun that shone down on you. 

“You,” Abraham said. “Who would’ve thought you’d be into all of this?”

“Construction?” you asked, raising your brows. 

“No,” he said with a shit-eating grin, “helping.” Your mouth opened in shock at his jab, not finding it particularly funny. 

“Hilarious,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Abraham just began laughing, enjoying himself. You began to ignore him as you tried to hide your own smile when the sound of growls reached your ears. “Fantastic,” you said with a sigh as you leaned over to pick up your weapon, an extra-sharp machete that Rick had given you after the events of Terminus. 

The Walkers came from the South in a group, all meandering towards the site. “Stay sharp!” Ford yelled as he grabbed a knife in one hand and a hammer in the other. While you had your guns, nobody wanted to use ammo if they didn’t have to. The Alexandrians were worried, shuffling back as the Walkers approached, but you and Abraham moved to the front.

You began taking them down quickly with a few slashes of your blade. Two larger Walkers backed you up until your back hit a pile of stacked lumber. You took out the first, but the second moved too fast, falling into you. You fell back, hitting your head on the edge of the wood as you went down. The Walker landed on your arm, pressing it into the metal stake keeping the wood tied together. Groaning out in pain, you shoved your blade into the side of the Walker’s head and shoved it off with disgust. 

“(Y/N)!” Abraham yelled as he ran towards you. He took out the last Walker with a swing of his hammer before arriving at your side. “Ya alright, girl?”

“Fine,” you grunted, taking the hand Abraham stretched out for you to grab. Abraham pulled you to your feet and you ignored the pounding behind your eyes as you brushed sawdust off your jeans.

“Are you sure that you are okay?” he asked, slipping into his sergeant mode. 

“Abe, I am alright,” you said, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “Few bumps and bruises ain’t gonna keep me down.”

“Well, just head back alright? We’re gonna be headin’ inside any minute now,” he ordered. 

“I can help clean up,” you said, but he was shaking his head. 

“(Y/N), go,” he said and with a sigh, you saluted the man, picked up your machete, and turned back towards Alexandria.

-------

Arriving back home, you tried to keep steady on your feet, but it was becoming more difficult with each step. 

Nodding to Rick and Glenn who were speaking to Spencer, you continued on towards the house that you were sharing with the Grimes, Michonne, and Daryl. In the distance, you could see Judith being carried around by an amused Tara who swung her around on her hip, trying to make the little girl laugh. 

The ache in your head was the only thing distracting you from the searing pain in your arm. You could also feel thick blood starting to saturate the sleeve of your shirt, but you did your best to ignore it. If you could manage to get home and up to the bathroom unseen, everything would work out. The last thing you needed was for one of your friends to clock your injuries. 

Climbing up the steps to the house, you relaxed as it sounded empty. Dropping the façade, you let the pain show on your face for just a second, but a second was all it took for him to notice. 

“What’s wrong with ya?” Daryl said from a quiet spot on the porch. Still not used to how silent the man could be, you jumped out of your skin at his deep voice. 

“Fucking hell, Daryl!” you exclaimed, grabbing at your chest with your bad arm which only made you wince further. “Way to scare the hell out of me.” Daryl, who had been cleaning his bow, got to his feet and approached you, his brows drawn together. 

“Are ya gonna answer my question?” he asked, looking you over. Suddenly feeling somewhat shy, you took a step back from him, turning so your bad arm was further out of sight. 

“Walkers came up on us at the lumber spot,” you explained. “Everyone’s fine, but I got knocked down. It’s nothing.” 

“Is it also nothin’ that you can’t keep to stand still without staggerin’?” Daryl noticed, gesturing down at your feet. Glancing down, you saw a dizzying pattern of dirty bootprints as if you had horribly failed at a field sobriety test after a night out. 

“I…” you tried as the pain increased. “I may have hit my head on the way down.” 

“Mmhmm. Come on,” Daryl said as he took your arm to keep you steady and led you into the house.

“I can walk, Daryl,” you complained. 

“Yeah, into a wall maybe,” he said with a scoff. You frowned, but didn’t pull away as he took you to the room that he had claimed on the first level. 

Daryl’s room was quite neat, but considering none of you had many belongings, it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise. Clothes were strewn across a single chair in the corner while his leather jacket was thrown on the unmade bed. Bolts for his bow, old and new, were on a table in front of the window, and tools for the bike Aaron had given him were tossed on top of the dresser.

It was very…Daryl.

“Sit,” he ordered, helping you to the edge of the mattress. 

“Yes, Sir,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Daryl mirrored the motion before leaving the room quickly. You sat there awkwardly as Daryl went to fetch the medical kit. Being in his room alone, you felt as if you were in high school and in a boy’s room for the first time.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you chastised yourself. This was Daryl, your friend, your partner when it came to runs or watch. However this was also Daryl, the man that had bewitched you body and soul. “Easy there, Darcy,” you said, shaking your head, trying to dislodge your Austen fantasy. 

“What?” Daryl asked as he returned with the supplies. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, averting your eyes. Daryl just hummed a response before sitting next to you and then gesturing for you to remove the flannel shirt you wore over your tank top. Carefully, you pulled down the sleeve and then slipped the shirt off your shoulder, the blood sticking to the fabric. The fresh wound snagged on the threads, causing you to hiss out in pain, but eventually you got it off. “Damn,” you swore, finally getting a look at the cut from the stake. 

“Not exactly shallow,” Daryl said, examining the wound. “It’s gonna leave a scar.”

“What else is new?” you said as a ringing entered your ears. You rubbed at one of them, trying to dislodge the annoying sound. 

“That’s what I thought,” Daryl said. 

“What?” you asked as Daryl began wiping away the extra blood with a towel. 

“Ears ringin’, right?” 

“Maybe…” you said, very aware of how his fingers moved across your blood-speckled skin. 

“Probably a concussion. The dizziness, ringin’, headache that I know ya got… irritability,” he said with a look and you swatted at him. “All shit ya get from a concussion.” You sighed deeply, not liking how the day was going. The last thing you needed was to be benched with your family in a new environment. You weren’t the best fighter, but you were damn good at surviving and you had to stay sharp. 

Daryl finished removing the blood before grabbing the needle and thread. Looking away, you stared at your boots as he tugged your skin back together. “Needles make ya sick?” he said with amusement in his voice. 

“No, but watching you stitch my flesh back together ain’t a walk in the park,” you said and then Daryl had an even softer touch.

“Almost done,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb above the wound, trying to soothe you and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working. “If you don’t tell people when you’re hurt, how are we supposed to help ya?” he asked. 

“It’s not your job,” you said, not really thinking it through. 

“Like hell it’s not,” Daryl shot back, but his tone remained calm. “We look out for each other, (Y/N). That’s what we do.” 

“I know,” you said, letting out another deep breath. “M’sorry.” Daryl tied off the last stitch and cut it before reaching for the bandage. You looked back just as he smoothed the sterile gauze over your arm, pressing it down firmly. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Daryl didn’t respond. Instead, he ran his hand down your arm until it got to your hand. Slipping his fingers into yours, he intertwined your hands together, rubbing his calloused fingers against your own. 

You sat like that for a while, just listening to each other breathe, feeling the pressure of his hands in yours. This happened occasionally and you weren’t exactly sure what it meant. Daryl would sit next to you, press his leg into yours or even reach down and take your hand.

Back at the prison, he would just enter your cell and sit next to you. Even on the road, sometimes, he’d take your hand as you walked, letting it swing between the two of you. Daryl never  spoke, but he always made sure to add some pressure, as if letting you know that he was there. A part of you never wanted to look into it further. You all had seen some horrible things and you knew everyone needed to feel grounded. 

Daryl gravitated towards you to feel...something, you just weren’t sure what that was yet. 

“You know,” you whispered, leaning into him a bit, “there is a doctor here.” Daryl’s grip tightened then, almost as if he was afraid you were about to run. Looking up at you, his eyes were blue fire as he stared into your own. 

“And you ain’t goin’ anywhere near that son of a bitch,” Daryl said. “He ain’t layin’ a single hand on ya, not after what I know what he does to that wife of his.” 

“Daryl,” you said, trying to keep him calm, “Pete’s not gonna hurt me.” 

“I know he’s not,” he said. “Because I’d kill him if he did, I don’t care who the hell he is.”

“Is that you lookin’ out for me?” you asked, reaching up with your other hand to brush a strand of hair from his eye. 

“Just don’t go to him, (Y/N),” Daryl said. “Alright?” If he was one to say “please”, you figured he was about to.

“I could have a concussion, remember?” you pointed out, still feeling the blooming migraine. 

“You’re gonna be alright,” he said. “Herschel told me how to handle that. You’re gonna stay here with me tonight. I gotta keep wakin’ ya up so you don’t end up in a damn coma.” 

“Is that the only reason?” you asked, testing the waters. Daryl looked at you with a raised brow. 

“It’s the one I’m giving ya for now,” Daryl said. 

“Just for now?” you asked. 

“Yeah,” he said with a quick jut of his chin. You nodded and then leaned against him, feeling the pain echoing through your body. Daryl looped his other arm around your shoulder as you began to drift off. “I got ya, (Y/N),” he whispered as fatigue finally took over and you slumped into the man at your side.

-------

Daryl kept his word and made sure that he woke you up throughout the night. 

Any time his hand shook your shoulder, pulling you from your dreamless sleep, you awoke to his gentle face aglow by the camping lantern. He’d ask your pain level and make you drink water.

Afterwards, Daryl would get you to lay back down, smooth his hand over the side of your head, and you would fall right back to sleep. When he woke you up for the third time, you noticed a makeshift ashtray sitting on the window sill of the open window, the smoke filtering out into the night. Having known Daryl for a while, you knew what it looked like when he was taking watch. 

“Get some sleep,” you whispered as you rolled over to face him as he walked back towards his perch. 

“I’m fine,” he said. “I got hours yesterday.”

“Liar,” you mumbled, already fading. The last thing you saw before you fell asleep again was Daryl leaning back against the window frame, his eyes on you as he flicked his cigarette in his fingers. 

In the morning, your head felt a bit better, but your arm was killing you. Hissing in pain, you opened your eyes and rolled onto your back. Shadows danced on the ceiling from the sunrise and the breeze that floated through Alexandria. 

“Mornin’,” Daryl said from his spot by the window.

“Were you there all night?” you asked, sitting up. 

“Nah, took care of Judith a couple of times,” he said with a shrug. 

“Daryl…” you sighed, shaking your head. 

“It’s nothin’,” he said, waving you off. Getting up, he walked over to where you were and sat down next to you. From his pocket he pulled a pen light of all things. 

“Where did you find that?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Carl grabbed it from asshole’s office,” Daryl explained as he clicked it on and raised it before your eyes. 

“Do you even know what you’re doin’?” you asked. 

“Just follow the light,” he said with a huff and so you did. Daryl checked out your pupils to make sure neither was blown and then stowed the light away. “Arm,” he ordered, grabbing the medical kit from the side table. Moving your arm felt like moving a ton of bricks. Then pain was bad from the wound, but your muscles felt as if needles had been going in them for hours. “Swelling went down a bit,” Daryl said as he gently prodded the skin. “Maybe we can find some meds for the inflammation. I’ll see what we got here.”

“Who would’ve thought?” you said as he changed the bandage on your arm. 

“What?”

“Doctor Dixon,” you mused with a grin. Daryl rolled his eyes, scoffing. 

“Shut up,” he said, but you could tell he found it funny. 

“Guess I’m banned from helping with the lumber for a bit,” you said with a sigh. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Ford’s orders.” 

“Well, I ain’t about to sit here all day and do nothin’,” you said as he finished his task. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stood up, testing your balance. When you were satisfied enough with the results, you went in search of your own room, desperate for a change of clothes. 

“Don’t fall!” Daryl called as you exited the room. You sent him a rude gesture over your shoulder, making him laugh. After only tripping twice, you managed to get to your room, grab some new clothes, and hit the shower. It was a hassle keeping your arm dry under the constant spray of water, but you managed well-enough. 

Once you were dressed and feeling somewhat human again, you headed back down stairs to only be met with Daryl. “You need to take it easy,” he said. 

“I’m not going to go hunting Walkers, Daryl,” you said, carefully pulling on your boots. “Maybe Olivia or Aaron could use some help. I know Gabriel has been wanting to get the church back together.”

“Great, let’s go,” he said, leaning against the front door. 

“You taggin’ along?” you asked, pulling yourself up. 

“I gotta make sure ya don’t collapse and take someone down with ya,” he said. With a quick laugh, you placed your knife in its sheath and approached him. Grabbing him by the shoulders, you moved him out of the way. 

“Mmhmm,” you said with a smirk, “well, come on then, Doc,” you teased. 

“Oh my god…” he said, but followed you nonetheless. 

-----

For most of the day, Daryl was by your side. 

No matter what you were doing, he was there. Once you had convinced Gabriel to let you help him, he had you moving some things from Scott’s garage and into the church. Daryl, however, wasn’t on board with all the physical activity you were doing. So, instead of letting you carry the heavy boxes, he was there taking the weight himself. 

Daryl helped you carry anything over a few pounds and if you were being honest with yourself, you were rather enjoying him being so protective. He continued to help you the entire time you were doing errands for the priest and even when Deanna asked you to help move some files from the basement for Maggie to review, Daryl was there. 

He never once complained, but he was talking more than usual. As you completed the tasks for the day, Daryl was asking you questions about your life before the Apocalypse. He wanted to know where you grew up, if you had any siblings, and even what your parents were like. You knew a lot about his upbringing, but you never really spoke about your own. Still, with every question, you answered him honestly and it actually felt nice to talk about your family. 

When he asked about what those first few months after the firebombs dropped on the cities were like, you began to grow quieter. As with everyone you had met in the new world, you had lost people from the first day the Dead began to rise and it hadn’t stopped. You told Daryl about the first people you had met on the road, the ones who had been slaughtered by a group of the Dead as you were escaping the city. It was then that you had decided to take on the world alone if possible. 

That is until the fateful day in which you met Carl Grimes. 

When Daryl asked about any fears you had, you began to laugh. “What’s so damn funny?” he asked as you sat next to him in Aaron’s garage as he worked on the bike. He didn’t want to let you out of his sight and you knew he needed to get some grease on his hands before the day was over. 

“I guess I just never thought we would ever have to talk about our fears again, ya know? Aren’t we all scared of the same thing these days? The Dead, assholes with guns...each other.” 

“Each other?” Daryl echoed. “What do ya mean by that?”

“How well do we really know each other? Eugene lied to us for weeks, Tara was with the Governor, and even the people here are unknowns. I don’t know, Daryl, I guess if I had to talk about any fears it’d be that I’m scared that I don’t know how to trust anyone anymore.”

“That ain’t a bad thing,” Daryl said. “Best to always be on alert, that way ya don’t end up dead or worse.”

“It’s exhausting,” you admitted, rubbing at your temples. 

“Pain?” Daryl asked as soon as he noticed. 

“I’m fine,” you said. 

“(Y/N),” he said, wiping the grease from his hands and crouching down in front of you, gently lifting your chin to look in your eyes. “Tell me.”

“About a seven,” you admitted. 

“It was lower a few hours ago,” he said with a frown. 

“Guess I’ve been working harder than I thought,” you said, resting your head in his hand. Daryl reached back and grabbed his canteen. 

“Drink,” he ordered and you did, sipping the water slowly. Reaching out, he smoothed a hand over your hair gently. “Better?” he asked. 

“Bit,” you admitted. Daryl withdrew his hand then and left you to finish the water, trying to get your hydration back to where it should be. Leaning back against the workbench, you watched as he worked, his shoulders tense as he pulled at gears or unscrewed bolts.

Daryl was always in his element when he worked on mechanics. You remembered the first time you saw him working on one of the cars at the prison. He had seemed so absorbed in everything he was doing, happy to be providing for his new family. 

You knew enough about cars to get by, but you could always learn more and so you observed him whenever you could. Watching Daryl rebuild cars or work on Merle’s bike was one of the main reasons you began to grow closer to each other. 

He looked up from his work then, feeling your eyes on him and he gave you a crooked grin, one that was rare, but one you loved so much.

-----

As day turned to night, Daryl helped you get home. 

The dizziness was back in waves and so he had you by the arm as you walked through the streets of Alexandria. He had tried to carry you, but after refusing over and over, he had relented to just holding you up, keeping a firm grip on you. 

As soon as you entered the house, Michonne and Rick were in the kitchen, making food for the house. “Long day?” Rick asked as you moved past him. 

“Too long,” you said, slumped against Daryl.

“Come on,” Daryl said, “you’re about to crash and burn.” You waved at Rick and Michonne as Daryl all but dragged you back to his room. As soon as you saw the bed, you nearly wept in relief. Daryl had been right, you should have stayed home. “Hungry?” he asked. 

“No,” you said as you sat down. Daryl kneeled down and began to unlace your boots as you held your bruised arm to your chest, trying to relieve some of the pain. “I should get hurt more often if this is the kind of treatment Daryl Dixon gives me,” you said with a lazy smile. Daryl looked at you with an exhausted look. 

“Let’s not, alright?” he said as he finished with your boots. 

“Yes, Sir,” you said as you flopped back onto the bed. Daryl got up and joined you, sitting next to you. With your good arm, you reached up and tugged him down beside you, his body lying alongside yours. Turning your head to look at him, he was already looking at you through messy strands of hair. 

Slowly, you lifted up your hand and offered it to him. Daryl took it in his own and laced your fingers together, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your hands are warm,” you said in the low light of the room, your voice barely above a whisper as if it would crack the tension. 

“Yours are cold,” he said back, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “I should check your arm,” he said, but you shook your head. 

“It can wait,” you whispered, looking into those blue eyes of his as he pinned you to the planet with his gaze. “Thank you, for lookin’ out for me today,” you said, tightening your hold on his hand. 

“Always,” he said. “I’m always gonna be there for ya.” You gave him a small smile then as a shiver took over your body. “Cold?” he asked, his brow furrowing. 

“Bit,” you said with a shrug. Daryl reached behind him and grabbed one of the blankets and draped it over you, careful not to let go of your hand the entire time. His other arm was pressed to your side as he tried to adjust the blanket, but it lingered, adding pressure to your body. “Stay,” you whispered to him. 

“This is my room,” he said, looking down at you. 

“Smartass,” you said, trying not to break his gaze. 

“I ain’t going anywhere,” he said as he sat up a bit higher and then pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was gentle, but warm, his lips leaving a spot of heat on your skin. When he pulled back, you locked eyes with him again before slipping your hand out of his and reaching up to drag your fingers through his hair. Getting to his neck, you pulled him down to you and he met you there, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. His lips were heavy on yours and he tasted exactly as you had imagined. 

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “Your head needs to heal,” he whispered, not wanting to move any further away from you. 

“My mind has never been more clear,” you said, grabbing his face again. “Kiss me, Doc,” you said and with a chuckle, he did.

Daryl lay with you, kissing you, holding you, and never once leaving your side as you finally succumbed to sleep, your body desperately needing to heal. Looking down at you in the low light of the lantern, he promised that would never let you go, not now, not ever. 

He had asked you about your fears, but you hadn’t asked him about his. In truth, he was only scared of one thing and that was losing you.

TAGS: @thanossexual​ @felicisimor​ @yes-sir-hotchner​ @lucillethings​ @stark-dreams​ @huffledor-able541​

[anyoneseenadam]

The Moon Spirit - One

Dorian x reader (throne of glass) (future fenrys x reader)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: blood, graphic descriptions of violence, objectification, gross old men, Dorian is a ball of love and niceness however, angst, fluff, possibly smut in later chapters

word count: 4.5k

a/n: ahhhhh I’m finally writing this!! This has been in my head for so long now so I’m so glad I’m finally getting it down and I’m really excited to develop it further and possibly go into some poly!dorianxfenrysxreader but that shall all be revealed soon lmao, pls comment and let me know your opinions and theories and shiz it always makes my day!!!

—————————————————————————-

“Wake up.” You felt insistent tapping on your forearm, groaning as you shook it off, turning onto your side and burrowing deeper into your soft duvet. “C’mon wake up princess,” your brain barely registered Dorian’s whining as you groaned in return, throwing and arm out behind you and batting at his firm chest.

“Go away.” You moaned as you felt a firm body land on top off yours. Dorian pressed his face in between your shoulder blades as his arms wormed their way beneath your stomach, warm fingertips massaging the skin of your belly as you cracked open an eye, albeit reluctantly.

“I have to say all those lessons in ladylike manners sure paid off.” You heard Chaol’s sarcastic voice and turned your head just enough to glare at him as well as he sat comfortably on the armchair next to your fireplace.

“I also have lots of lessons in stabbing rude boys, shall I demonstrate those,” you grumbled, flipping him off before shaking your clingy boyfriend away, sitting up in bed and glaring at both of them as they laughed at your disgruntled expression. “What do you want and why are you waking me up?”

“Well, my love,” Dorian moved behind you to gently start brushing your hair as you hummed in delight at the attention, both of you ignoring Chaol’s eye roll, “It is your birthday isn’t it?”

“So you choose to torment me?” you asked as Dorian stood again, smiling at you boyishly as he moved around your room, tidying away clothes.

“Well seventeen is a big one,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you and Chaol moved to translate as you stood and made your way to your bathroom where a bath had already been run for you, the hot water smelling of expensive soaps and salts.

“We have to make appearances today, and there’s a ball tonight.” Your shoulders slumped as you realised what your day entailed.

“Appearances?” you gave your friend a pleading look, but he just shrugged his shoulders sympathetically.

“Carriage through the city, the whole point in the public seeing you so much is to dampen any threat of revolution and they haven’t seen the two of you together recently. Your birthday is as good a time as any.” The older boy explained as your dark-haired prince moved closer to you, wrapping his arms tightly around you and kissing your head.

“I know it sucks princess, but if we make the rounds this morning, we’ll have all afternoon to ourselves before the ball.”

“I don’t like being a show pony.” You grumbled as the familiar frustration prickled behind your eyes, tears forming on what was supposed to be a happy day for you.

Chaol and Dorian averted their gazes at your words, both feeling a deep sense of guilt over something they truly couldn’t control. You had spoken of this before, only in confidence to them; Dorian the love of your life and Chaol alike a brother to you, you had told them how you felt like a toy, a shiny thing for the king to display, waved around in front of the public until you were drained, and they were putting artificial colour onto your face. You had once described it as being alike a corpse in makeup, dragged around for others entertainment as you slowly rotted and decayed until you were unrecognisable.

“I’ll be there the entire time my love, when it gets too much I’ll drag the attention away from you okay?” you nodded as he stroked your arm reassuringly.

“I love you,” you said to him as you leaned up to kiss him gently.

“I love you too baby, happy birthday.”

Chaol walked past as he left the room so you could clean, ruffling your hair as he passed. “Maybe next year you’ll grow,” he mocked, narrowly missing your smack as the three of you laughed.

“Clean up, we’ll be waiting when you’re ready,” Dorian pressed another kiss to your head before he was dragged out of the room, his grin easy as you waved him away.

--

You washed quickly without the help of the maids that usually surrounded you. You presumed that was a birthday present from Dorian as he knew how much you despised the bustling groups of women that would preen over your every feature.

You spent half the bath scrubbing off layers of dead skin and the other massaging your hair until it had no option but to shine in the morning light. Cleaning your face and dragging a razor over any visible body hair as you repeated the rules you were taught in your head.

1.      Never look anything less than perfect. A queen must look put together.

2.      Always stand straight.

3.      Never smile with your teeth.

4.      Wave to children only, adults get a polite head bow.

5.      Speak once spoken too and only if given permission from the Crown prince…

The list went on for what seemed like hours and at one point you had it written down and pinned on your wall next to your mirror, reading it every day. The first four years you had spent under the king’s care were the same. Lessons followed by more lessons, restrictive diets, and waist training. They broke you down and remodelled you into the perfect queen, and throughout those lonely years you never once saw Dorian, excluding the first time you met as children.

Only when you were twelve did you see him again, and from then on you did everything together. When he sword trained you practiced ballet, when he read, you read, when he ate, you ate. You became one person, never doing something without the other, Chaol turning your duo into a trio soon after.

When you turned fourteen he kissed you. You both knew you were to be married one day, but one snowy day he had pulled you aside and kissed you quickly, face as red as the roses your mother used to grow every summer. He had asked you to be his girlfriend, speaking so quickly you barely heard him as you held in laughs at your usually so composed prince. You had nodded in response and he kissed you again, holding your hand tightly as the two of you escaped the castle for the night, determined as he was to take you on a real date.

You dried quickly when you got out the bath, rubbing your favourite lavender scented hand cream into your hands and neck. You towelled your hair off and dressed quickly, mindful of the delicate necklace that always hung around your neck, the one that secured your place in the glass castle. Even if you didn’t know why.

Your dress was dusty blue with silver stitching, the king and queen liking when you and Dorian sticked to a theme. You thumbed some silver earrings in and adorned your wrists in similar dainty, silver bracelets, finally twisting your hair into a low bun and pinning away the loose strands, applying minimal makeup.

You heard a soft knock at the door before it pushed open, a familiar mop of dark hair appearing at an odd angle from behind the door. You smiled when you saw him, unable to escape the rush of feelings that appeared whenever he walked in a room, all easy smiles and suave manner.

He sauntered over to you with a cheeky smile, his hands hiding something behind his back.

“Maybe Chaol was right about the height thing,” he commented when he reached you, your similar heights long gone as you both grew into your bodies, the days of being young and without consequences gone.

You jabbed him in the rib jokingly, “It’s my birthday and all I’ve gotten so far is abuse.”

“Let me change that then,” he pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw, and you shut your eyes, revelling in the attention from your lover. He pulled away and revealed the flat box he was holding. “I know you can’t take your necklace off, but I thought this would go nicely with it,” he opened the box in your direction, and you looked down at a beautiful gold necklace with a circular pendant showing an opalescent crescent moon with three stars on the gold plating it rested on.

“Oh Dorian,” you whispered, picking the necklace up gently to admire it.

“Of course I have a million other presents waiting for you later, I have to treat my best girl,” he scrunched his face up in the way that always reminded you that he too was just a boy, despite his lessons. You loved these gentle moments when you both let your masks drop, and instead focused on the true love you shared, a lack of care for the way it was pushed. You instead focused on the luck that had given you a man you could truly love, through all the pain and harsh words, the world had given you someone to endure its hardships with, and for that you would remain grateful.

“Put it on for me?” you smiled at him, biting your lip gently as he turned you around, clasping the necklace that sat perfectly under your crystal behind you neck, his fingers soft and gentle as they trailed down the chain and settled between your collarbones, his touch almost wary of the stone as he moved to stand in front of you.

He seemed like he was about to say something but clearly decided against it, instead reaching to tug some strands of hair down to frame your face, twirling them in his long fingers.

“We’ll be fine today, it’s only an hour or two.” He said, his voice steady and sure, his courage coursing through you as he cupped your face lightly.

“We will be. We always are.” You moved away and sat to pull on your shoes as Dorian checked his sword was hanging safely from his side still before he picked up a light shawl, slinging it around your shoulder and linking arms with you.

“The city awaits my love,”

--

Chaol was escorting you through the courtyard when you were surrounded by a fleet of soldiers, exchanging a worried glance with Dorian.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his arm tightening around you as he and Chaol both scanned the area.

“Yes your highness, however a rather dangerous prisoner is being taken to the king, so we are simply on high alert.” A guard you recognised said, Dorian frowned but you all continued onwards, only slowing when you passed an ever-larger group of guards. When you passed them you looked to the centre where a beautiful girl with a tear-stained face stood, being dragged along, her blonde hair matted with blood and dirt. She locked eyes with you, and you felt a pulse of power go through your body, her turquoise eyes widening for a second as time seemed to slow around you, a soft glow emitting from your neck. However before you could ponder it she was dragged away, and Dorian was asking you a question.

“Huh?” you asked quietly, mind occupied by the strange, beautiful girl.

“What do you think she did?” he asked, his grin cheeky.

“Maybe she steals princes hearts and eats them,” you joked, nudging his side even though your smile didn’t feel real, hiding your shaking hands behind the pleats of your skirt.

“Shame mine has already been stolen,” he flirted, and you laughed genuinely as he helped you into the carriage, pushing down the thoughts of the girl and the anxiety that surged through you as you prepared to plaster on a fake, placid smile.

“I haven’t eaten it yet though,” he laughed, joining you and squeezing your hand.

“Save it for dessert.”

--

The rest of your day passed slowly. Practiced waves and polite conversation taking up a majority of your morning as you tried to keep a pleasant facial expression when all you wanted was to curl up with your very cute boyfriend and sleep your birthday away.

You hated being put on display, the way you were shown off like a shiny toy and your hand was frequently finding Dorians, holding his tightly while you dug your nails into the palm of your other hand, the biting pain reminding you that you were in fact human.

By the end of the long, slow loop of Adarlan your shoulders were aching, and your mouth hurt from the still, soft expression you had kept it in. However you didn’t let your shoulders drop as you moved swiftly through the castle, Dorian by your side and Chaol a pace behind. Instead you only let your shoulders fall when you reached your room as you squealed, clapping your hands together and turning to Dorian with wide eyes when you saw the copious amounts of presents laid out for you.

“Dorian this is too much!” you exclaimed as you tackled him in a hug.

“Nothing is too much for you angel.” He muttered, kissing your head as you practically swooned in his arms.

“You read too much romance,” you said, ducking your head to hide your heated face.

“Plus a solid twenty percent are from me,” Chaol said, and you turned, hugging the tall man tightly too.

“Thank you!” you held your hands to your face, biting the tips of your thumbs like you used to as a child as Dorian led you to the seats where the presents were placed.

“I think this one needs to be opened first,” he said, a glint in his eyes that you couldn’t place as he passed you a large but light box. You opened the lid cautiously as Dorian exchanged excited looks with his brother. You were met by a ball of white fur, bright blue eyes blinking up at you and you gasped.  

You placed a hand over your heart as you reached into the box, picking up the kitten that was roughly the size of your hand and cooing gently as you stroked it, tears filling your eyes. You looked up at Dorian and he smiled at you as you pressed the furball into your chest, nuzzling its soft head.

“I found it abandoned on a street and had to take it home,” he explained, “He doesn’t have a name yet.”

You wiped away a tear that had escaped as they laughed at your emotional state, “Amaris,” you whispered, still choked up, “My little ball of light.”

You leaned into Dorian’s arm and kissed him gently in thanks, his head coming over your shoulder as you cooed at the small kitten that was pawing at your hand like new parents.

“As sweet as this is we’re going to be here for hours if you take this long on everything,” you stuck your tongue out at Chaol, placing Amaris in your lap as you were passed more presents. You ended up opening many presents for Amaris, Dorian sheepishly explaining that he got slightly carried away, countless books, dresses, hair pins and bags filled with sweets from all over the world.

By the time you were finished you all felt slightly sick from the taffy you had shared but the aches left from your smiles were real this time. Maids came in to clear away the wrapping paper and dishes Dorian had ordered up when he realised you hadn’t had any substantial food yet that day.

“I should go, we’ve got dinner then the ball in an hour and I can hear the maids outside,” Dorian said late that afternoon, his arms tight around you as you snoozed on his chest, Chaol having left to complete his duties for the day, not having the luxury to laze around like you and Dorian, and Amaris curled on Dorian’s chest next to your head.

“Do you have too?” you whined, and Dorian laughed,

“Yes, now c’mon. Wear the gold dress tonight,” he was referring to an intricate rose pink and gold dress he had bought you, currently hanging on the screen in your room, the matching tiara in a velvet case on your vanity. You looked over to it with heart eyes, wondering how you got so lucky before you sat up and Dorian marvelled at you, eyes puffy from your nap and lips parted and pouty. He reached up and stole a kiss, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before deepening the kiss with a hand on the back of your head. He pressed into your body, his tongue seeking out yours and you moaned softly into the kiss, his grin a promise of more to come later in the evening.

He pulled away too soon, leaving you breathless and left with a wink as you were surrounded by a sea of flustered maids, getting swept up in the lace and satin, the rush of the room silencing your mind for the time being.

--

You sat next to Dorian on a velvet seat, Dorian’s hand protectively resting on your knee as you spoke to the duke and duchess of some shit you didn’t care about. They were speaking about their fifth horse when you felt a sharp gaze on you and turned to see the king staring at you with his cold eyes, and for a second you felt that pulse of power again, the Duke cut off mid-sentence as the world slowed. You tore your eyes away quickly, clenching them shut as the image of the blonde girl came back into your head, Dorian gazing at you with worry as he excused the two of you.

“What happened?” he asked, leading you to dance as you forced yourself back into your practiced facial expression, the mask slipping on hiding your fear.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned into his embrace, “I need to talk to you about something that happened today,” you whispered low enough for him to hear.

“Are you okay? Did someone do something?” he asked, grip tightening slightly as he led you in a waltz.

“Not quite, I’ll tell you when we can go somewhere more private.” You peered over his shoulder and met the kings’ eyes again, watching as he spoke lowly to Chaol who turned slightly pale before bowing and making his way over to you.

“May I but in,” he asked, and Dorian nodded, still watching you cautiously as he passed you to Chaol.

“The king wishes to speak to you after the ball, he says it’s the first thing you have to do.” He told you quietly and it took all your training to mask your fear.

“Did he say why?” you asked, taking a deep breath when he shook his head. “Okay, that’s fine. Thank you for letting me know.” You finished your dance with Chaol before carrying on with Dorian, occasionally having to entertain a noble who would breathe heavily in your ear for ten minutes before Dorian found an excuse to steal you back, giggling like the teenagers you were as you did.

When the ball ended and everyone began filing out, all wishing you a happy birthday and you and Dorian a happy future you felt the ball of anxiety that had been in your stomach all night grow, consuming your entire being and swallowing you whole.

“Are you sure you’re okay going alone?” Dorian asked for the fourth time and you faked a laugh to appease his nerves.

“He probably just wants to let me know of new duties now I’m older, I’ll not be long.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“But why won’t he let me or Chaol escort you,” he looked concerned, his trust in his father depleting as he grew older.

“Probably because you’ve both been drinking,” you squeezed his hand as his shoulders slumped, “I’ll be fine.”

“Come up to my room as soon as you’re done okay?” you smiled at his concern, placing a hand over your new necklace, and walking back, away from him.

“Promise.” You blew him a kiss, “see you in a minute, I love you.”

--

You knew something was wrong even before you walked in the room as you watched the queen walk out, eyes red. Her breath stopped when she saw you and she looked as if she were about to come over to speak to you, but shook her head, continuing on with a tight smile.

The guards opened the doors to the large throne room, escorting you into the dark room.

The king sat alone.

The room was dark, lit only by the light of the full moon coming in from the glass walls and ceiling. He sat on his burnished throne; his crown lopsided on his head as he swirled a goblet of blood red wine.

You stepped forward, head bowed, posture never faltering as your mind travelled back to the way you had watched your grandmother stand up to him as well, only to pass away less than a month later leaving you with no real family.

“It’s a shame really,” he started, voice low and gravelly and you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. “You were truly doing so well, and Dorian the poor boy, this will affect him greatly I presume.”

You fought the bile rising in your stomach at the implications of what he was saying, but kept your mouth shut.

“And I have been nothing but fair, giving you all you could ever dream of and keeping you on a tight leash. But I suppose teenage girls will always want to disobey.” He stood then, motioning to the guards who came and kicked you down, landing on your knees harshly with a yelp as you looked up at the approaching king with fear in your eyes.

He reached you, his hand stroking your cheek lightly before trailing down to your necklaces, gently twirling the stone between your collarbones before holding the one Dorian had gifted you tightly.

“Hmm, tacky,” was all he said before tugging harshly, ripping the necklace of you, and throwing it to the side. “I guess I’ve dragged this out enough now.”

You were shaking were you sat, tears slowly trailing down your face but still to afraid to say a word, even as a guard you didn’t recognise approached you, drawing his sword as the others held you tightly. Your eyes widened, fear seeping in as you started fighting the guards, desperately thrashing in their grips as you met the kings’ eyes.

“You can’t do this,” you begged but it was futile as he laughed in your face, “Please it will destroy Dorian, he is your son please don’t do this.”

“It builds character, a strong king needs to be broken.”

“What about the public! They will figure it out, you can’t spin this one.” You were pulling at strings, but you had to try anything you could.

“I AM KING! WHATVER I SAY GOES, WHATEVER I SAY IS THE TRUTH!” he exploded, and you started sobbing, begging for your life as the king turned away, gesturing for the guard to continue. You were shaking, pulling away from the guards as you fought against their death grip.

You watched the guard raise the sword above his head, squeezing your eyes shut as you sent a prayer to any god that was listening. As you prayed, clutching your necklace letting loose sobs and cried for Dorian you failed to notice the glow emitting from you. You heard the guard step forward to slash down and raised your hands to brace for the blow, a blow that never came.

You looked up to see the three guards that were next to you were all sliced in half, blood spilling onto the floor. You screamed pushing away, slipping on the blood as you tore away sobbing as the king turned to you, face white with fear and rage.

“GET HER!” he screamed but you had already begun running, skirts bunched in your hands, the glow around you shielding you from their arrows as you tore through the doors and into the courtyard, running as fast as your legs would allow, dropping yours arms as the full force of the moons light hit you. You saw a path you and Dorian often took to sneak out and headed for it, hiding behind the mock door that was covered in shrubbery, a hand pressed to your mouth as you muffled your sobs hearing the guards stopping nearby, speaking in hushed tones.

You felt something wet press against your leg and almost screamed, looking down to see Amaris gazing up at you with those bright, unblinking eyes. You held in your sobs, picking him up and pressing him into your chest as you quietly made your way down the path that led to the woods, walking in the moon veiled forest.

Your dress was bloody and torn, your delicate heels had snapped, and your feet were tearing from where you stepped having removed them. You ran through the woods, heading as far away as you could get, however you eventually had to slow walking and holding in your sobs as you realised what you had done.

Not only had you used magic, but you had also killed three men and left Dorian. You held Amaris tighter to your chest as he licked at you gently, your necklace still glowing even thought your entire body ached, ready for rest. But you ploughed on, coming out of the forest onto an empty dirt road.

You sat down for a second, letting Amaris down as you sobbed into your hands until you had no tears left, your entire body still shaking. But you forced yourself to stand, picking up Amaris and walking down the road, luckily finding a small farm with horses.

You quietly took a horse, placing down your tiara in its place, wishing you could apologise more but instead mounting the horse and leaving, riding into the night, tears drying on your face as you held your light close with one hand. You wished you could just wake up, wrapped in Dorians arms as he comforted you after your bad dream, but the pain in your body suggested that wasn’t going to happen.

You wanted Dorian but you needed a plan. And you needed a drink.

--

Chaol stood in the throne room, his hand clenched so tight his knuckles were white as he watched the king spin his story of your sudden disappearance, the sound of Dorians silent cries breaking his heart.

When they were excused he dragged Dorian to his room, where he finally broke down, falling to his knees and sobbing into his hands, muttering about how he should have protected her.

“Dorian I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but I think something bad happened to (y/n).” he said, approaching his brother cautiously as he looked at him with wide, tear filled eyes.

“What?” he asked, his voice breaking in his throat. Chaol finally unclenched his hand and passed what he had been holding to Dorian.

The gold necklace was caked with blood.

[little-honeypie]

Loch-hearted

The mighty Hunter Vanguard, Cayde-6 finishes off his 'great' and 'inspirational' speech with everyone gathered round cheering at the thought of loot. You shake your head, pushing your way through the crowd to the edge where your few personal items reside neatly packed into or laid beside your backpack. The crowd disperses and the fireteams pair up. You can't help but think about yours, where they are and if they're even alive. The thought turns your stomach over, making the colour drain from your face as you worry over your treasured dumbasses. Though most see you as the 'lone wolf' or antisocial type and, to be fair, you are. Mostly. Those who dare get close tend to find out you're mostly bark and little bite. You reach down into a side pocket of your bag, carefully dragging a knife from its holster. You look over it, gently tracing the engravings in the blade made by one of the hunters on your team. It says something in a language you can't read and knowing the hunter that gave it to you, you probably don't want to know but at least it looks aesthetically pleasing. You hear a shuffle of footsteps directly behind you and without thinking, you spin on your heels, thrusting the knive's blade towards where you estimate your opponent's throat to be but simply stab something solid. They yell and jump back. Cayde! He rubs his chest with a whine.

"I woulda expected this from one of my hunters, not one of Ikora's nerds!"

He exclaims. Your face regains its colour but only to defy you and show how embarrassed you are from almost potentially killing the hunter vanguard. You lean forward, bowing and apologizing profusely. He laughs, looking at you with consideration.

"Just came over 'ere caaause you weren't headin out or pairin up."

He unholsters his hand cannon, the Ace of Spades with a flashy twirl.

"Came to kill ya unless ya got an excuse."

You stare at him like a deer in the headlights.

"I uhm... I was about to head out..."

He snorts.

"And your fireteam?"

You look to your feet. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes his mouth.

"Riiigght... Are you a newlight, guardian?"

You shake your head.

"Alive for two years, sir."

"Good good, and 'sir'? I like that."

He grabs his chin in thought.

"I like that A LOT."

He repeats. He hums, thinking it over. Obviously not thoroughly.

"Alright, it's decided."

You tilt your head.

"What's decided?"

"You. You're decided."

Your brows come together to form a concerned frown.

"I'm decided?"

"Yup, you're on my fireteam now."

You blink at the Exo.

"What?"

"What's what? You're on my team now with Ikora, speaking of Ikora, where is Ikora? Ikora!"

He wanders away shouting and looking for your vanguard, leaving you to gawk at what just happened. You grab your bag, throwing your arms through the straps and picking up anything you didn't pack away. You run after him to keep up but you keep losing sight of him through the bundles of lightless guardians. You whine. He's a vanguard. And though not awfully serious about his job, defying him even accidentally could end you up in trouble! You look around through the various exo faces but can't find him anywhere. Your heart rate picks up. Where'd he go? Was he joking about you being on his fireteam? Your head clouds with millions of different thoughts, none the same, all colliding with one another. You feel your cheeks and the tips of your ears burn as tears threaten to escape down your face. You hear your ghost's voice softly telling you that you'll be ok and there's no need to stress but you can't help it. You just want to run away and hide. You feel a hand grip your left shoulder firmly and spin you around.

"Eyyyyy, Guardian! Lost ya there, also lost Ikora but found yo- Guardian, are you crying?"

It's Cayde's turn to be the deer in the headlights now because he stares, blinking at you with a shocked look. He gently places his other hand on your right shoulder.

"Hey..."

He says softly as if he were speaking to an animal or child.

"You alright? Did one of those big mean titans say something to you? I'll fight em, you know."

You shake your head, not meeting his gaze. He looks around awkwardly.

"Uhhh, look, we gotta get civilians out buuuut uhhh... Come, come."

He lets you go, spinning on his heels and slipping into the crowd again. Your stomach spins with anxiety, making you sick as you quickly push past guardians. This time you can see the Hunter vanguard but he's still moving too fast. You reach forward, just managing to grab hold of the hem of his cloak to keep track of him. He turns to see who or what has his cloak, thinking it's a potential thief. He stares at you once again, looking from you to your hand that holds his cloak. He tilts his head for a moment before chuckling.

"Ah."

He gently swats you from his cape and offers you his hand, his faceplates move to give you a soft smile of sorts.

"No more running off then."

He says genuinely. You take his hand in yours.

"Well, now we just run off together."

He jokes, coaxing a grin from you. You round up as many groups of civilians and lightless guardians as you can without being detected by Cabal and herd them from the city to safety. Ikora and Zavala are M.I.A and the vanguard radio channels are silent, some are filled with riddles and codes that you, nor your ghost can decipher. Despite feeling helpless, at least you have Cayde by your side. He reminds you of your hunters or maybe they remind you of him, either way, you can't help but think about them. The anxiety plagues your dreams, waking you up gasping for air with your hair sticking to your face from your cold sweat. Cayde springs to his feet, weapon drawn, spooked by you.

"What is it, guardian?"

He asks, looking around for any sign of danger. You breathe deeply to calm your nerves before shaking your head.

"Nightmares... Sorry."

You sigh, lifting your hand to your chest to feel how fast your heart is going as if it will help. He stows his weapon and takes a seat beside you, pulling his knees to his chest as he looks at you from the corner of his optics.

"What about?"

He asks.

"Of course, I understand if ya don't wanna talk about it but hey, I've been told I'm really good at comforting people."

You half laugh, wiping sleep from your eyes.

"Uhm... I dunno, it's kind of a cluster fuck... At first I'm with my fireteam and I hear the sound of a ketch when they're all gunned down around me and I can't do anything... Then, I'm where I was originally resurrected..."

You copy his positioning, pulling your knees to your chest, resting your arms along them and then your chin. He tilts his head to watch your face.

"And... Where were you ressed, Guardian?"

You close your eyes with a cringe and a sigh.

"I originally woke up in a submarine at the bottom of the ocean, surrounded by my half decayed... Crewmates? I don't know what we were but I think we were military of some sort..."

You feel your nails dig into your skin as you tell your story.

"There was little oxygen and I couldn't just transmat out... Let's just say no amount of ressing will teach you how to swim... It was rough to say the least."

He hesitates for a moment before placing a gentle hand on your back and slowly rubbing it in a soothing gesture.

"Well, you don't have to do any swimming, like, at all. Promise. Only kinda swimming we'll do is swim in the loot we get after we win this war, alright?"

You chuckle.

"C'mere, you'll sleep better if ya got a big strong hunter to sleep on, warlock. Careful, I have a lot of knives, I miiiight be pointy."

He jokes as he pulls you carefully against him. You've read the leaked bits of fanfiction he's written about a hunter and warlock, maybe he's romanticising the situation but you don't quite care. Whether he is or not, it's kinda comforting. He lies back beside your sleeping bag while you stretch your limbs out from your previous foetal position and rest your head on his chest. You hear the 'bud-um, bud-um' of his robotic heart. You listen silently to the steady rhythm for a while, closing your eyes and simply taking the sounds of the exo in

"I didn't know you had a heart." You tiredly mumble. He laughs grogily.

"Thanks."

He says sarcastically.

"Noooooo"

You whine.

"I didn't mean it like that... I didn't know exo's had hearts... I don't know what I thought you had though..."

He brings his hand up and gently combs through your messy and knotted hair.

"Eyes down, guardian, I got you."

He mumbles. Over the past few days he's done nothing but poke fun and be overly annoying but his words make your stomach twist and turn which confuses you greatly because it's not... In a bad way. You let out a sigh, nuzzling your face tiredly against him. He smells like grease, gun powder and a strange mixture of spices that all burn your nose very slightly but you don't mind.

As the early morning rays just reach their fingers of light over the hill you're both perched on, you wake wrapped in the exo's cloak. You yawn as a shiver runs through your body and you draw the worn material closer. Cayde's arms are still snaked around you. You lift your head and look to your fire that has long since gone out. It's cold. You should get some more wood. You carefully and slowly get up, doing your best to not disturb the vanguard. You carefully set his cloak over him. As you step away from your half assed campsite, he groans lightly.

"Where are you goin?"

He asks groggily.

"Just out to get some firewood, I won't be long, promise."

He hums tiredly as he rolls over.

"Don't go too far."

He mumbles. You don't have to walk far to find sticks and wood but none of it's dry due to the early morning dew. You groan and move deeper into the forest in hopes to find dry wood. Even a little would do just to get it going. You stumble over a few tree roots, falling on to your hands and knees with a yelp. You laugh at yourself. Warlocks are supposed to be the most graceful of all classes but you are an absolute clutz. You dust yourself off, clutching what sticks and wood you've collected with a weak grip due to the cold having worked it's way into your fingers. 'Maybe I can get a fire going' you think. 'I'll just use my solar abilities and- oh, right.' No powers. You groan. How did Cayde get it going last night? He probably has a lighter or something. Oh well. Your mind wanders to Cayde. Why does he treat you the way he does? You'd met previously but only brief conversations, a handful of bounties and then some loot exchange but that's about it. Sure, you've always found him intriguing and by all means, attractive but he could've talked to anyone from that crowd but he singled you out. You weren't the only solo guardian there. Why you? Why did he choose you of all guardians? There were older, more experienced guardians and hunters! Why did he choose a small warlock like you? You're distracted by the thoughts until you hear the crunching of footsteps surrounding you. You look up and around. Oh god, what's there? It could just be deer! But it's never that simple... You groan.

"Alright, whatever you are, just... Lemme go. I don't wanna hurt you. Just lemme go light my fire."

You squint at the bushes around you, trying to make out what it is when bright blue eyes stare back at you. And lots of them. Fallen. A small Fallen squadron has surrounded you. Great. You step back only to hear one of the Dregs call to the others. This can't be good. They step from the shadows and into the light that barely squeezes past the leaves of the trees. There's a captain, a handful of dregs and one wretch.

"Please, grant me passage."

You plead to no avail.

"We are alike, the great machine has been taken from the both of us, please do not fight me."

They simply stare at you, chattering occasionally to one another as they wait for you to move. You sigh, moving to step around the captain that looms above you only for him to swing at you. You move back with ease, avoiding the hit only to back up into the arms of a dreg, you stamp it's foot and when it lets go, you drop your wood, spin around and punch it out. More advance. You take out a few more, completely distracted from the Captain before you feel his claws wrap tightly around your upper arms. His lower arms wrap around your stomach tightly, squishing you until it hurts. You yell in pain from his iron grip. He laughs as his one and only Wretch approaches, arc spear drawn and buzzing with electricity. You kick, flail and do whatever you can to get free but it's no use.

"Get the fuck away from me!!"

You yell as the wretch thrusts it's spear into your thigh. You scream so loud that it echoes back in the valley around you. Your body convulses involuntarily from the arc running through it. 'This is it.' you think as you quickly start to reach your limit. You close your eyes. All you can hear is their sick, twisted laughter and the zap of the electric weapon before a loud shot rings out and the arc spear is pulled from your leg, tearing your flesh with it. You squeal but give a very slight sigh of relief before you dare to open your eyes to see the wretch dead on the ground, head missing from its shoulders. There's another shot and suddenly the captain's grip is completely gone. The Fallen drops to the ground, dead. You collapse with a loud whimper, unable to support your own weight. Your hunter companion is at your side. You hear him say... Something. Whatever it was, you can't make it out. He reaches for you but flinches back when he gets zapped. Your eyes flicker open, then closed over and over as you fight for consciousness. Blood pours from your thigh. Though the spear cauterized the wound it inflicted though, when it was pulled out, it pulled the flesh it had adhered to out with it, opening the wound. Cayde grips the wound tightly in attempt to stop the bleeding which only makes you mewl with what little consciousness you have left. He lets go, carefully looping his arms underneath your back and legs and carries you back to the campsite. He lays you down on his sleeping bag because it's not like you could make it anymore dirty. He frantically digs into your bag in hopes that you have some sort of medical supplies and luckily enough, you have a travel sized medkit stashed in the bottom of your backpack. He scoots close to you, fumbling open the case and digging through, grabbing a small bottle of disinfectant and a bandage roll.

"This is gonna hurt."

He says as warning but you can barely hear him. He twists off the cap and pours it over your wound, making you squirm and groan with what little strength you have left. He shushes you softly as he ties the bandage around your leg tightly. You feel your head fall to the side as unconsciousness wins the fight over your body. You wake to a throbbing pain that courses through your body. You see Cayde sitting by you, hugging his knees to his chest and staring into the fire that he got going. You grunt and sit up only for your head to spin and be grabbed by your hunter companion and pushed back down.

"You're not ready for that, Nessy. You'll hurt yourself if you do that."

You reach your hand to your head as if it will stop the ache and the spinning but surprisingly enough, it has no effect! A sigh escapes your lips.

"How long have I been out?"

You ask.

"All day."

He says dismissively.

"All day?!"

You sit up suddenly again only to get the same results as last time.

"Guardian, are you TRYING to kill yourself? Cause you're going the right way about it."

You whine.

"We were supposed to move camp today."

He scoffs.

"Yeah, well we can't do that, can we? Not in your condition..."

You frown but you know he's right.

"How does it look? Cause it feels greeeeat."

You say sarcastically. He chuckles.

"I changed the bandage a few hours ago. You should heal fine but we needa work on getting our light back."

"I'll get right on it."

He looks at you with an amused expression.

"Well come on, chop chop, hero! Ya shoulda done it by now!"

You share a laugh, quickly falling into silence. You slowly reach out to him, only just being able to reach his hip. You tug gently on his form fitting shirt for his attention. He looks from your hand to you.

"Guardian! I don't think you're in shape for something like that!"

He says jokingly. You frown, confused by his words before it sinks in. Your face goes bright with embarrassment.

"Not what I wanted!!"

You say defensively, making him snort and laugh. He sighs fondly, scooting close to you and carefully pulling you to him, he's so gentle as if he's scared a touch too harsh could kill you right here, right now.

"Is this what you wanted, Nessy?"

He asks knowingly. You extend your arm over his broad chest and rest your head against him, mumbling some sort of affirmation. You sigh contently before a question pops into your mind.

"Cayde?"

He hums curiously.

"What do you mean by Nessy?"

He chuckles.

"Well, you WERE stuck at the bottom of the ocean..."

Well, that didn't help.

"You DO know the pre-golden age myth, right?"

What? You think about the golden age and pre-golden age myths and tales you have read about and know... Ah! The Loch Ness Monster! You lie in silence.

"Are you call me a monster, Mr 6?"

He laughs with a scoff.

"I dunno, are you a monster?"

"... I don't think so."

"Welp! Then I'm not calling you a monster."

You snicker.

"You know you just... Made a nickname out of my trauma, right?"

He hums in acknowledgement.

"But dooooes that upset you?"

"Well, no but-"

"Then it's fine, Nessy."

You go to speak only to close your mouth. He's right you guess. Though you were curious of the 'Nessy' name, it's not quite the question you really wanted to ask. At least talking with him has distracted you from the pain. You feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach as your face starts to get hot. He tilts his head down to look at you. You see him reach over, gripping the base of his glove and quickly removing it and putting the back of his hand to your forehead.

"Cayde?"

"You're kinda hot, Nessy. And your heart is beating pretty fast."

How does he know? Are you sick? Oh God, does he know what you want to ask him? Does he know that you're head over heels for the stupid hunter vanguard? No. You haven't told anyone that. Are exos psychic? No. That's not how they work. Is it? You don't know jack shit about exos so maybe it is! You can't help but over thinking a million different ways this could go within seconds. He tilts his head curiously as he gently strokes your cheek with his knuckles which snaps you from your thoughts.

"What are you thinking about, Ness?"

He asks quietly and genuinely. You stare for a moment before looking elsewhere, embarrassed.

"Uhm..."

Your voice cracks.

"I just uh... Why did you choose me of all guardians? There were so many people there and Ikora was there. Why... Why did you... Why me?"

He scoffs lightly before sighing, staring up at the stars above.

"I've had my eye on you for a while."

Your heart sinks.

"Why..?"

You ask in a voice that's barely a squeak.

"Cause Ikora wouldn't shut up about ya!"

He chuckles.

"Guardian this, my Warlock that! So, I had to see for myself. I may or may not have done recon on you a few times aaaaand I realised you uh... Well if Ikora liked you so much for so long then you'd be a good person to have on my fireteam... And so when I saw you, fireteamless, I uh... I took my chance."

You feel... Weird about his answer. It's an answer you were kind of expecting and yet... You can't help but feel some what hurt. Obviously not as hurt as you physically are but hurt none the less.

"Oh."

Is all you manage. He sighs.

"AAAAnd... I mean, I was gonna ask when we actually won the war and weren't in the wilds buuuut IIIII wanted to know if you wanted to get ramen. Your treat of course."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Ready Or Not

Warnings: nonconsensual sex 

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You make a run for it but how far can you make it?

Note: This was supposed to be a drabble for the incorrigible @lokislastlove​ but you know, I got carried away. That being said, I might just add more to this in the future because it was fun.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

One wrong step and you were toast. You didn’t hear Steve but he heard you. It all happened too quickly, you could only kick your dangling feet as he held you against the side of the house, his hand firm on your throat. It was all over and you’d barely gotten past the front door.

By your count it was nearly two weeks trapped inside; windows boarded, door locked, and your occasional yet unwelcomed visits from the only other person within miles. Your keeper, your warden. 

But you waited, and waited, and waited. One slip and you were out. How could he have expected you to get out when you hadn’t done more than laid on that thin mattress and stared at the ceiling for the last five days. Or was it six?

It didn’t matter now. None of it mattered. Not the thoughts that had gotten you through it all, that you might one day be out of there, away from that room; away from him.

His hand was like a vice and your own was nothing as you clawed at his iron grip. His eyes flared in anger as he came close. His breath glossed against your lips as it came heavy in his ire.

“You think you can run from me? That you can just leave me?” He snarled and he squeezed tighter. 

“Ple--” Your voice caught in your throat as all air escaped you.

“I’ve clothed you, fed you, put a roof over your head and this is how you repay me,” He dropped you suddenly and it jarred your legs. “But go ahead, run. See how far you get.”

You blinked at him, terrified. You looked behind him to the endless crowd of trees and then to the house behind you. You felt the siding and squished the leaves beneath your feet. He shrugged.

“Well,” He backed away. “You’ve got twenty minutes…”

“Twenty minutes?” You touched your sore throat.

“Let’s even the playing field, huh?” He crossed his arms. “That’s a good start.”

“I don’t-- I don’t--”

“What’s that, nineteen minutes and… fifty seconds?” He taunted.

You looked around, your chest rising and falling as the panic swelled in your chest. You glanced at him again and he smirked as he turned to look out into the treeline. Then his gaze fell to you and he lifted his brows in challenge.

Startled by the glint in his eyes, you charged forward towards the forest and plunged past the trunks as your feet were scratched by the twigs and stone mixed in with the dirt and leaves. You were out of breath within minutes and your legs ached but you pushed yourself onward. You had to get as far as you could. If you had any chance at all, you had to keep going.

You tripped over a root and went flying, barely missing a thick walnut tree as you stumbled to the ground. You turned over with a groan as the air was knocked out of you and your ribs felt as if they would crumple inward. You sat up and listened. Only the birds and the distant feet of the critters in the trees.

You coughed as you stood and fought to regain your balance. You were dizzy from the fall and the muscles in your legs were starting to throb now that you were still. You stumbled one way then the other as you tried to get a sense of which direction was which. 

Then you heard it. A stick cracked and your heartbeat pattered even faster. You searched around and hurried over the overturned tree across the forest floor. There was a space below just big enough for you to slip in. You shimmied under the thick trunk and swept a pile of leaves and dirt over yourself until you were content you could not be seen.

You could see with one eye from your vantage, not that it was very good. You breathed through your nose as the boots dusted through the dirt and you were assured of your pursuers approach. Had it already been twenty minutes? He hadn’t been very far behind, had he?

You listened as he got closer and closer then you saw his figure emerge from between a pair of trees. He looked around, hands on his hips, and bent to examine the remnants of your fall; the dirt showed the disturbance clearly. He stood and chuckled to himself. He pushed the leaves around with his foot then strutted around the small space encircled by brush and branches.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” He called out. “I can hear you.”

You bit down and squeezed your eyes shut as he continued to walk around.

“Your heart is racing, you know that?” He taunted. “You’re fucking terrified aren’t you?” You opened your eyes and he was turned away from you, staring into the trees opposite you. “You should be.”

You rolled over and scrambled out of your hiding spot. You didn’t care. You had to get out of there. You fell into a sprint as you dodge between trees but you didn’t hear him in pursuit; well not running. You only heard a few decisive steps before you could hear only the wind whipping past you.

You came upon a clearing and sped up, hoping you weren’t headed back to the house. You didn’t make it far as you were suddenly swept off your feet. You were flipped by the rope that snagged around your ankle, spinning until you were left dangling from the branch above. You reached out to try to still yourself, sick to your stomach as the blood rushed to your head.

Steve emerged as you spun to face the trees you’d passed only moments before. He didn’t hurry, only paced around you as he laughed.

“I always have a contingency plan,” He said. “You should know that by now.”

“Steve, please,” You begged, reaching helplessly to the ground below. “Please, you can’t keep me here.”

“I can’t?” He scoffed and squatted down to look you in the eyes. He grabbed the back of your head to still you. “No one’s looking for you. No one. These things go cold after forty-eight hours and we both know you don’t have anyone to push it past that.”

“Please--” You put your hand on his. “Please--”

“Shhh,” He brought a finger to your lips. 

“I--I--” You stuttered and he rubbed his finger against your lips gruffly. “Can you-- can you cut me down?”

“Cut you down?” He tilted his head.

“My head hurts, please,” You said softly.

He looked at you a moment and reached to his belt. He pushed back his flannel shirt and grabbed the thick handle of the knife sheathed beneath. He pulled out the large hunting blade and your eyes widened. He brought it forward, twirling it as he pressed it where his fingers had just been against your lips.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” He said. “Bad girls don’t get what they want.”

You winced in defeat and he dragged the blade up along your jaw and neck, over your chest as the tip caught in the vee of your drooping shirt. He unhooked it and stood. He grabbed the rope and you stretched your arms out as he steadied you. He began to saw the rope and you caught yourself in the dirt as you came loose.

You grunted as you managed to roll onto your back. You were wrenched up to your feet within seconds as Steve grabbed your arm. He sheathed his knife as he reached for the end of the rope above him and tugged your wrist up. He held the rope and your wrist in one hand as he forced your other one up. 

You struggled with him a moment but he was far too strong. He wrapped the rope around until you were on your tiptoes. You hung before him and he once more took out his knife. He brought it up and pointed it at your nose.

“You tried,” He smirked. “As pathetic as it was.”

"Please," You sobbed, trying to pull at the rope.

"I'll cut your fucking tongue out," He snarled and pressed the knife to your bottom lip. "I should do worse considering."

You stared at him and he dragged the blade down your chin and neck. He hooked it in your shirt and tugged, cutting the cotton wide open. It hung from your arms and bared your breasts to the chill autumn air that only now began to bite as your adrenaline petered out.

The cold metal of the blade touched your pelvis as he slid it down the front of your loose shorts. He made quick work of them and they fell to the dirt. You shook and swayed from the rope, unable to do more than hang helplessly.

He traced a line down your stomach with the tip and a low chuckle escaped his lips. He brought it up under your chin and made you look at him.

“I’d hate to mess up that pretty face,” He growled. “So I’ll just have to find another way to punish you.”

He retracted the knife and shoved it back into its leather sheath. His tongue poked out between his lips as his hands ran along his belt. You squirmed as he gripped the buckle, his hands moving swiftly beneath the hem of his flannel shirt.

“Please, don’t--” You begged.

“I won’t tell you to shut up again,” He spat as he loosed his belt and nearly broke the button from his fly. “I’ve waited long enough. It seems too long.” He shoved his zipper down. “I’ve been too nice but I thought you’d get it by now.”

You sobbed quietly and hung your head, your arms straining against your weight. You gasped as he grabbed your leg and pulled it up. He bent it against his side as he swung you closer. He took your other leg and placed it around his other hip. He squeezed just above your knees as he let out a gristly breath.

“You don’t wanna keep pushing me, girl,” He warned as his rough palms slid up your legs and to your ass. He urged you closer and you felt his bulge through his open fly. “Because I will push you back.”

He snaked a hand around your hip and along your thigh. He shoved it between you and reached into the front of his jeans, bunched the top of his briefs as he pulled himself free from the layers. You stared at him, frozen, frightened. You gave a shaky breath as he pressed the head of his cock against your clit. He urged himself along your folds and rubbed against your entrance.

“I wanted you to like it,” He whispered as he pressed his forehead to yours. “Now I really don’t fucking care.”

He impaled you at once. You squeaked and pushed your head back. His hand flew from between you and he grasped the back of your head, forcing it up so that his eyes bore into yours. His nails dug into your scalp as you closed your eyes.

“No,” He sneered. “Keep ‘em open.”

He thrust, hard, and you yelped. It hurt terribly. Your walls were snug around him. Your lashes fluttered but you didn’t close your eyes. You nodded fearfully and he crashed his mouth into yours. He forced his tongue past your lips as he rocked his hips. Each tilt made you whine, the pain never relented, even as your nerves began to buzz in pleasure.

He nibbled at your lip before he dragged his wet mouth along your cheek and down your jaw. He pulled your head back so that you stared up at the sky through the shroud of leaves above. He nuzzled your neck and bit into your throat as he rutted harder and harder, his deep snarls undercut your brittle moans.

Your legs tightened around him and you sucked in your lip as you tried to resist the swelling waves within. You could feel the orgasm mounting, even as you fought against it, and you quaked as he forced you over the edge. You mewled and the tears trickled from the corner of your eyes. You felt so helpless, not just against him but against your own body.

He sped up and removed his teeth from your neck. He raised his head, his nose pressed to your chin as he bounced your body at the end of the rope. Your pathetic groans floated through the air as you wrapped your fingers around the rope. The cool air swept over your back and sent a shiver through you as the heat of his body seared your front.

He jerked into you as hard as he could. You cried out and sniffed back the tears which had started to rise with your second orgasm. You gulped it back as it rippled over you, your body overwrought and weak as he used it so easily. He barely seemed to notice as he hammered into you harder and harder, his boots crunching the leaves below him.

His hand moved from the back of your head and he grabbed your throat. He grip tightened as he fucked you faster. You struggled to breath as his fervour crested and he let out a dusky yet ferocious growl. His hips crashed into you painfully, sharp thrusts which jolted your hips and sent and echo along your spine.

He spilled into you, easing himself through his climax until he was still, lingering inside of you as his hand fell from your neck. You lifted your head, dizzy, your arms achy and your body humming.

He pulled out of your carefully and his cum dripped down your leg into the dirt. He zipped up his pants and buckled his belt as his panting slowed. He closed his eyes and his chest raised as he inhaled deeply. When he opened them, his pupils were small pinpoints, eerie and startling. 

He reached up and grabbed the rope just above your wrists. He yanked, once, twice, three times. You heard a branch snap and the rope came free, falling in a coil over you. He gathered it around his arm and hand until there were only a few feet between you. He turned and tugged so that you nearly tripped.

He didn’t look back as he led you into the trees; didn’t say a word, and you had no choice but to follow him, just a dog on your leash.

[xecutivecucumber]

Rexsoka Week 2021 Day 5: Show Me Your Dark Side

Honestly, I’m considering fleshing this one out into a full fic.

Day 5: Show Me Your Dark Side

Commander Rex stood at the communications station. He was not supposed to be here, but as both Lord Vader's and the First Sister's favored pet, few would challenge him. Rex never thought he'd be grateful for that position, especially now that he was leaking information to the Rebels. But it gave him protection from the clone-hating higher ups, like Tarkin, who would have him killed in a moment.

Rex tried to look business-like as he entered the frequency for whoever received his information. Part of him clung to a hope that it was his brothers that used his knowledge to fight against the Empire. He had been able to wake up from the chip; surely there were others.

"This is King." He muttered into the receiver. "Sending coordinates for Imperial supply rendezvous now." 

He entered the data stick that would wipe itself after it transferred the information. He waited, tense as it uploaded the coordinates.

"Coordinates received." A distorted voice crackled through the comm. "Thank you, King." 

"May the Force be with you." Rex said before shutting the comm off.

It was easy to erase the logs of his communication. He crushed the datastick under his heel and threw it down the garbage chute. He sent a few sanctioned messages before turning to the doorway.

It was occupied.

The First Sister's sickly yellow eyes narrowed as Rex met her gaze.

"My lady." Rex said calmly, though his heart was in his mouth. "Do you need something?"

"What were you doing?" Her voice was harsh.

"I was sending communications to-"

"Don't lie to me, Commander."

Rex stood straight as she stalked around him. 

"Did you think we haven't noticed?" She hissed in his ear. "Your work is sloppy and obvious. You think Lord Vader and I will protect you. You are wrong."

A lightsaber ignited behind him and Rex tried not to flinch.

"Why now?" Rex asked, hit with a surge of boldness. "If you've known this whole time, why only now?"

The First Sister did not immediately run him through.

"It is the Emperor's will." She said softly, sounding more like herself than Rex had heard in months.

Then Rex was correct. She, along with Vader, had tolerated his treachery out of, if not affection, respect for their previous bonds. Rex slowly turned to again meet her gaze.

"Ahsoka-"

"That is not my name!" She hissed.

"You know this is wrong." Rex plowed on. "You've always known."

Silence.

"I thought you were above stalling for your own life, Commander." She said.

"I'm not stalling for mine." Rex said. "I'm trying to save yours."

She once again didn't respond.

"This isn't who you are, Ahsoka." Rex said. This time she didn't protest the use of her old name. "You're like me. We are meant to protect."

"There is no turning back." Ahsoka said. "The person I was is dead. It's- too late for me, Rex."

Rex shook his head. He refused to believe the woman he had loved was gone.

"I don't think it is." Rex said. "And I don't think you're going to kill me."

For a moment, Rex thought he was wrong. Her eyes grew hard and she lifted her sabers. 

Rex tried not to shake as he reached past the red blades to touch her face. Immediately she closed her eyes against his touch and her lightsabers lowered. They shut off.

"I can't, Rex." She whispered. "You know what we've- what I've done."

"I can be with you." Rex said. "I'll help you. We can undo the harm we've caused."

Pain crossed Ahsoka's face. Rex could see her slipping back under into the shroud of the First Sister.

“Ahsoka-” Rex pleaded, desperate to keep her here with him.

“So, you have caught the traitor in the act.”

The deep voice of Vader made Rex’s blood freeze. He barely turned his head to see the imposing figure of his general in the doorway.

“Why do you hesitate?” Vader said. “The Emperor has ordered his death.”

Ahsoka’s lightsabers ignited again. Rex closed his eyes and readied himself for her strike.

It did not come.

“He’s been leaking information to the Rebellion.” Ahsoka said. “There is much he could tell us.”

“The Emperor was clear in his instructions.” Vader’s voice was flat. “If you are too weak to do it, then I will.”

He ignited his own lightsaber. Rex flinched as the red blade swung towards him. It was caught by Ahsoka’s sabers. Ahsoka stumbled back, as Vader lifted his blade. She seemed surprised by what she had done.

“You are not only weak, but a traitor as well.” Vader said. 

“No, Master, I did not mean-” Ahsoka stammered. “His information is beneficial to us! Master-”

She sounded like the padawan Rex had first met on Christophsis.

“I had deluded myself into believing you would not be a disappointment.” Vader went on. “I should have trusted my instincts.”

Rex did not expect the pain that flashed across Ahsoka’s face. Nor did he expect Vader to raise his hand and hurl Rex backwards into the wall of screens. Rex let out a strangled shout and then darkness fell.

Rex woke with a throbbing headache. His training kicked in and he forced his eyes open regardless. The first thing he saw was the glowing streaks of hyperspace and the dashboard of a ship. He was propped up in the co-pilot's chair of a Lambda-class Imperial shuttle. He knew who would be in the pilot's seat, but he still slowly turned his head.

Ahsoka was silently controlling the craft. What he could see of her face was pale, but her hands were steady. She was turned slightly away from him and he couldn't see her eyes.

"Ahsoka?" Rex asked.

"How do you feel?" There was something in her voice that hadn't been there since before the Empire rose to power.

Rex reached his hand up to feel the back of his head. His fingers met bacta patches.

"Like I've been thrown against a wall of screens." He said.

Ahsoka was silent.

"I'm sorry." She finally said. "I should have realized he would have gone for you.”

“It’s okay.” Rex said. “How- how did we survive?”

He had served under Vader long enough to know that few escaped his wrath.

Ahsoka shrugged.

“I knew there was a storage bay beneath that room. I managed to cut through the floor and grab you. I was able to lose him there. You know he can’t move that quickly.”

Rex nodded slowly.

“Thank you.” He said.

She didn’t reply. For a moment Rex let the silence hold, but eventually he needed to know.

"Where are we going?" 

"Away." 

"From where?" Rex asked.

"Everything. The Empire, the Rebellion, all of it." Ahsoka said.

Rex sat up straighter. This- wasn't what he expected. He supposed it was foolish to think she would turn back into the idealistic young woman he had known. Too much had happened to them.

"Ahsoka, we don't have to run away." He said. "There's good we could do."

"No." Ahsoka said. "No, the Empire is searching for us. We would do more harm."

"Ahsoka-"

"You're all I have left." Ahsoka said. 

She turned to look at him. One of her eyes shone a soft blue at him. The other was still a sharp yellow.

Rex was suddenly glad they were not going to the Rebellion.

"Okay." Rex said. "Okay. We'll lay low."

For a while. He added in his head. They would have to do something about that eye. Rex wasn't very knowledgeable about the Force, but he knew Ahsoka's eyes had changed when she had.

But he was confident that he would be able to turn her to the Rebellion's cause.

She leaned forward to take his hand. She studied it for a moment, before pressing it to her lips. He shivered at the touch.

"I will protect you." She said against his skin. "I won't let them have you."

Rex cupped her cheek with his other hand. He swiped his thumb across the white markings of her cheek. He relished in having her back..

But the back of his mind shuddered at her words. Protect him from what? And at what cost?

Check it out and my ongoing Rexsoka fics on A03!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34125910/chapters/85106296

https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExecutiveCucumber/works

[skylarmoon71]

AU Blind Murdcok Reader x Leonardo (TMNT 2014/2016) Chapter 2

The good thing about being blind was no one ever questioned when you walked in with a bruised eye or swollen cheek. You’d simply say you walked into something, or someone, and the person questioning you would immediately get uncomfortable and drop the conversation. This particular someone being your homeroom teacher.

“W-Well please take your seat.”

So you did, sitting quietly. The little murmurs always sounded so loud in your ear, you’d long learnt to shut it out.

You grimaced when you reached under the desk to get your book.

“Damn it.” you’d managed to completely cover your arm, you didn’t need anyone asking why you were bleeding. Worse yet, realizing you had a bullet wound.

You encounter last night was still fresh in your mind. You barely believed it.

~Flashback~

“She’s waking up, step back!”

“What? That's impossible she should be out for a couple days.”

“Guys let her breathe.”

The number of voices around you wasn’t helping, especially since you had very little recollection of what happened, or where you were.

You took a few calming breaths, getting worked up wasn’t going to help. If you panicked, it would be harder to focus on anything.

“Leonardo.”

That was the name you recalled, the one the others kept calling. The leader, he had to be.

“Leonardo.” your tone surprised them all, and they took a step back. You supposed they didn’t expect you to be so calm. You felt a little more relieved at the steady beats of their hearts. So far so good, no threat.

“I’m Leonardo. I’m surprised you remembered, you were pretty out of it. “

“You helped me..” Saved you was more like it. Your senses were slowly coming back. You could feel the cloth on your arm. They’d thoroughly covered the wound in gauze. From the feel of it, they got the bullet out too.

“Of course we did, I’m Mikey by the way. We’re always down for helping a fellow vigilante!” That same excited voice from before. So you didn’t imagine it. Their weapons or their size. The one behind you kept shifting, you could feel the unease just oozing off him.

“Is there something bothering you, I can feel you squirming. It’s distracting.” 

He huffed. Didn’t need sight to know you’d struck a nerve.

“You’re lucky we didn’t just leave you out there for the police!” you could understand why he was upset, you did hold a blade to his brother.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” If there was one thing you weren’t, it was ungrateful. Whoever, or whatever they were, they didn’t just save your life, but also your identity. You straightened from your spot on the bed. “Thank you for helping me.” The little grunt was an indication that the angry one was still mad, but Leonardo sounded relieved. “You’re welcome. I have to admit, you took us by surprise. Usually we’re the ones leaving others speechless. But you..are you really..”

“Blind? Yes.”

It was always uncomfortable for others. You figured they didn’t like asking, maybe as much as you liked being treated like a cripple. Something else you appreciated is the fact that your mask was still intact. You finger glided over the top, and Leo caught the action.

“We didn’t move it, I swear.”

“I believe you.” you didn’t even hesitate, slipping your fingers under the dark fabric as you pulled it off.

You could physically feel the stillness in the air.

“I’m (Y/N) Murdock, but everyone seems to like the name Daredevil. Nice to meet you.”

~Flashback end~

It was weird, but you really hope you’d get to see them again. You memorized the route to their lair, so it wasn’t like you didn’t know where they lived. The smell of the sewers were a dead give away. You didn’t want to go searching though, it felt a bit intrusive. If you were lucky, you might run into them on your nightly ‘walks’.

All you could do was wait and see.

“Heads up.” you didn’t even flinch when the book knocked into the back of your head. Laughter filled the room, and your teacher started yelling at the students responsible, and you rubbed the area, unimpressed.

That was the third one this week. Your head should have been strong as vibranium by now. Usually it was just paper, or plastic. They were really stepping up.

“Are you alright Ms. Murdock.” you nod at your teacher’s question. “Maybe you should head to the nurse.” She rounded the corner to check your head, and as she reached out to survey the damage you flinched, grabbing her hand. She froze, and the students were quiet.

“I’m fine.” you said stiffly. You released her hand, and she pulled back. “Y-Yes, I apologize.” you could tell she didn’t expect it. Sometimes it was hard to turn off your other half. The stronger half. More guarded.

“Freak!” the yell echoed, and the laughter continued. Poor woman was back to trying to regain order.

It would surely be a tedious day.

~~~~

“Murdock, wanna come to the party tonight, might be some brail you can read.”

Little snickers, snide remarks, did they ever get tired. You would have liked to say that you were numb to it, but it was more like you’d grown used to it. The teasing, the menacing statements. You considered doing something about it too. But you figured it was a wasted effort. A few more years and you would be out of there. Hell, from the looks of it, you might even run into a couple of them in the future, hopefully not though.

As you exited the school, you tapped your stick along the concrete. It was still a bit of a task to move around. With how much blood you lost, it wasn’t unheard of. You figured you would need a few days to recover, so no strenuous activities for the time being. Only problem was, crime didn’t exactly care about your schedule. As you rounded the corner, you made an abrupt stop at the light. The conversation of the men behind you didn’t go unnoticed.

“Did you hear, apparently that daredevil guy was seen close to the docks last night. Place was a wreck when the police got there.”

“That’s crazy, thought he worked in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Maybe he’s on vacation.” the two males laughed, lifting their heads when the light changed. You were about to take a step forward, but someone behind you went rushing past, you evaded easily, but panicked when you heard the aggressive honking not too far ahead.

Dropping your stick, you dove forward, crashing into the person and successfully pulling them out of the way. The both of you hit the ground with a harsh thud, and you could hear a few yells from onlookers. The car that rushed passed didn’t even stop and you moved your head, sighing when you heard the rapid heartbeat of the young boy under you.

“Johnny!” From the sound it was his mother. She ran over and you moved off so she could get to him. He was now crying, probably realizing what could have happened.

“Thank you so much you saved my boy!” You assumed her eyes were now trained in your direction, and a few other people moved over, someone helped you to your feet, and another picked up your cane.

“That's some good reflex you got there.” A man said handing you the rod. You took it gratefully, dusting off your shoulder.

“People really have no conscience, the dickhead ran a red light and he didn’t even stop to see the damage. “

There were a number of other comments, you could understand their dismay. It made you smile a little. In Hell’s Kitchen everyone probably would have just gone on their way. Maybe take a few pictures.

“Thank you.” you say softly to the individuals you helped you out. The fall didn’t exactly help with your already battered body. You were grateful you made it in time. With your injuries you realized that your response was a bit delayed, luckily no one was hurt.

“Johnny, you should be more careful when you cross the street, you almost gave your mother a heart attack. You have to look out for her okay, so be careful. “

“I-I will! Thank you Miss.” you smile, nodding your head.

“You’re welcome kid.”

[monocytogenes]

WIP Word Search Meme

Tagged by @nirikeehan! "Would love to see instances of the following words: power, betray, heart."

Shockingly, I did not in fact use the word "betray" in my Quinncident fic and couldn't really find it elsewhere, but I found the other two.

Heart

(Cheating a little, but here's a snippet from my imperial agent fic. Pravin runs into Watcher Three and they reminisce--I love the idea of the Intelligence folks having been work friends.)

“You’re not...working for both sides, are you?” Three asked.

“Oh, kriff no. The SIS can go bugger itself.”

Three laughed heartily at that. “…I’ve missed you.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Pravin patted him fondly on the shoulder. “I’d stick around to catch up but I think I’m supposed to be going.”

“Right.” Three pulled out the cylinder, placing it in his hand. “Maybe after this is over we can have a drink or something.”

“Perhaps. Like the old HQ parties, eh?”

“I still tell folks about the time you got us kicked out of a cantina by doing striptease. Without saying it was you, of course.”

“Stars, I forgot all about that!” Pravin pressed a hand to his forehead. “Was that after the Eradicators?”

“When we all went out, yeah. Twelve was buying rounds and you got totally smashed—”

“I was sick as a bantha afterwards, too; good thing I was on holiday.” Pravin shook his head, smiling. “Thanks for that repressed memory. I’ll be seeing you.”

(And as a bonus, check out that (completed) Quinncident fic, Better to Be Wrecked!)

Now, when he fired his pistol, his hand was steady.

He’d grown accustomed to contemplating his own death, and though his heart hammered as she rounded on him, stepping over a droid’s carcass, his movements were automatic. He aimed for her chest, watched the bolts rebound off her blade, her arm moving a half-second before each press of the trigger, tracking with an insight beyond simple anticipation. He stepped back, but she took her time closing the distance, deliberate and determined, both of them aware he had nowhere to go.

When she was but a few meters away, she threw out her hand, fingers splayed. His right shoulder jerked as though struck, the bone popping free of the socket, his blaster clattering to the floor as white-hot agony pulled a strangled scream from his lungs. His legs buckled; her footsteps stopped.

For a long moment he knelt there, neck craned and face damp with sweat, fighting to steady his breathing against the useless spasming of his damaged muscles. He could feel the heat radiating from her blade, the rippling of the plasma loud in his ear—clean, swift, inexorable.

He closed his eyes. To leave a placid-looking corpse, he told himself, not because he couldn’t bear to see the hurt on her beautiful face.

Power

(Oh man, guess where I found this? In my smut WIP, haha. This is a warrior/Quinn fic where after months of trying to repress his attraction, Quinn finally confesses and they sleep together.

I'll probably be tweaking and re-tweaking this scene, but I did really like the immediately subsequent moment of Quinn enthusiastically consenting and Isra turning it into a lovely bit of power exchange.)

In his fantasies, standing like this, he’d often pictured her in thin, provocative lingerie, or some sort of corsetry resembling armor. Full nudity had seemed too defenseless a thing to brandish, somehow, for a woman of such power. Yet, here she was—shoulders back, chin lifted in jaunty delight, letting him drink in the sight of her sculpted frame.

And oh—what statuesque legs, what strapping arms, strong, toned abs and angular hips and yet the shallow swell of breasts, the curve of thighs, the unmistakably feminine—

“You all right over there?” she teased, laughing.

He nodded bashfully. “You are...exceptional.”

“You’re sweet.” She rejoined him, inclining her head. “And so motivating. I’m really going to have to fuck the life out of you.”

“Do it,” he whispered, shuddering.

Her hand slid beneath his underwear, her eyes bright. “Ask for it.”

“Please, my lady.”

“Ask me to fuck you,” she sneered.

“Please, fuck me,” he said, red-faced at the word and the light pressure of her fingers. “Fuck me senseless.”

[firefly-in-darkness]

Misconceptions - 1/12

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Y/N & Sam Wilson (briefly).

Summary: Bucky Barnes overhears a conversation that he shouldn’t have...

Word Count: 2k.

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, jealousy...

Beta: The always lovely, Stacey - @princessmisery666 // all mistakes are my own.

A/N: This is one started as a dream and after bouncing ideas around with Stacey & Bee @negans-lucille-tblr​​, this was born and half way through writing I knew it would be more than a one shot.... Hope you enjoy - I love hearing your feedback too!

Series List

Firefly’s Library & Masterlist

Bucky glared at the mirror, he didn’t like wearing a suit or attending parties. He’d rather be out of sight, watching from a distance. Not chaperoning Y/N on a recon mission. He adjusted the bowtie, it still looked wonky. He gruffed at his reflection, put on the jacket and pulled through his shirt sleeves, letting the cufflinks glisten against the black velvet.

Once he placed the earpiece in, he left his room in the hotel suite and wandered over to knock on Y/N’s door. He faltered at the sound of her sweet voice floating through.

“I just wish you were here.” He heard her soft sigh, could see the way she’d twist the end of her hair in between her fingers.

Bucky strained to hear the other side of the conversation but even his super soldier hearing couldn’t work out who was at the other end of the phone call. His heart raced at the thought of Y/N wanting to be with someone else. Not with him, her supposed best friend.

“I’m worried about how he’ll react.” 

He scoffed, clamping his hand over his mouth and steadied his breathing in the hope she hadn’t heard him outside. 

He stepped away, knowing it wasn’t a good idea to listen in then he heard a giggle and muffled words, he leant his ear to the door.

“I can’t stop thinking about you and it’s driving me crazy.”

Bucky felt sick. She’s fallen for someone that isn’t him. His mind swirled with anger, or was it jealousy?. He pulled away from the door, fingers running through his now shorter strands of hair. He couldn’t hear anymore but his heart panged at her last three words.

“Love you too.”

Jealousy was similar to anger but what he felt now was definitely jealousy.

He bolted from the hotel suite without a second thought.

Ten minutes earlier….

Y/N spritzed the perfume across her collarbone, dabbing a bit behind her ear and her wrists. A quick glance to the mirror brought a smile to her lips; for once she was able to wear something glamorous. She checked her up-do was still in place, admiring how such an easy few pins could create an elegant look. The off-the-shoulder black dress sparkled in the light, she twisted and almost giggled as the floor length gown swirled around her legs, the split exposing her smooth, unarmed thigh. 

Finally, she was able to hang up her catsuit and its attached gadgets and weapons for the night. Well, she still had a pistol strapped to her other thigh, obscured by the skirt and of course the knives concealed in her heels. It might be a reconnaissance mission but things could always escalate.

Her smile faltered as she remembered the man in his own part of the suite, getting ready to support her in the mission; James Buchanan Barnes. 

Her phone ringing gripped her attention, a selfie of Sam and herself pulling silly faces was lighting up her phone. She pounced on it and held the device to her ear with her shoulder whilst she checked the blades were secure in her heels.

“Hi baby girl,” His smooth voice sent a grin to her face.

“Hey handsome.” She crooned back.

“How are you?” He tentatively asked.

She took the phone away from her shoulder, standing and smoothing the skirt. “I'm okay. This bed is huge.”

“You're changing the subject.” Sam scolded her.

Y/N knew that his eyebrow had quirked upwards and winced. Of course, he was checking up on her because of her mission partner.

“I don't know if I can handle this mission with him.” She sighed and sat back down in the chair, gliding the pendant of her necklace along its chain.

“Yes you can, it's only a recon mission. He's your back up.” Sam’s voice altered to that of her superior.

“I just wish you were here.” Y/N whined, and if she hadn’t refrained herself she might have stomped her foot.

Sam’s tone remained strong, not settling for her tantrum. “He's best qualified for this and you know it.”

“Yeah, you're right. it's one night.” She whispered.

“You still haven't told him have you?” Sam’s voice softened.

Y/N began pacing back and forth in front of the floor to ceiling window before heading back towards the door, “I don't know how to tell him. I’m worried about how he’ll react.”

He huffed, “Seriously! Go to his room right now and tell him how you feel.”

Y/N’s stomach lurched at his demand, “I can't. Not yet. He’s my friend and if I tell him this, it will make things awkward.”

“You know you need to tell him. Try it on me first. I can pretend to be the tin man, let me get into 

Character. Dark and brooding. Grumpy old man.”

She took a seat at the dressing table, a giggle falling from her lipsticked mouth, “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Go on, hit me with your best line.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, and sighed, “I can't stop thinking about you and it's driving me crazy.”

“Yes, a little basic but whatever, now go tell him. If you don't then I will when you get back.” Sam chuckled.

She stood as apprehension filled her thoughts, alongside her fear of being rejected, “Don't you dare, this needs to come from me.”

“Okay sugar, good luck, text me. Love ya”

“Love you too” With her phone locked, she placed it into the clutch bag that complimented her outfit. 

Y/N’s head spun as she heard the suite door close, eyebrows furrowed as to why Bucky had left without her. She gathered her skirt and followed after him, in the hope to catch up with him before they entered the gala.

Y/N was not in luck, she entered the party alone. Even though her mind was reeling with uncertainty, she held her head high as she weaved amongst the guests and those carrying trays of canapes. Her eyes flickered around the room, trying to catch sight of Bucky but kept being distracted by others attempting to make conversation about their businesses, charity donations and anything that made them seem better people than they really were.

Their mark appeared and Bucky was beside him with his back to her, a blonde woman draped on his arm. Y/N’s heart dropped into your stomach, and it churned at the sight of his arm wrapping around the strange woman’s waist and hand gliding down her back to grip her bottom. Her eyes went back up to their faces, focusing on whether or not this was a distraction technique from Bucky.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes.” She whispered into the comms.

Y/N’s dress swished around her feet as she darted across the room, glancing back to see Bucky watching her; his lips on the rim of his whiskey glass, eyes dark and jaw set tightly before he turned back to the woman. She shook her head at his lack of response and carried on towards the double doors leading to the elevator. A bodyguard stood to the side and she tripped straight into him.

“Oh my, I am so sorry.” She fluttered her eyes and let out a soft giggle, “I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”

“No worries ma’am,” He lifted her upright, a grin on his lips as he drank in the sight of her exposed cleavage and doe eyes. 

She clutched his arm as he guided her to the door, her other hand unhooking the access card from his belt.

“Let me get the door for you, Miss, take it easy.”

Y/N sauntered through, nodding as she passed him. Entering the elevator and giving him a small wave. She pressed the door close button before she swiped the stolen card against the penthouse access pad.

As the elevator ascended, she sunk against the metal wall, flicking her skirt to the side and unhooking the glock from it’s holster on her thigh. She checked the magazine, clicking back in place with the palm of her hand. The doors opened with a chime and she entered, gun raised while her eyes took in her surroundings. Not much had changed since she visited two weeks ago, learning the layout and setting up the bugs to gain an insight on the criminal.

Without hesitation, she strode down the corridor to the study and rolled her eyes as she pushed the door open. Not even locked, this is too easy. She rounded the desk, opening the lid of the laptop and entered the password. A smug smirk accompanied the wink she sent to the camera hidden in the bookcase knowing Sam was watching back at base.

She pulled out the lipstick from her clutch, taking off the lid to reveal the hidden USB drive. Plugging it into the laptop and downloading it’s contents. Y/N crossed her arms and tapped her foot waiting for the green bar to fill but it was painfully slow. 

“Are you ready to get out of here?” Her eyes widened as she heard Bucky’s voice through the ear piece. The sultry tone made her freeze from removing the USB stick.

“Okay, one more dance and then I’ll show you a real good time.” His words sent pangs through her chest.

A giggle drifted around your mind, they must have been inches away from one another.

“Oh Doll, don’t tease me like that. We don’t want anyone to see.” The term of endearment and the image of what they could be doing brought tears to Y/N’s eyes. 

She ripped the ear piece out and threw it into her clutch. A quick glance to the camera, she shook her head, knowing Sam had also heard what was happening. She detached the drive, leaving the penthouse and striding back to their suite as quickly as possible.

Y/N marched into her room, kicking off her heels and began attempting to get out of her dress. The zip getting caught, a frustrated groan rumbled through her body. She clambered at the tag, and eventually was able to pull it down her back and let it drop, pooling at her feet. Stepping out of it as she pulled the pins from her hair, letting it cascade down her back.

Once Y/N had put on her pj top and shorts, she grabbed her wash bag and headed into the bathroom. She brushed through her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, removed her makeup and moisturised her face, focusing on the repetitive motion of massaging her cheeks. But then the tears began to fall, they were hot on her cheeks and her breath dragged harshly through her lungs, almost choking on the sob. She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.

As Y/N rinsed her mouth and put her toothbrush back in it’s case, she heard the sounds of laughter and stomping outside. Even though she felt sick at the sound of their happiness, she yanked the door open and walked out the bathroom. Y/N found them, bodies backed against the wall, in a state of undress; Bucky’s bowtie was hanging loose, the shirt open and his pants discarded down the hallway and her in a tiny lace set that didn’t leave anything to the imagination.

“Oh, who’s this?” The high pitch squeak from Bucky’s companion grated Y/N’s nerves.

Bucky spun around, “Oh that’s just a friend. Staying in the other room.”

Y/N stormed past him to her room. She heard the laughter pick up and the door shut to his bedroom. The giggles began to drift into moans and she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it. She plugged in her earphones to her cell and blasted the music whilst she filled the cabin bag with her belongings as quickly as she could.

With a quickly scrawled note on a napkin, placed on the bed for Bucky to find in the morning, she left the hotel without a second thought.

Continue Here...

[plush-rabbit]

A Pair of Scissors

Word Count: 3.7K

A/N: If you guys ever ask for a scene with specific pronouns, I’m gonna do it with those pronouns (nsfw ofc). This is probably not great because its my first time (maybe? In a long time for sure) writing for a guy so yeah. I hope that you like it and i apologize for taking so long with it

Thick, scarred fingers tug through the strands of dark hair. It’s heavy, a sort of black that absorbs all light and shines under the light when properly taken care of. It’s hair that can be easily lost within, fingers that part through the thick strands, curling at the base and returning to the top of his head to scratch lightly at, a black that is supposed to shine and was often fretted over when he was young. And yet, now it sits messy and knotted, grease and oil that makes it shine in an unpleasant way, making it stick together and he can only get halfway through it before finding knots that restrict further movement. 

Shota stands in front of the bathroom mirror, tired eyes that stare into his, scars that have faded over time and scars that are still fresh. On the counter sits a pair of scissors. A yellow handle and silver blades. A pair of scissors- regular old scissors he had laying around- not optimal for cutting hair but rather paper and yet, it’s all that he could do- all that he could find and he stands in front of the mirror and carefully grabs at the pair, slipping his fingers inside and grabbing at a fistful of hair. He pulls it away from his scalp, tugging on it until it strains, sharp pins that make it unpleasant and he’s shakily holding the pair of scissors. It gleams in his hands, and he opens the blades. The hair is between the blades, above the pristine porcelain of the sink and he’s nervous about cutting it. His breath held, heart beating rapidly against his chest and he doesn’t know why he can’t cut it, why he can’t just close the pair of scissors. It’s hair. It doesn’t- It shouldn’t mean as much as it currently does.

He’s not one to care about physical appearance. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he’s happy. And he’s not happy with the state his hair is in now. He’s annoyed- angry even and he can’t close the damn pair of scissors. 

There’s a sharp sound that rings through the room, the scissors falling into the sink and he’s lowering his head, hands flat against the counter as he tries to remember how to breathe again. In and out. In and out. It’s constant. It’s always there. Innate and built into the body. He can breath and he is safe.

There’s a soft knock against the door and he has to force his mouth to wet, to lick and produce saliva and he answers, a soft, weak sounding grunt that he looks away from, that he forces his throat to clear before calling out again.

“I heard a loud noise,” your voice is muffled through the door, and he can hear the soft taps of your fingertips against the door. “Are you doing okay?” 

He can’t answer. He’s not dying. He’s just having a weird reaction to cutting his hair. It’ll grow back. He hears his name called and all that he can do is stand there.

“Can I come in?” You ask and when he looks at the door, he can see the knob begin to turn, slowly and steady, a practiced movement that you’ve perfected over the years to get the jump on him.

“Please,” he murmurs, eyes downcast and he feels silly. He feels like a child, calling out to their parent with their tail between their legs.

The door turns and you come into view. Your eyes dart to the sink and back to him, an eyebrow raised as you look at him. “Scissors in the bathroom? Not what I expected but- Uh, why do you have scissors in the bathroom?” You’re careful approaching him, inching near him, hands raised in front of you and he scoffs.

“I want to cut my hair.” He needs to. You roll your hand, encouraging him to continue and he can’t look at you. He turns his attention to the reflection and he sees you and somehow it's worse seeing a reflection of you, knowing that your attention is on him and then your eyes meet in the mirror, clean and free of dust and he feels like a child. “I can’t do it.”

“Do you want me to?” He meets your eyes, still half-lidded but hope churns inside of him. ”I can’t promise that it’ll be good considering that these-” you reach over to grab at the scissors and hold them in front of you- “are regular scissors and not the hair cutting kind.” You place the scissors on the counter, turning them away from you. “Or we can go to a professional? I’m sure Hizashi or Nemuri know a place.”

“We aren’t going to them,” he states, giving you a tired expression, accompanied with a roll of his eyes. “I- Can you do it?” His voice is strained and humiliation burns at his neck making it tighter to swallow, like his capture weapon was around his throat and pulling against him. “Please?”

He can feel the way your eyes scan him, how they trail over his body and land back onto his face. “Do you know how much you want me to cut off?” Your voice is soft and he’s close to ignoring this entire situation- to just forget it and swallow his pride and have Nemuri do it. Your hand touches at the ends and he flinches, a gasp that leaves past his lips. “How about a bit past shoulder length? Does that sound good?” He nods and he can feel your hand flutter past his ends and land above his chest. “We’ll have to comb through it and wash it. Will you be okay with that?”

“Do what you have to do.” His doesn’t want to think about what will happen, how close you’ll have to get to him, how warm your hands will be when they brush the back of his neck, the way your fingers will scratch at his scalp tenderly, how you’ll towel him dry and keep him close to you, the soft praise that will fill the room as you keep your hands on him. “Can we start with it already?” 

He can hear your soft laugh, feel how your hands are steady against his shoulders, fingers that give him a gentle squeeze and he can manage a small smile creeping past his lips. “Let me get the brush and a spray bottle.” Your lips peck as his nose and he scoffs, watching as you leave to scour for a spray bottle.

-

He sits on a stool, hunched over with closed eyes, hands gripping onto his knees and he can feel the water drip onto his neck. The brush can only go so much before it's met with knots, harsh tugging where he hisses harshly and you apologize under your breath, soothing over his scalp with a quick press of your fingers around the tender spot. 

Shota stays quiet, eyes focused on the tile as you ease the knots and he can hear the soft sound of scissors snipping, metal that brushes against each other, a soft swish and he can feel you lift a tendril of messy, split-end hair and his nails are pressing into the fabric of his sweatpants, the inside of his cheeks between his teeth, feeling the sharp press of it until it’s threatening to spill blood into his mouth. He can hear his name being called, a soft murmur, muffled as if said through underwater, and then it grows louder, said until it’s firm and he snaps out of whatever daze he was in.

“Sho,” you start with the shortened version of his name, said in a quiet voice and he pulls his lips into a frown, he must look awful if you’re speaking to him like a scared man. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? You’re shaking.” He can only nod, not trusting his voice and he sits straighter, and he can feel your hand curver above his head. “Do you want to take a break?”

His eyes narrow at the wall. “We haven’t started yet.”

He wonders what type of face you’re making. Pouted lips, perhaps? Furrowed brows? An unamused look? He can only make so many guesses until you sigh. “Come on. Let’s go to the bedroom. I want to make sure you’re comfortable.” You don’t wait for an answer from the exhausted man, wrapping your arm around his bicep and pulling him to his feet, where you make way to the bedroom. He enters it awkwardly despite it being his room and you have to lead him onto the bed where he watches you with an unreadable exception.

“We’re cutting my hair here?” There’s a part of him that knows that you aren’t You didn’t bring the supplies. He knows what you want to do and he’s eager for it, a slight jerk of his leg as he watches you take off your shorts and he moves further onto the bed. 

“You’re cute when you want to be,” you snark playfully, sticking out a tongue at him, bending over to grab at your shorts and toss it to the desk chair. “Lay on your stomach. Let me… help you relax.”

“So it’s about me this time?” He removes his clothing carefully, the fabric on his skin leaving him warm and he sits nude on the bed, legs bent and scars on display.

“Funny,” you tease with a raise of your brows. “It’s always about you.” The bed creaks as he moves to lay on his back, muscles tense and a yawn already escaping past his lips. Beside him, the bed dips, and he can feel your presence, the way your hands ghost above him, leaving bumps on his skin, a shudder in his breath when your fingers run down the gentle dip in his spine. “I always make sure my hero is properly treated,” you murmur into the room, your hands curved over his shoulder blades. “I’m almost offended you’d suggest otherwise.”

He can feel the press of you against the back of his thighs, a soft hand that rubs over the gentle area of his glutes. He tightens them at the touch but relaxes himself, his legs shuffling across the comforter as they begin to spread. He can hear the wood move, the drawers open and items that rummage and he’s pleased with himself, a smug grin that stretches wide across his face, at the rush to grab the lubricant. The grin is replaced with a mouthful of comforter when you squirt the cool, silky lube onto him. 

“Knees,” you command and he follows your orders. He stands on his knees, face against the side of the bed, hands coming to rest beside pawing at the comforter until he’s gripping it tight in his hands and it’s pulling from the end of the bed. “Good boy,” you praise, giving a soft rub against his backside. 

He feels the gentle prod of your fingers against his rim, slowly entering the tight hole, and he lets out a muffled whimper behind closed lips, calves going tense at the feel, brows already furrowed as you push against your knuckles, circling around the area, feeling how the walls in him soften and how he clenches around you. You press your fingers down, feeling the bulge of his prostate, making him buck forward a higher pitched whine that fills the room.

“Do you think you can handle more?” You flex your fingers inside and he clenches, his cock hardening between his legs, pre-ejaculate leaking in heavy strands and dirtying the comforter. “You’re already getting so hard,” you slowly pull out your fingers hearing him whine in protest, “I’m sure I could just finger you and you’d cream all over.”

“No, please,” he rushes out, mind already going hazy from pleasure, wanting to focus on that rather than the anxiety that bubbled in his stomach. “Let- Fuck me, please. I- I can touch myself.” Shota bucks his hips into the air, hand releasing the now wrinkled comforter and sliding his hand to grab at his cock. “Add more, please.” He can feel your fingers pull out more and his hand moves to clutch his breast, pulling on a perked nipple, a soft brown where it hardens under his rough touch.

You don’t respond, your fingers tense inside of him, pumping in and out, watching as he sucks you in and out. He’s eager, whimpering into the sheets, hands clenched around the mattress, nails dragging and scratching at the duvet, panting as his fingers pinch around his nipple, pulling on the sensitive skin and having it harden under his touch, the skin around the areola becoming a bright red from the stimulation. Your fingers jerk, a soft whimper when you pull out only to rub your fingers around his rim, watching as it twitches around him.

“Shota,” you coo, “am I allowed to ask you something?” Your fingers slip back inside of him, an extra added, curling inside of him slowly spreading inside of him, watching as he takes another finger, hearing him pant your name. “Why were you shaking earlier?”

He shakes his head, the side of his face pressed against the mattress, eyes shut tight as he whispers a soft mantra of “no’s”. You pump in and out, his rim stretching,a light pink that dots around the area, and there’s a sting to him, stretched too far with minimal lubrication. It’s a sharp, pleasurable pain that brings tears to his eyes, his taint spread so wide, having you massage at the prostate, feeling the muscle and pulsing that goes on inside of him, his cock drooling onto the mattress without so much as a touch- sticky, creamy white that pools into a puddle and he so badly wants to release, to have you pound against him, to grab at his hair and yank him back, to all him a dirty, little slut and litter his body with bites, have your hands roam around him body and toy with his tits.

“You like my long hair,” he whimpers, tears springing to his eyes. He truly doesn’t care about his appearance- he’ll do the minimal work for it, allow for his body to remain clean, nothing growing past a stubble that pricks his lover, but his hair is that one thing he could take pride in. The thick, dark hair that grows, to have it styled and washed at, to have your hands wrap around it and yank him back like a leash, the loving caress when you run your hands down his hair, wash his hair and keep him close, the soft cooing where you bury your face into his neck. “I- I was nervous you wouldn’t like me with shorter hair.” It all sounds so pitiful when said out loud. It’s hair. It’ll grow back. But at the same time, he’ll have to live with it, he’ll have to grow used to it, to allow for the hair to grow back so he can return to who he is. He cares for your opinion. He’ll scoff and roll his eyes, but he also wants to please you.

Your fingers rest inside of him, and he’s huffing and puffing and he moves himself tenderly against you, working your fingers as he fucks himself. A free hand rubs against his side, brushing against his rib bones, feeling the soft bumps that remain steady. Your fingers brush against an old scar under his breast, thin and long, a soft curve that takes a ragged dip at the end.

“You aren’t wrong that I like you hair-” your fingers leave his body and he can feel himself gape, his hold clenching around nothing- “but I’m not dating you for the hair. Heck, if I was a hair type of person I’d go for-” he huffs angrily and you allow a nervous smile to take over that is slowly replaced by a coy one. “Oh? Look at you being a jealous brat.” You know that he can hear the lazy smile laced into your words. “The point is- I’m dating you, not your hair. If you want to cut it, we can do that. I’ll snip and learn.” Silky lube is dripped onto him, the aching sensation replaced by a cool touch, slipping against him, and trailing down to coat his package. Your cock presses against his hole, tip stretching past him, slowly entering with a hiss between your teeth. “You could have short hair and I wouldn’t care-” your words stutter and you clench your eyes, hunching over as your hand grip onto his hips- “because you're mine, and I don’t care how you want to doll yourself as long as you stay mine.” He stretches around your girth, a soft sigh that escapes his lips as he comes to stand on his hands, head dipped as he pants heavily, sweat beading on the back of his neck.

He stands on his hands and knees, panting as you push against him, every thrust met with one of his own, his groans filling the room while his hands claw at the duvet. Your hand wraps around his leaking member. You hold it in your hands with a tight grip, rubbing your thumb over the slit and spreading his arousal further down, your hands teasingly going to grab at his sack, only to pull away and continue to pleasure him.

Your other hand remains on his back, watching your cock disappear into him, hearing the heavy sighs and moans. He chants your name, and he jerks in your hand and you can tell that he’s already close, eager to rid himself of any of the anxiety from earlier. A hand rises, coming to cup at the breast he had neglected, a sharp gasp of relief fills the room and your hand falters from him and comes to hold onto his hips, fingertips pressed deep into him, feeling the way that he tightens himself around you.

“Fuck,” you swear, eyes half-lidded with parted lips, “I forget how tight you are.” Your hand slips past his hips, sliding against his pelvis and moving past the thick curled tuft of hair that rests around him, your back aching as you grab at his cock, pumping it harshly, harsh grunts leaving your lips. “Fuck Shota, you have no idea how good you feel. What this slutty, little hole can take. I bet you’d come with just a blowjob, eh?” Shota’s moans become louder, needier and more primal, his cock twitching in your hand and he comes to rise, his back against your chest, both of you standing on your knees, hips bucking into him, a fast, rough rutting, where he bounces against you. Your hands move to cusp at his sex, a hand cradling his sack, a soft massage underneath, rolling them in your palm and the other hand pumping against his red-tipped cock. 

“Choke me.” His tongue lolls out, drool slipping past the tip of his tongue and falling onto the valley of his chest. “Fuck me harder,” he wails, pushing himself back against you.

Your hand curves around his neck, fingers pressed against the sides of his throat, a soft press against his apple, leaving it when he croaks out. Tears bead out, his face becoming a dark shade of red, his air slowly becoming restricted, a harsh wheezing coming against him.

“Fucking whore,” you mutter, lips pressed against his ear, suckling on the lobe. “A pretty boy that wants to be railed from behind.” You laugh breathlessly, tongue licking a stripe behind his ear. “How close are you? How much harder do you want it?”

“Softer,” he croaks, cock heavy in your hands.

He feels your pace slow, steady and restrained, the grip around him steady as you pleasure him. “You’re so pretty,” your voice slurs a bit, a jerk of your hips where you shush him when he cries out. “So strong and muscular. Beautiful face and strong body.” You kiss where your prints are left on his neck. “I’m gonna treat you so good.” He can feel his orgasm approaching, a heat that flares against his body and strains against his cock. “Have you lie back and love your body.” He whines when you press against him, his cock beginning to leak more and more.

“‘M close,” he murmurs with shut eyes and gritted teeth. He feels your hand still for a second only to return to the movement. His name is whispered on your lips, a mantra and he can feel you still, teeth against his shoulder as your seed runs hot inside of him, cock pulsing in his heat. His cock is angled and with your thickness and seed still buried, he calls your name, words of gratitude moaned into the room as his thick ropes land onto the comforter, dripping past his cock and disappearing into the palm of your hand. 

He lives in the afterglow. A shake of his legs, a soft whimper where your cock leaves him and the soft hold against him leaves, leaving him softening and cold, and he lays on the bed, his release on his torso. He can feel the heavy arousal that leaks out of him, heavy and warm, slowly moving down his thigh. Your hand rubs at his back and he smiles softly, cock still pulsing against him, a soft hard on that continues to leak and rests against the plush comforter. 

Your lips are the crown of his head, the soft patter of feet that move against the floor. “I’m going to go get some aloe and a cloth, all right? Don’t fall asleep on me Sho, we still need a haircut.”

He grunts in response, coming over to bend his arms under his chin and he only raises a brow, feeling the hair that sticks to his clammy body. “I’ll wait,” he mumbles, eyes slowly coming to a close, steady breathing dipping, as he hears your steps fade. His hair is long, sticky and knotted, laying against his bare skin where he waits patiently for you, his hole leaking, and cock still twitching where it leaks the remaining release on the bed and he waits for your return and for the eventual haircut, body now relaxed as his worries are washed away, kissed away with every touch from you.

[dorotheajanegilmore]

She saved me - VILLANELLE

Villanelle x OC!Female

Trigger warning: Drunk, passing out, men surrounding vulnerable woman (safe to read, nothing violent occurs).

Hope you enjoy!

————————

The blonde assassin sat in her expensive blue and red floral dress, watching the crowds gather around the man playing guitar outside of the French bakery.

Villanelle siped her coffee and took a verocious bite out of the circular pastry. “Ugh.” She spat it out onto the plate just as a waiter walked by.

“Is everything alright, Mademoiselle?” The twenty-something year old waiter asked with a thick French accent, looking down at the chewed, spit covered pastry lumped onto her plate.

Villanelle looked up at him in disgust. “That was cinnamon.”

“Yes, our cinnamon swirls are made with the finest cinnamon in-“

“I hate cinnamon.” Villanelle interrupted, picking up her boutique shopping bags and storming off in a huff.

Villanelle headed down a dark alleyway, a short cut to her hotel. As the alley lit up and exposed the street at the other end, Villanelle turned the corner. Immodestly, she collided with a stranger, her bags flying into the air and landing a few feet away.

“Perfect.” She whispered to herself, feeling a cold liquid drip down her front, and her damp clothes stick to her. Her hand was in her pocket, ready to take out her small blade, then the stranger pulled herself up from the ground.

“Oh, my god. I am so sorry!” The young woman pulled herself up from the wall and held a lidless coffee cup in hand.

Villanelle frowned, there was wine on her dress but the women was holding a coffee cup. She watched the stranger stumble and realised it took her a while to get up. And she was awfully quiet on impact. Villanelle left the blade where it was and began gathering her clothes, deciding that it wasn’t worth it.

As she stuffed her brown Gucci scarf into her bag, Villanelle saw the women attempt to help, she reached down to pick up a bag and stumbled. Falling back down onto the pavement. “Sorry, M’not help. Three heels. Drain.”

Villanelle looked over at the two heels on the drain and rolled her eyes. She picked them up and began heading on her way, leaving behind the drunken state that ruined her sweater.

But as she walked across the street, she saw three young men head towards the alley way. She heard whistling and yelling and couldn’t help but take a closer look. There was something in her gut telling her to go back, to check on the intoxicated woman.

Villanelle has barely crossed the street when she saw the men gather around, kneeling on the ground. “Hey! Hey! Get away from her!” She yelled, dropping her bags and raving down the alley. Immediately the men took off, realising that her yelling would draw attention.

Pressing her fingers to the woman’s neck, She sighed when she felt a slow and steady pulse. “Shit.” She cursed.

The taxi driver helped Villanelle carry the women into her hotel lobby where the security approached. Villanelle turned to the taxi driver and handed him a tip. “Thank you so much for your help. Stacey just can’t handle her French wines.” She out on her poshest English accent and the man chuckled before leaving. The hotel security guard overheard her and guided her to the elevator.

—————

She opened her eyes and her vision was blurred. She blinked a few times before her eyes focused on the window just across from her. The night sky was lit up with stars and the Eiffel Tower a bright yellow glow, against a navy background.

She sat up and realised that she wasn’t in her hotel room. This one is far fancier. Had she gotten that drunk at lunch?

“Harriet?” She called, hoping that her best friend that she was on vacation with would answer. Instead, she was met with silence. Throwing her legs over the end of the bed, she found her legs clad in pink silk pyjamas. She looked down as saw her top half matched. She lifted her left arm and found the letter ‘V’ sewn into the wrist with champagne coloured thread.

She frowned and stood up, feeling like she had a bookcase on her head she nearly fainted. She groaned feeling the dreaded hangover take over, but nevertheless, she wandered out of the bedroom.

“Harriet?” She asked, stepping into the hall. She looked up from the ground and saw a grand living room spread out in front of her. Crisp white walls and gold accents. A huge flat screen tv and grey velvet sofas. The place was a palace.

“Who’s suite am I in?” She whispered to herself. “Oh my god!” She clasped a hand over her mouth as she realised that in her drunken state, she might have hooked up with someone.

The door to her left opened and a tall, tan blonde woman walked out, wearing a white bathrobe and fluffy white slippers. “You’re awake.” She smiled.

“Hi. I. I don’t. I don’t know what’s happening.” She stuttered, feeling anxious, scared and vulnerable all at the same time.

“What’s your name?” The blonde asked, padding over to the sofa in her soft slippers.

“Florence.” The girl’s voice faltered as she spoke, her throat croaky and dry.

“Florence.” The woman nodded. “Sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

The woman wondered into the kitchen while Florence slowly walked into the living room. The room was square with two grey double doors on the right hand side. On the left hand side was one grey door for the bathroom, and opposite the hallway she had just walked out of was a fireplace with a large tv. In the middle of the room was a white fluffy rug on top of the marble floor. Two sofas opposite each other with a glass table in between. It was lavish and expensive, it smells of fresh roses and coffee and the only sound audible being the traffic of cars outside.

Florence sank into the unbelievably soft sofa as the stranger walked in from the kitchen, two bottles of water in hand. She placed them on the table and took one for herself, gesturing for Florence to take one.

Usually, she wouldn’t take from strangers. However her mouth and throat felt like sandpaper. She removed the security seal and unscrewed the lid. The cold water felt heavenly against tongue and the relief on her throat was orgasmic. “Thank you.” She breathed as she finished the bottle.

The woman nodded with an amused smile. “You’re welcome.”

Florence noted the Russian accent and felt even more foreign. “I’m sorry but do you know how I got here?”

The woman nodded. “You barged into me in town. Spilled wine all over my expensive dress and passed out in the alley. Men tried to bother you so I brought you here.”

Florence felt sick from the information being spat at her. “Crap, crap. I am so stupid. I’m so sorry. Please, send me your dry cleaning bill, I’ll fix it for you. Or buy you a new one.”

“It was by The Vampire’s Wife.” The women stated dryly.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Florence nodded confidently. “I’ll call the boutique, please tell me what was the name of the piece I trashed?”

————————

Villanelle frowned. She expected this woman to be nothing more than cheap trash and yet, here she was offering to purchase a one thousand dollar dress? Now the assassin was intrigued, even more so than she was.

“Forget it. But please, let me ask you some questions.”

Florence nodded and Villanelle sat up, twisting the towel from her head and letting her freshly washed hair drip onto her bathrobe to dry naturally.

“Where are you from and what are you doing here?”

“I’m from London but I’m on vacation here with friends. It’s my birthday tomorrow so.” The woman shrugged.

“How old are you tomorrow?” V asked, wondering if she had accidentally kidnapped a minor.

“I’ll be 24.”

Villanelle sighed in relief. “And what’s your job?”

“I’m a writer. You?”

Villanelle chuckled. “I’m a perfume designer.”

“Aw that’s so cool!” Florence exclaimed excitedly, a big fan of perfume and all things girly. “Can I ask you some questions?”

Villanelle nods, she supposed that was fair.

“What’s your name? And why did you help me?” Florence’s mind was going a hundred miles a minute. She felt ill, and wasn’t sure if she should be leaving and trying to find Harriet, or if she should take this woman out and buy her a replacement sweater. And pyjamas, since she was now dressed in hers. Either way, she needed answers.

“Villanelle. And I felt bad for you.” Villanelle shrugged.

Florence’s face lit up with a smile and chuckled at how blunt Villanelle was. “You don’t sugar coat it do you.”

Villanelle shrugged, feeling comfortable around this stranger. “Sugar coatting is for babies. Are you baby?”

“I could be.” Florence joked.

Villanelle’s eyes widened before Florence shook her head and and said, “I’m joking, I’m joking. I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I should leave.”

Florence stood up and looked around. Villanelle stood up too, and watched her move.

“Do you have my phone?” Florence asked. “Did I have it when I stumbled into you?”

Villanelle shook her head and shrugged. “You came with a coffee cup.“

“Can I borrow your phone please? I just need to call my friend and let her know I’m safe.”

With that sentence, Villanelle’s eyes darkened. She slowly walked towards the girl, smirking evilly as her hand reached into her pocket.

Florence’s heart quickened as Villanelle stalked towards her. Florence took a step back and gulped. “I am safe right?”

Villanelle’s smirk dropped and she began laughing wickedly. “Hahaha! I got you! Haha I scared you didn’t I? Hahaha”

Florence’s shoulders dropped and her heart sank. “Oh..my god. Oh my god. You totally had me there.”

Villanelle took her phone out of her pocket and brought up the number pad. “Here. Call your friend.”

“Thank you so much.” Florence gratefully took hold of the phone, but Villanelle didn’t let go.

“By the way,” Villanelle started, leaning in closer to Florence’s face. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now, baby.”