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absurdthirst · 6 months ago

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Serving the General {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Mentions of servants/slaves, mentions of war, mentions of blood/injuries, washing, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, rough sex, power imbalance, unprotected sex, cream pie, cum eating, oral sex (male and female receiving), analingus, anal fingering, cock riding, slight breast play, hurt/comfort

Comments: Coming back from battle, Roman general Marcus Acacius has you waiting for him. Serving him to clean his wounds and soothe his soul with your body.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The sounds of the battle are muted, the tent you are in is far from the front lines. Smoke from the fires being tended by servants and slaves alike is heavy in the air. You can almost forget the clashing of swords and the sounds of the catapults being launched against the fortified town. The clanking of steel and screams barely rise above the crackling of burning wood and the rustle of fabrics as men and women move throughout the camp.

You aren’t rushed. The large cauldron in front of the tent has already been filled by others, hot and ready for when the general returns. If he returns. Your face doesn’t show the worry that you carry, the fear that one day the man that you are serving won’t return.

The heavily carpeting floors of the tent are luxurious. The furniture better than some would have in their homes, carted from one encampment to another, providing comfort and a sense of home for the high ranking and lauded general. He has been honored by the emperor, by Rome, with servants and treasures, riches bought by the cleverness of his war tactics and the strength of his sword.

The tub has been brought in, soaps and perfumes set out at the ready for his return. Wine and food will be brought in, other servants retreating so that you can care for the general in private, as was his custom after returning from battle.

Waiting is the worst part. Pacing around the large tent, wearing the simple silk gown that he prefers you in. Your sandals are nothing more than a quiet whisper over the threads of the ornate fabric, hauled in from the east. The jewelry on your body displays your elevated status. You are not a slave and are more than a servant, but you are not a wife. You are Marcus Acacius’s mistress and his constant companion.

Marcus grunts as he stumbles through the encampment towards his tent. He had suffered a few swipes and bruises during the battle but he emerged victorious. He is eager to sink into a bath before he sinks into you. You will be waiting and that makes his battle hard fought. He imagines coming back to you, your sweet, relieved smile, and he fights harder. He will kill whoever he needs to to make it back to you. He cannot marry you. You aren’t of his status. Below a plebeian, you are not eligible to marry but he keeps you by his side. Selfish, he supposes, but you’re his lifeline. Long ago he lost his first wife who died in childbirth along with his son and he vowed to never marry again. He enjoys your company and he loves you in his own way but he still mourns his childhood love. He locates his tent and pushes the linen aside to stumble inside, his eyes immediately finding you.

“Marcus!” You rush over to him, throwing your arms around him. When it is the two of you, you are allowed to be emotional, to show him how you feel. Sometimes you think that he prefers that over being in the company of others and having to hide your emotions. His arms around you are strong and exhausted, the battle long and brutal. You pull back and frown when you see a cut on his cheek, his temple, the blood of others on his skin mixed with the dirt and sweat. “Let me tend to you.” You coo, fingers reaching for the ties of his armor. His nod is weary and you don’t call for anyone to help you, wanting to serve him yourself. His wounds fussed over and cleaned by your hands and his aches and pains soothed by your body.

He nods, unable to pretend that he isn’t battle worn and exhausted. He wants to relinquish his body to your touch. You work diligently to remove his armor and he’s soon left in his bloodied tunic while you guide him over to the steaming bath. You remove his tunic and he’s not ashamed to be half hard, his body running on adrenaline and the idea of being inside you again. “Come on, General. Get in.” You demand softly and he hisses when he steps into the water. “Too hot?” You ask and he shakes his head, “no. No. I'm just - too old for this.” He sighs as he sits down in the water.

There is gray in his hair and lines on his face, but he is still strong and healthy. A lifetime of war has worn him down and you know that he is tired of the constant battle for lands that Rome seems to be fighting. “You will feel better once you are clean, well fed and fucked.” You murmur, reaching for the cup of wine you had poured and pressing it into his hand before you pick up the cloth and soap.

Marcus closes his eyes as you start to wash him, “every day more men die. Fathers, brothers, sons. There’s nothing I can do except battle onward for the Emperor’s orders. How many men must die at my hand?” He whispers, hating how torn he is while fulfilling the oath he made to the emperor.

You understand the frustrations that Marcus feels. He sees the death and destruction that war has wrought, the emperor only seeing the glory of Rome in the crimson red of the blood spilt. The cloth swipes away the dirt and washes the blood clean, but you know that it will continue to stain his soul. Every bite of his sword into flesh weighing heavily on his mind and heart. “As many as it takes for you to live.” You murmur softly, keeping your touch gentle when you see a bruise near his ribs where his armor had saved his life. “You save your men with your tactics and your presence in battle beside them. If you were to fall, the army of Rome would suffer.”

Marcus knows that what you are saying is correct but he can’t help but feel hopeless as he tries to reconcile the losses on the battlefield, knowing he will be delivering the news of their deaths to their families upon arrival back in Rome. “And the Emperor would fall.” He whispers, knowing that even saying that is blasphemy.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you shouldn’t have even heard those words being spoken from his lips. You move to his face and carefully clean up the cuts, blowing on the wounds when he winces. “Drink your wine.” You urge him. “I will refill your cup when it’s dry.”

He grabs the goblet, taking a large gulp of wine and he hisses when you rub into his neck where he has his worst injury. “Nearly chopped my fucking head off but I managed to dodge it.” He admits nonchalantly like the violence doesn’t bother him anymore.

You want to lean in to kiss the wound, but it will need to be sewn up first but it can wait for now. “You are lucky that it did not end up that way.” You wring out the water and dab at it again. “I will get it closed for you and the paste put on it after you rest.” You promise, even though you know that he doesn’t care about scars. A lifetime as a soldier, his body is a roadmap of battles and injuries.

He downs the rest of his wine, setting the goblet down as he looks at you with those dark eyes. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?” He asks softly, wanting a moment to let you know how much he appreciates you.

Your eyes slide down, slightly embarrassed by his words. You know that he desires you, every time he touches you it’s with a rough devotion. He brands you with his touch. You look back up to find him watching you still. “I always want to please you.” You murmur softly.

Marcus tuts, reaching up with wet fingers to grip your chin. “It’s not all about pleasing me. I want to please you. I wish I could give you more. Give you all of me but there are pieces that are lost. I no longer own those pieces to give to you.” He confesses like you don’t know this. “And society-” You add but he scoffs, “fuck society. Noblemen still die. No one is above the gods. I do not care about society. I simply wish to protect you.” He admits, “if I die…” He says and you open your mouth but his dark look stops you from speaking. “If I die, you must return to Rome. Atticus promises me he will make sure you return unharmed and there you will find my domus and you will remain there with my coin until the day we are joined in death.”

You don’t want to think about a life without him. You have been with Marcus for too many years. Your heart belongs to him. “I think that if you were to die, I would follow not too long behind you.” You admit softly, reaching out to cover his heart with your hand. “My heart is yours, just like my body.” You know that he cares for you, he has made that obvious even if he could not give you everything.

Marcus offers you a rare smile, one that is only reserved for you, and his heart thumps when you assure him that you love him, that you are his. “Even so, I want to make sure you are protected and looked after in my absence.” He says as he reaches for your hand and presses a soft kiss to the back of it. “Wash me, mea columba.” He orders, wanting to wash the battle from his skin.

You nod, picking up the rag again and and you are thorough, washing his feet and then sliding the cloth up his thighs. “You survived.” You remind him, biting your lip as your fingers inch up. You know that he is half hard under the water, already thinking about how he is going to take you. He always does, after every battle, he comes back to this tent and works out the rest of his adrenaline on your body, leaving you a sweaty, cum filled mess on his bed. “Now you get the spoils of war.”

He chuckles, reaching for the decanter of wine to pour himself another glass. “You are my spoils of war? My gold? My treasure?” He smirks as your fingers trail up his thigh while you wash him. “Corculum.” He murmurs, watching you with rapture as you lean over the tub, “I want you.”

“You have me.” You promise him, leaning back and reaching for the gold hoop that holds up the delicate folds of your silk dress. It’s an ingenious design, slip the hoop from around your neck and the front of your dress falls, revealing your tits to him. You stand and let the dress fall to the floor and are completely naked under the thin dress.

Marcus’s eyes trail along your body. You take his breath away every time he sees your figure. “Bella.” He murmurs, calling you beautiful. He wonders sometimes how he is worthy of touching you after his hands have taken so many lives. “Let me finish washing. I want to be clean when I’m inside you.” He declares, reaching for the cloth.

You watch him just as eagerly as he had watched you. Water cascading down his broad body as he stands to wash his cock. Watching him harden under your gaze and you know that he is eager to take you. “Bella.” you murmur softly, repeating the same endearment. While you can never call Marcus yours in any kind of social setting, you know that the general seeks out your company above those that would gladly throw themselves at the powerful man.

He washes quickly, making sure he is clean, and he steps out of the tub. Water dripping from his body as his cock throbs for you. He wastes no time reaching for your body, pulling you up against him as he surges forward to crash his lips to yours.

A man of Marcus’s experience has a strong appetite. For food and wine, for sex. He knows exactly how he wants to pleasure you and take his pleasure from you. You give in to him and melt under the force of his lips, wrapping your arms around him and moaning when he picks you up and carries you the few steps to the bed to lay you down.

He cannot be soft now. He will be later when he's fucked the adrenaline out but for now, he slides his fingers through your cunt. Pleased when he finds you wet enough to take him, and he positions his cock to push into you in one thrust, his body covering yours.

Your cry is silent, mouth open on a scream that could not be heard. Cunt clenching down around him while your fingernails dig into the meat of his shoulders. Filled with him until you cannot think of anything else but the way that his cock drills into you. “Marcus.” You gasp out when you finally catch your breath.

Your gasps makes him smirk and he grabs your wrists, keeping them together in one of his large hands so he can keep you still. He starts to rock into you, a harsh pace, unrelenting and unwilling to give you time to breathe when he so desperately needs to assure himself that he is alive.

You love the way he needs you. Driving into you again and again with sharp snaps of his hips. You take it, every thrust that has you gasping and moaning. Your body trembling under the force of his need. He needs more, he needs everything and you whimper his name again and again, watching the way his jaw clenches and tights above you.

He grunts as he pushes into you over and over. He's relentless, wanting to lose himself in you. An orgasm is the only time his mind goes blank. He doesn't get drunk enough to forget the cries of the men he has killed. He squeezes your wrists in his hand as he rams into you. "Fuck you are so tight." He hisses, bending down to bite on your neck.

You shiver when he bites down on your flesh, moaning as he fucks you. The bed groans and sways under the force of his thrusts. “Marc- Marcus.” You pant out raggedly, pushing your legs up on his hips, and wanting more from him. You turn your head, kissing his temple over and over again. “I love you.”

He can't say it back, the memory of his wife and child haunting him so much that he could never allow himself to love again, but with you...he is close to that feeling. He grunts out a soft noise, pushing into you and feeling your body absorb the brunt of his thrusts. "Shit." He hisses, getting closer and the adrenaline surges as he pants out your name.

He never says the words, but you don’t take offense. You know about his wife, his child that he had lost. The pain and suffering that he endured until you had come into his life. Becoming his comfort. “Yes.” You whimper. “I -” You cry out, stiffening underneath him as your body lights up in pleasure, driven to that peak by the rough way he loves you.

He hisses when you clamp down on his cock, making him struggle to push into you but he manages, thrusting a half dozen more times until he’s spilling against your walls. “Fuckkkk.” He pants, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead on yours, his mind blissfully blank.

You whimper his name, rocking your hips as he slows his thrusts until he collapses into you. Lifting a leg up over his hips, you hold him closer even as he holds your hands. He will release you when he’s ready and you can stroke and soothe his skin for the rest of the night if that is your wish. “My general.” You murmur softly.

Your voice soothes him, keeps the horrors of his mind at bay. He breathes in the oils you bathe yourself in and he presses a soft kiss to your neck, letting you know how he feels about you without saying a word. You hum, running your fingers through his hair and he grunts, letting go of your wrists. He shifts rolling over so you are on top of him and his soft cock slips out of you. “Sit on my face, corculum.” He orders, wanting to hear your cries of his name.

He is greedy tonight. You know that he doesn't care that his seed drips out of your cunt, wanting to indulge in his pleasures. He is filthy when he wants to prolong the night and make your voice hoarse with crying out his name. The soldiers around his tent will hear every scream and cry, smirking when you emerge from the tent in the morning and carrying tales of their general’s virility to the campfires as they boast as if it was their own cock being used. Leaning down, you press your lips to his before your thighs frame his head and you wait for the first swipe of his tongue.

He groans at the creamy mess he’s left between your thighs and he hisses, lifting his head so he can slide his tongue through your folds. He’s desperate to make you cum for him on his tongue. His calloused hands grab your ass to pull you down onto his face, wanting to be suffocated by you.

The first gasp of his name is loud, your hips rolling at the gentle pressure of his hands on your ass. Dragging your cunt over his face, his beard becoming drenched in a mixture of your juices and his moans of pleasure being absorbed into your body. Marcus has always been a very giving lover, wanting to hear your cries of pleasure to drown out the screams of pain and death that echo in his ears. “Marcus!”

Your scream makes his soft cock twitch and he works his tongue inside you, his nose pressed against your clit. He groans at the way you grind down onto his mouth and he closes his eyes, absorbing your taste and your sounds to memory for when you eventually come to your senses and leave him.

You rock back on his face, your head tilted towards the sky and your hands sliding up to cup your breasts. His hands squeeze your ass, making you moan as you move. It’s indulgent and wicked, your body already slick with sweat as he devours you from below. “General,” you whimper. “You are so good at making me shake.”

He loves hearing your praise and he laps at you like a dog, messy and uncaring as he desperately seeks your orgasm on his tongue. He wants to hear you scream his name again.

You grab on to one of the tent poles by the bed, hanging onto it as you ride your general’s face. His tongue pushed deep inside you. Glancing back, you see that his cock is still not hard again, so if you cum, he will seek another orgasm from you until he’s recovered. “Gods!” You squeal when he pulls his tongue out of your cunt and sucks your clit into his mouth. “Marcus!”

Your squeal of pleasure makes him hum with contentment and he groans against your clit when you roll your hips, chasing your pleasure, to extend it. He caresses your ass when you are still on top of him and he grabs you, shifting you until you are kneeling on the bed. "Going to make sure every bastard outside this tent knows who is making you cum like this." He hisses as he kneels behind you and bends over to slide his tongue through your sensitive folds until he is circling his tongue around your puckered hole.

Marcus has used every hole you possess, not allowing you to keep any part of yourself from him. You gasp out, but he just holds your hips firm in his large hands as he tastes you. You can and will let him do anything he wants, knowing that he is used to getting his way. He loves pushing you, making you wanton for him. “I- your tongue.” You moan, dropping down to press your face to the bed.

He grunts into your ass, loving the way you grind back onto him and he presses his thumb against the slick puckered hole as he slides his tongue back into your pussy, wanting to taste you again.

Your toes curl when he breeches the ring of muscles with his thumb, moaning like a whore while his tongue curls inside you. Eyes closing as you let him do what he wants. “I- I want to suck your cock.” You pant out. “Make- make you feel good.”

“Not yet.” He rasps as he pulls back from your cunt for a moment. “Going to make you scream my name all night.” He promises and dives back in, lowering his head in an awkward angle so he can suck on your clit. Every injury he endured is in the back of his mind as he focuses on you and how you taste.

He should be relaxing, letting you take charge of his pleasure, but that is not the kind of man Marcus is. He leads his men to their deaths and now, he pushes you towards orgasm. His hands are always engaged. His mind focused on nothing else but accomplishing his task, whether it is one he sets for himself or handed down from his emperor.

He sucks on your clit for a while until he’s dragging his tongue back through your folds, his thumb now pushed into your ass and he works it in and out, loving your sweet cries of pleasure but he wants to hear you fall apart for him.

Your gasp of his name is all you can manage. Your body rocking from the force of his thrusts of the thumb into your puckered hole. Cheek smooshed against the soft blankets, you feel your entire core start to tighten with that familiar draw. “Marcus- you, I’m going to -“ you babble, so close to the edge that you feel as if you are going mad.

He groans into your wet flesh when you babble, wanting you to cum for him. He ducks down to suck on your clit and that sends you over the edge. You cry out and he smirks around your bundle of nerves as you cum for him again.

You don’t hide your sounds. Making sure that your cries aren’t muffled in the least. The men near Marcus’s tent will know how talented their general is.

He loves that you let his men hear you, hear how he’s pleasuring you. He’s groaning and working you through it before he withdraws his thumb and playfully bites down on your ass. He’s half hard as he flops to lay down on the bed beside you.

You moan and quickly cover his chest to kiss his lips. “Let me pleasure you now.” You murmur, kissing his jaw and then down his chest. “Celebrate my general’s win by sucking his cock and then riding him until he cums.”

He groans when you take his cock into your mouth, hardening in your mouth as he watches you with dark eyes. “Fuck.” He hisses as you watch him as you take him deeper. “You are so good for me.” He murmurs in awe.

You would pull off his cock and tell him that he deserves everything good, but he would never believe you. Regret weighs him down with the mantle of responsibility so you try to ease his burdens or make him forget about them. You hum around his shaft and hold his hips while you work him deeper with every bob of your head.

He bites his lip after he curses again. Your mouth is his Elysian Fields. His heaven. The thing he thinks about when he’s in the baths alone when he’s in Rome. “Fuck.” He reaches down to caress your cheek, loving the way you are covered in jewels he bought you to claim you in the only way he can.

You lean into his touch, humming happily as his thighs tense and tighten. You slide your hand up to wrap around the base, squeezing it and pumping it as you work the head of his cock. Swallowing around his shaft makes him bite out another curse. You love when he lets you pleasure him, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“I don’t want to spill inside you.” He warns you, wanting to have you ride him just as you promised. He taps your cheek, knowing you’ll spend all night sucking his cock if he lets you but he desperately wants you to ride him so he can watch you cum again.

You pout slightly as you pull off his cock, the thin strands of your saliva keeping you connected until it breaks. “You do want to spill inside me, just not my mouth.” You tease, holding his cock and keeping the foreskin rolled down as you move to straddle his hips. “My general.” You coo as you line up and sink down on his length.

He watches you with the same concentration he applies during battle. Focused on where he disappears inside you with ease and he hisses when your wet walls grip him. “I want you to take what you want, amica mea.” He demands, his hands finding your hips to squeeze the flesh.

You love when you ride him, when you get to set the pace and rock your hips as you take him deeper. Marcus lays under you, his back cushioned against the bed and you lean forward to let your breasts sway in his face as you roll your hips and squeeze him tight inside your body.

He slides one hand down to squeeze your ass and the other sliding up to squeeze your breast. He loves the way you rock your hips, your cries of pleasure making him twitch inside you. "Fuck, that's it. Look so beautiful." He murmurs, looking up at you before he surges up to take your nipple into his mouth.

The sounds of the camp around you are audible, but all you can concentrate on is the feeling of his mouth on your breast, suckling on your nipple. “Marc!” You moan, pushing your hips back a little harder as you slam down on his cock.

He bites down on the bud and he slaps your ass cheek, loving the way you moan his name for the whole of the fucking Empire to hear who is making you feel like this. "That's it." He growls, kissing your sternum.

Marcus Acacius is a fierce soldier and general, just like he is a fierce lover. Your body responds to his touch like a wildfire is spreading in your blood. Making your hips speed up and you bounce faster on his cock, riding him like you would his giant war horse if you were trying to outrun a barrage of arrows. “Marcus- I- Marcus!” You scream out, body stiffening in pleasure as you start to cum.

When you clamp down on his cock, he hisses at how fucking tight you get, and you collapse forward onto his chest. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He grunts, wrapping his arms around you, thrusting up into you. He works you through your orgasm and loves the way your wails continue as you ride your high.

Turning your head, you press your lips to his skin, kissing his shoulder and up his neck. “I love you.” You moan softly. He won’t return the sentiment, he can’t, but you can say it for the both of you. “Cum for me.” You urge softly. “Fill me up.”

He wants to hold off again but your cunt is squeezing him and you are kissing his neck. "Fuck, amor." He lets his emotion slip as he thrusts up into you until he is pulsing, painting your walls with his seed.

You whine softly, loving the feeling of warmth as he floods your womb. Kissing his pulse and panting against his skin. “You are perfect.” You praise him. “The gods have blessed me when they gave me to you.”

He grunts as you shower him with sweet words and for a moment, he wishes he was a simpler man. A plebeian who could marry you and bring you into daylight, but he can’t. You are his mistress and you are hidden in the shadows because of who he is, what he is. His hands caress your sides as he relaxes beneath you, body aching now the adrenaline has worn off.

“Sleep.” You coo, feeling his breathing start to slow down. His body is slipping into the boneless exhaustion. He will need to eat, but he can rest for now and you will take care of whatever he needs when he wakes. The general has fought hard today and deserves the comforts you can afford him. You kiss his chin and then his lips. “Sleep, my love.” You urge him softly. “Roman glory can wait.”

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius imagine #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius fanfic #marcus acacius gladiator II #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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msmelissalin · 2 months ago

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"On a normal day, Benjamin's got a bloody good knack for finding his way into places he has no business being, this time, though...I can't credit it to that" Melissa laughed, it was quite funny, she had to admit. "You’d think he'd found himself a golden ticket with how he talks his way into these things." Benjamin’s 'preferential treatment' hadn't come into play this time: funnily enough, this had come through luck, and luck alone. "He had no favours from me this time." Though, he'd had plenty in the past -- and she was sure more would come in the future.

Sliding the notebook back into her bag once she'd marked down the money spent on the business out of her own personal cash. She had t keep on top of it, at all times. Melissa rarely let personal considerations bleed into her decisions, yet here she were, stepping into a zone she wasn't comfortable. "Employee of the month? What would it be measured on? Most kills?"

She couldn't really say she was surprised Melissa was asking her to do something. Work didn't stop just because they were out for a weekend. Though the nature of the request wasn't what she expected. Nevra accepted all the same, nodding her head and making a few mental notes for later.

"I'm sure there won't be any issues. Consider it done and not a burden. Speaking of burdens though, how did Benjamin end up on the rich side of town while I ended up having to set up my own tent? You'll pull some strings for him but not for me?" Nevra was becoming more and more comfortable around Melissa. It was becoming clear that the older woman felt the same, though subtle the hints were. "I see I'm going to have to do better if I want to beat him for employee of the month."

#erdogan nevra #nevra & melissa #event: the camp out 24'#location: melissa's tent #int. luxury tent.

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beegomess · 4 months ago

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Your marriage with them || Slytherin Boys

Summary: This time, the title describes it well… Warnings: None.

Requests are open!

Blaise Zabini

It was on a sunny afternoon, at one of the idyllic country estates of the Zabini family, that your wedding with Blaise came to life. The setting, though unpretentious, exuded a serene elegance. The estate was situated on a vast property, surrounded by green fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The ceremony took place outdoors, under a clear blue sky, with subtle decor that appeared natural and unpretentious, yet it was evident that every detail had been carefully chosen.

The altar was a simple structure, adorned with white and green flowers that blended perfectly with the surroundings. The chairs, arranged in elegant lines, were dressed in soft-toned linen fabrics, creating a pleasant contrast with the green field backdrop. The sound of birds singing and the gentle breeze completed the tranquil and intimate atmosphere of the event.

The guests, many of whom were close friends and family, appreciated the sophisticated simplicity of the setting. The reception featured an outdoor dinner with refined dishes served informally, allowing everyone to feel at ease. The day concluded with a sunset celebration, marked by lively conversations and laughter, in an environment where elegance met natural beauty.

Draco Malfoy

The wedding with Draco was a spectacle of grandeur and tradition, reflecting the prestige and magnitude of the families involved. The ceremony took place in a splendidly decorated church, whose interior was an imposing example of classical architecture. The environment was filled with luxury and refinement: crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a soft light over the meticulously crafted details.

The altar, adorned with opulent floral arrangements in shades of white and gold, seemed like an extension of the church itself, harmonizing with the columns and walls embellished with marble details and gold frames. The main aisle was filled with guests, all dressed in their finest attire, giving the event a royal air. The sound of organ music filled the space, creating a solemn and majestic atmosphere.

The reception was equally grand, held in the main hall of the Malfoy family estate, distinguished by its refined decor and luxurious details. Guests enjoyed an exquisite banquet and danced to the music of a live orchestra. Every moment of the wedding was planned to emphasize the significance of the occasion and the connection between the families, creating a celebration that will be remembered as a milestone of elegance and prestige.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Your wedding with Lorenzo Berkshire took place in a serene field, immersed in the simplicity and natural beauty that characterize the Berkshire family aesthetic. The location was carefully chosen to offer a tranquil and elegant setting, with robust trees and blooming white flowers.

The ceremony was held outdoors, with a simple yet sophisticated altar, decorated with white and green floral arrangements that complemented the natural palette of the field. The chairs, arranged in a semicircle, were dressed with linen covers and ribbons in neutral tones, blending with the surroundings. The blue sky and gentle sun created a pleasant and calm atmosphere for the celebration.

The reception followed the same refined simplicity, with an outdoor dinner served under elegantly decorated tents. The menu included light and sophisticated dishes prepared with fresh, high-quality ingredients. The overall atmosphere was one of relaxation and intimate celebration, with friends and family enjoying a natural and elegant setting where the beauty of the field complemented the discreet sophistication of the occasion.

Mattheo Riddle

The wedding with Mattheo had to be conducted quickly and practically, reflecting the urgency with which both of you wanted to seal the union. The ceremony took place in a small and cozy garden at the back of one of his family's houses. The decor, done in a hurry, was simple but had a touch of homey charm.

The space was decorated with field flowers and candles, creating an intimate and warm environment. The ceremony area was improvised with an arch of white and green flowers, giving the place a fresh look. Simple wooden chairs were arranged around the makeshift altar, where the vows were exchanged.

The few friends present shared a simple feast, with homemade food and drinks. The celebration was marked by a sense of urgency and love, with everyone present understanding the importance and intensity of the moment. The simplicity of the event reflected Mattheo's and your desire to unite quickly, and even in its simplicity, the love and dedication were clearly present.

Theodore Nott

The wedding took place at the end of a golden afternoon, in a seaside garden belonging to a majestic house on the coast. The setting was breathtaking, with the deep blue sea shimmering under the soft light of the setting sun.

The garden was adorned with natural and refined decor, with white flowers and green arrangements that enhanced the beauty of the environment. The chairs were arranged in a semicircle configuration, offering panoramic views of the sea and the sunset-lit horizon. The altar, simple yet elegant, was framed by a curtain of flowers and leaves, matching the garden’s color palette.

The ceremony was enveloped in a warm glow, as the last rays of sun reflected on the sea, creating a magical and romantic atmosphere. The reception continued outdoors, with a sophisticated dinner served under a large tree, where guests enjoyed the spectacular view and relaxed ambiance. The combination of the natural setting with elegant details created a dreamlike scene, capturing the essence of love and glamour.

Tom Riddle

The wedding with Tom was an urgent and symbolic celebration, held in the Chamber of Secrets, a location that, despite its dark and mysterious character, became the backdrop for a deeply personal and significant moment. The ceremony had to be conducted quickly due to the need to remain hidden, but Tom insisted that all the elements he wanted be present.

The Chamber was temporarily transformed with simple but effective decor. Magical torches cast a soft light on the stone walls, and a series of white candles were placed around the makeshift altar. Discreet floral arrangements, consisting of white lilies and dark flowers, were positioned at strategic points, providing an elegant contrast to the somber environment.

The few carefully selected guests were present to witness the union, marked by sincere vows and a sense of urgency. The ceremony was brief and intense, reflecting both the gravity of the situation and Tom’s deep desire to seal the union as quickly as possible. Despite the improvised decor and unusual setting, the moment was filled with significance, with Tom ensuring that every detail reflected his commitment and desire to build a future together, regardless of the circumstances.

_______________________________

masterlist

I loved writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it too!!

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

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deli-writes-fanfics · 10 days ago

Text

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader short

Rainfall

You and Daryl, and the season 1/2 group end up at a farmhouse. Non canon location. Just in my own little AU.

Not proofread, length is midly short.

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The sun had been ruthless the past couple of days. That's why when the rainfall finally hit, you spent the early hours of the morning downstairs in the kitchen, nothing but the sound of the rainfall and the slight wind that accompanied it. You sat by the slightly opened window, in a wooden chair by a small table where your cup of hot water and honey sat. It wasn't much, but beggars couldn't be choosers these days and a cup of hot anything seemed a bit like a luxury now. The heat burned your palms a little but you didn't mind too much, a strange comfort found in it. The white see-through curtains pushed to the side and lifting with the breeze. For a moment at least, you could imagine that all was right in the world. All was normal. And you'd rather savour that lie for a little while longer.

"Ain't yer cold like that?"

You jumped a little when you heard Daryl's voice; gravelly but soft, quieter than usual. You hadn't heard him sneak in, though you rarely did with him. Always so quiet. You turned your head enough to meet his gaze with a slow smile. Watching as he leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest, his face holding his usual untelling expression.

"Not really...just enjoying the coolness. It's been too hot lately."

Your voice soft, quiet. Knowing it was late. Or perhaps early. You weren't too sure since clock's weren't of much use now. You watched him nod, almost grunt and turn to look out the window. He seemed to accept your answer. Though you sort of expected him to tell you you'd get sick or something. But he seemed satisfied. Perhaps because you were in the house rather than outside in a small and thin tent like usual.

"You going to just stand there or do you want to sit down?"

You say after a while. Breaking the silence softly. You didn't turn to look, your eyes on where the droplets fell and gathered outside. After a moment you wondered if he was even in the room but soon the sound of his feet padded across the floor and the chair slowly, carefully, was drawn out from under the table across from you and he sat down with a slight protest from the chair. Everything in this house seemed old and liked to complain.

There wasn't much to say. You two were often content with shared silence. It was soothing to be around Daryl, for reasons you weren't too sure of. But you felt safe. He felt like home. That was the feeling you had tried not to dwell on, tried to hide away. The reasons why he felt like home. Reasons you didn't let your mind even entertain, usually. You didn't want to risk anything. Nothing. Loosing Daryl would mean to end everything you were staying alive for. You'd admit that much. But not to anyone else. Definitely not to him. Not unless you absolutely needed to; not unless a certain time came.

Your eyes glanced over but you didn't move to look at him. Watching his rare relaxed expression. How his eyes seemed to glimmer in the dim lighting. How he seemed to be lost in thought too. Your eyes drifted to his chest. The steady rise and fall. His arms resting over his makeshift vested chest. You wondered if he could hear your heart in the quietness. How it thudded against your ribcage. You wondered if he pined for you like you did for him. Or if you were just some younger woman with school girl crush to him. You wondered if it was obvious to him; how you'd lean closer when you were sat next to each other just for a chance for your skin to brush against his, to touch. How you'd spend all your time with him every moment you got, even if you weren't needed. How you'd listen so intently whenever he spoke and burned his words into your mind as if it was the most precious thing you owned. You wondered if he knew how thoughts of him kept you up. Like he had tonight. Like he had since you first met him. Like you knew it would for eternity.

"Yer like my shirt or somethin'?"

You heard his voice break your thoughts and the silence, moving to meet his eyes as your face flushed a bit in embarrassment. Having let your mind wander far too much.

"No it's- sorry. Yes I like your shirt. I was just zoned out. That's all."

You said with a laugh, small. A little awkward. Your eyes shifting to your cup as you picked it up to take a sip.

"I'm teasin'. S'all."

You watched a small smile creep onto his lips, clearly enjoying seeing you flustered. The sight made your heart beat faster. You wanted to commit that smile to memory. It was worth more than gold to you. More than anything.

"Dumbass."

You muttered as you turned away and for a moment, just as you could still see his face, you were sure you caught a glimpse of something else. Something. Tender. As he looked at you. But perhaps it was all just your want for him rather than truth.

#the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead series #the walking dead show #twd daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader

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vendettaspathfanfic · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter Eight

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

I have a lil surprise for y’all! From me and… someone else ;3

“That was fucking cool ass!” Toxic's jubilant declaration reverberated through the vehicle as she thrust her fists triumphantly into the air.

“Where do you even get these word combinations?” Scourge groaned, his grimace displaying his annoyance at Toxic's strange attempts at swearing.

“She’s right-might-bite! That was fucking cool ass!” Flying's exuberant cheer filled the air, his own excitement matching Toxic's as he pumped his fist energetically.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” Fiona interjected, her tone a sobering reminder amidst the buzzing atmosphere, “no doubt there's a huge bounty on this car, and someone at a mod shop could report it, or hell, someone could report us on the way.”

“So we’re dumping it?” Lightning inquired, his features relaxing as he pulled off his mask.

“Yup,” Fiona affirmed, mirroring Lightning's actions as she too removed her mask, taking a moment to readjust her hair, “I expected as much, honestly.”

“That sucks,” Scourge lamented with a hint of disappointment, his eyes rolling as he took off his mask, savoring the sensation of freedom as the cool air brushed against his quills.

“Don’t forget, baby, we'll be back on our thrones in no time,” Fiona reminded her lover, a note of reassurance in her voice as she raised a finger in emphasis.

“Oh yeah,” Scourge conceded with a grin, his gaze shifting to Toxic, his next words laden with a hint of nostalgia, “you won’t believe what it’s like being on the throne, kid. Cars, food, money, anything you want at the snap of your fingers.”

“I get, um, a throne?” Toxic's hopeful inquiry hung in the air, her eyes wide with wonder at the prospect.

“Well…” Scourge began tentatively, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, “if you're my sister and I'm the king, then you're the princess. I guess you get a throne...”

“I wanna be the king,” Toxic asserted, crossing her arms.

“Tough,” Scourge retorted, a smirk playing on his lips as he retrieved a cigarette, the flame from his lighter casting a fleeting glow on his face as he took a drag.

"Alright guys," Fiona's voice cut through the chatter, her gaze shifting towards a hopping brightly-lit nightclub they passed by, "looks like that club's busy tonight. Lightning, Predator, go in there and grab..." Her brow furrowed as she hummed in thought, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes, "like, 3 car keys from some drunken jackasses. After that, we gather our belongings, ditch this vehicle, and each take a different route home. All clear?"

After receiving a collective “yes ma’am” in response, Lightning and Predator smoothly exited the now-parked vehicle and made their way into the vibrant nightclub. In the dimly lit chaos of the club, they deftly relieved various inebriated revelers of their car keys without raising a single eyebrow. They swiftly rejoined their team outside, the metallic jangle of the ill-gotten keys echoing through the alley in which the SUV was parked.

Activating the locator buttons, they discovered they had acquired two sedans and a jeep - not luxury vehicles by any means, but perfectly suited to their immediate requirements. With their newfound assets in hand, the team efficiently redistributed the contents and occupants of the SUV, preparing to load up the newly acquired vehicles for their next move.

“Fiona and Toxic are with me,” Scourge announced decisively, standing by the red sedan he had selected, his posture exuding confidence. “Predator and Lightning, take a car, and Flying and Simon will likely opt for the jeep.”

“Where else can ya fit a jolly brown giant, eh, Simon?” Flying quipped, nudging Simon playfully, the latter responding with a resigned eye roll as he stood with his arms crossed.

“I wanna go with Simon!” Toxic's protest carried over as she hurried to him, her enthusiasm evident.

“They only got a two-seater, short stack,” Fiona interjected, her arms crossed as she leaned against the car, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice.

“Well, I can always hang with fuzzy and birdie!” Flying chimed in, bounding over to join Lightning and Predator, the latter struggling to conceal his irritation as a subtle twitch of his brow betrayed his composure.

“Your call, man,” Scourge addressed Simon, a nonchalant shrug accompanying his words. “You want this thing?” His gaze flickered disdainfully towards his sister.

Simon expressed his indifference with a dismissive shrug, muttering, "I don't care," before he offered a steadying hand to Toxic, who was clambering up into the rugged jeep. "Buckle up," he instructed firmly, "And take off your mask. Everyone else has already taken theirs off."

"No fuckshitty way. It looks cool," she retorted, stubbornly adjusting the seat belt across her chest.

Simon, under his breath, murmured a gruff, "I don't have time for this." Without waiting for her compliance, he reached over and stripped away the balaclava from Toxic's head in one smooth gesture, despite her immediate objections. "We'll attract the wrong kind of attention with these on," he explained, his tone brooking no argument.

Meanwhile, Scourge stood a little distance away, surveying the group with a casual eye. "Alright, see you guys back there," he called out, his voice carrying an air of finality as he slid behind the wheel of his own vehicle.

With a collective purr of engines, the group dispersed, each taking their separate paths, winding their way back home through the less traveled roads.

During the drive, Toxic became a whirlwind of chatter beside him, excitedly recounting every moment of their recent heist. She embellished the tale with animated sound effects and poorly done impressions, eager to relive the wild journey.

Simon, slightly exasperated, responded with noncommittal hums of "Mhm," and, in a quest for some auditory respite, he reached out and turned on the radio. He hoped the music would serve as a gentle distraction and perhaps encourage Toxic to quiet down.

Undeterred, Toxic continued her enthusiastic reenactment, eventually pausing to ask, "What was your favorite part?" Her foot tapped along to the rhythm of a song now playing, her energy undimmed.

"Dunno," Simon replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he maintained his focus on driving through a dilapidated shopping district. The flickering neon signs were caked with layers of dirt, the road was a minefield of potholes, and the omnipresent litter added a final touch to the atmosphere of neglect.

Contrary to Simon, the disarray didn’t seem to deter Toxic. Her attention was captured by a small, rundown diner. "I wanna eat there," she announced abruptly, pointing with determination toward the diner's partially illuminated sign.

Simon cast a skeptical eye at the establishment, his nose scrunching in distaste. "There? With all the money we have?" he questioned, the incredulity evident in his voice.

Toxic's enthusiasm was undeterred. "Yeah!" she squealed, nodding vigorously as her stomach offered a timely rumble of agreement.

Feeling the gnaw of hunger himself, he conceded with a resigned exhale. "Ok," he acquiesced, guiding the jeep to a stop beside the diner, parking it behind a solitary motorcycle.

Toxic's eyes danced with new interest. "Can I drive that?" she inquired, gesturing toward the motorcycle with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Nope," Simon answered, his response immediate and unyielding as he stepped out of the jeep. He extended a hand to help Toxic down and escorted her toward the diner's entrance, the neon glow of its sign washing over them in flickers.

Shockingly, the desolate ambiance and lackluster staff of the grungy diner failed to entice anyone to linger late into the night — except for a solitary figure. Seated at the counter, a tall polar bear woman clutched a beer bottle in one hand, her attention fixed on a news report detailing a recent bank robbery and ensuing police chase that had unfolded in the city, leaving a trail of casualties in its wake.

In a moment of recognition, Toxic's gasp pierced the quiet of the diner as she pointed animatedly at the screen, her eyes widening in shock. Before she could cause further commotion, Simon swiftly swept her up into his arms, his voice a harsh whisper as he admonished, "no!"

The sudden disturbance drew the attention of the polar bear woman, prompting her to shift her gaze towards the pair. Locking eyes with Toxic, she offered a gentle smile in response to the child's unflinching stare, her attention drawn to the vivid cyan glow emanating from her cybernetic eye, framed by intricate silver steel and peeking out from beneath her tousled white hair.

Known for their straightforward nature, children often possess a unique candor. Toxic, however, excelled in this aspect. True to form, she exhibited her unfiltered curiosity by bluntly pointing at the woman's cybernetic eye and posing the question, "What the hell happened to your eye?"

“Toxic!” Simon hissed, catching the young girl off guard and prompting a sheepish pause in her inquiry.

Rather than taking offense, the woman responded with a light chuckle, shaking her head with a hint of amusement as she turned her body to face the duo.

"Ah, this eye?" she began, gesturing to the eye in question, "it fell out because I didn't eat enough veggies."

Toxic's reaction was immediate, her skepticism palpable as she scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. "What a load of bullshit," she groaned, unimpressed by the explanation offered.

This caused Ursula to erupt in laughter, spitting her beer onto the floor as she doubled over, clutching her stomach in mirth. It took her a full minute to regain her composure, her laughter echoing through the dimly lit diner.

Amidst her amusement, Ursula managed to compose herself enough to address Toxic. "Oh," she chuckled, wiping away tears of laughter, "yer a spunky little gal. Toxic, right?"

With a nonchalant shrug, Toxic confirmed, "Yeah.”.

With a warm smile, the woman extended her large hand for a fist bump, which Toxic eagerly reciprocated. "I'm Ursula," she said, her laughter still evident in her voice.

Impressed by Ursula's style, Toxic surprisingly showed signs of politeness as she complimented her fashion sense in her own unique way. "I like your nails, Ursula. And your earrings. And your...” she paused, searching for the right term, “face earrings."

Ursula accepted the praise graciously, her amusement evident in her tone. "Why thank you," she replied, her smile unwavering, "I like them too. And I like yer hair."

Caught off guard by the unexpected interaction, Simon hesitated, feeling warmth creep up his cheeks as he met Ursula's gaze. "We're sorry to bother you, miss..." he began, his tone apologetic.

Ursula quickly dismissed his concerns, leaning casually against the counter and adjusting her black leather jacket. "Oh, not at all!" she reassured him, her demeanor friendly and relaxed. "She yers, mister...?"

"Sergeant Simian," he introduced himself, clearing his throat before adding, "and, erm, no. She's my boss' kid sister."

Ursula's response was warm and complimentary. "She's a sweet gal," she remarked, her words sincere.

"Well, you don't know her," he retorted, averting his eyes as a faint blush of embarrassment continued to color his cheeks.

“I’m hungry,” Toxic complained, tugging at Simon’s bandolier with impatience as her stomach continued to grumble and ache with the pangs of hunger.

“Well, uh…” the flustered gorilla spoke lowly before clearing his throat and raising his volume to be more audible, “good meeting you ma’am.” His words stumbled out in a mix of unease and courtesy, a subtle hint of nervousness seeping into his demeanor that he internally cursed himself for.

“I wanna sit with Ursula,” Toxic demanded, her tone once again insistent and unwavering.

“Jeez, you want a lot of things tonight…” Simon murmured through a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“By all means,” Ursula said graciously, motioning them to the two seats next to her, her gesture accompanied by a warm smile.

Internally, he cursed himself for his weakness against this already ill-mannered child. He placed her in the barstool next to Ursula, adjusting it so she could reach the counter before sitting next to her and grabbing a menu from the exhausted waiter that stood behind the counter.

Despite his embarrassment, Simon oddly enough found himself looking for an excuse to talk to Ursula. His mind's race for words luckily came to fruition as he noticed the steak in front of her. A flicker of curiosity sparked in his eyes.

“That any good?” He asked, his gaze flicking between her and the menu. His inquiry carried a hint of genuine interest, a subtle attempt to engage in conversation.

Ursula rolled her eyes a little and cringed as she answered, “dry, weak seasoning…” before she picked up the steak in her hands and bit into it, tearing off a chunk of it before devouring the piece. Her unconventional approach to dining caught Simon off guard, a mix of surprise and intrigue flickering across his features as he observed her. “But,” she began as she chewed before swallowing, “the beer makes you forget about that.”

“W-well… uh…” Simon stammered, blinking a few times as he processed the sight before him before looking at the zombie-like waiter, “I’ll, erm, have a patty melt and a black coffee.” His order came out in a hesitant manner, another sign of his slightly flustered state in the moment.

“Mhm,” they hummed, “and the kid?” The waiter asked monotonously.

“What do you wanna eat, Toxic?” Simon asked, leaning closer to Toxic who was scribbling on her kids menu with a used-up green crayon

Toxic hummed in thought as she stared at the menu before poking Simon’s shoulder and motioning him to lean in. Once he was close, she whispered matter-of-factly in his ear, “I can’t read.”

With a sigh, he let the waiter know it’d be a few minutes while he helped her decipher the menu, leading her to loudly declare that she wanted a grilled cheese sandwich with orange soda.

“Ah, take it easy on service workers,” Ursula advised, ruffling Toxic’s hair, “they go through enough. Especially in this world.”

“Fine…” Toxic acquiesced, lowering her head. “Can I have, um, a grilled cheese sandwich and then I wanna drink orange soda.” Her compliance was accompanied by a hint of hesitation as her eyes shifted to Ursula who held an approving thumbs up to her.

Simon reeled his head back in surprise. This was by far the most ill-mannered child he’d ever come across, and this woman they’d just met somehow had the charm and charisma to prompt her to behave acceptably. He’d be lying — which he would — if he said he didn’t understand the appeal Toxic saw in her. Simon found himself grappling with a mix of astonishment and intrigue, recognizing the subtle influence Ursula wielded over Toxic and those around her.

She was definitely… interesting.

The food didn’t take too long to get there. The dishes served were as good as one would expect from a diner of this quality. The bread on Simon’s patty melt had a hint of staleness, and the patty was quite dry, but overall, it was still edible. On the other hand, Toxic, who had spent her life in an orphanage that eventually closed down, possessed a less refined palate than Simon and eagerly devoured the slightly burnt grilled cheese sandwich.

All of a sudden, Toxic let out a whimper as she put down her half-eaten sandwich and covered the reddened cut on her lips with her hand.

“The sandwich hurt my mouth…” she whined, her speech muffled by her hand, revealing a moment of discomfort.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t pick at the cut,” Simon chastised with a roll of his eyes.

“Aww,” Ursula said with concern as she gently moved Toxic’s hand and examined the cut, “that looks bad, lil girl. What happened?” Her expression softened with empathy.

“I fell off the slide,” she explained, her tone mirroring Ursula’s as she clearly soaked up the loving attention.

Inhaling sharply through her teeth, Ursula winced and asked, “ooh, did ya see a doctor?” Her concern for Toxic's welfare being evident with a gentle ruffle of the child’s hair.

“Sort of. We know a medic and she’s taking antibiotics,” Simon replied, soothing Ursula’s worries while taking a sip of his coffee.

“Well, if ya need any help with that, my friend Clarisse is a doctor,” Ursula offered, pulling a napkin from the holder in front of them and retrieving a pen from inside her jacket. She jotted down Clarisse’s phone number on the napkin before sliding it across the counter to Simon, extending a gesture of support.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Simon replied with a nod of gratitude.

“Anytime, soldier,” she lightly teased, saluting him with a wink, adding a touch of humor to the exchange.

The second he registered her wink, as if by reflex, he abruptly looked away, shifting his gaze to Toxic as her eyes darted between them while she absentmindedly picked at her lip.

“Knock it off,” Simon sternly reprimanded, nudging her hand away from her face.

“Ugh!” Toxic groaned in response before diverting her attention back to her sandwich, her frustration evident in her actions as she displayed an exaggerated frown and took a big bite into her meal.

As Ursula held what was left of her steak in one hand, her phone rang. With her speech slightly garbled from chewing, she answered the call. “Yah?” Her chewing gradually slowed, and the composed expression on her face began to falter as she listened intently to the caller, “thlow ‘own. Woss ‘appenin?” With a hint of concern creeping into her voice, Ursula set down her steak and swallowed the bite, muttering a curse under her breath. With a sense of determination, she declared, “ok. I’ll be there in a bit,” before ending the call.

“Who were you talking to?” Toxic asked, leaning in closer to Ursula, her curiosity piqued as she raised a questioning brow.

“I hate to leave you two, but I got a good feeling we’ll see each other again,” Ursula remarked, swiftly retrieving her wallet from her pocket and tossing cash on the counter, instructing the waiter to keep the change. Her actions conveyed a sense of urgency and purpose as she prepared to depart, a glimpse of her commitment to helping others in need.

“Is everything ok?” Simon asked without thinking, a rare moment of concern breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

“Will be soon. You two enjoy your late-night snack. Good meetin’ ya!” Ursula bid them farewell before swiftly exiting the diner and speeding away on her motorcycle, leaving behind a sense of mystery and intrigue in her wake.

“I like Ursula,” Toxic remarked, taking a sip of her orange soda.

“She’s nice…” Simon murmured, his eyes drifting down to his plate. He continued to eat, resting his elbows on the counter as he held the patty melt in his hands.

Toxic carefully eyed his movements, resting her elbows on the counter as she picked up her sandwich and took a hearty bite. She noticed Simon wiping some grease off his chin with his thumb and followed suit, dabbing her own chin with her thumb.

Once they finished their meal, Simon signaled the waiter and paid for their bill. He slid off his barstool and stretched, his joints making a faint crackling noise.

“Ready, Toxic?”

“Ok,” she replied, letting out a small grunt as she climbed down from her barstool. She followed Simon out of the diner and back to their jeep. They continued to take the long way home, the engine purring as they drove through the various city streets.

As Toxic stared out the window while they passed by neon lights and towering billboard advertisements, her eyelids grew heavy. Her animated chatter slowed, and eventually, she fell silent, her head leaning against the door.

“Simon…” she murmured, her tiny voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Today was my favorite day,” she said, her voice becoming softer as her eyes fluttering closed.

Simon’s thoughts drifted back to a pivotal moment in his life. He remembered the day vividly—the day he first truly embraced the life of combat. His old colony in the Mobian Jungle had been ruthlessly attacked by Robotnik’s forces. In the aftermath, he had dedicated himself to stockpiling weapons, acquiring them through any means necessary, even illegitimately. His grandfather had disapproved and cast him out, but Simon remained resolute in his quest for revenge. He launched a one-man assault on a Robotnik base, risking everything. Though he nearly perished in the onslaught of reinforcements, he harbored no regrets. He was ready to die in a blaze of glory. Instead, he was saved by Mammoth Mogul, the former leader of the Destructix, and given the chance to grow stronger. And grow he did, his resolve unwavering.

Simon’s gaze shifted to Toxic, who had fallen asleep, her head resting against the door panel. Despite her crass behavior and turbulent beginnings, she possessed a fierce determination that reminded him of himself years ago. She showed no hesitation in tasks like gunning down law enforcement and had a remarkable knack for marksmanship. Most admirably, she had no regrets about any of it. All of this, and she wasn’t even five years old.

“Just you wait, kid,” he murmured, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

As the wee hours of the morning descended, the group made their way back to the familiar confines of the old orphanage without encountering any significant obstacles. Exhausted by the night's tumultuous events, they retired to their beds, seeking much-needed rest.

Armed with a considerable sum of illicitly acquired wealth, they now had more than enough funds for the cybernetic implants they desired. The following day, Scourge visited an auto shop to enhance the purple sports car he had commandeered while chasing his sister earlier in the week. In addition to repairing the window damaged during the pursuit, he had the vehicle repainted in a gleaming electric green hue and outfitted it with a matching spoiler, giving it the appearance of a sleek racecar—a subtle nod to his supersonic speed.

"It must be my birthday!" Scourge declared exuberantly, letting out a triumphant whoop as he cruised through the city streets. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and he bobbed his head in time to a hip-hop beat playing on the radio.

"Just wait until we're back in power," Fiona remarked with a grin, tapping her foot to the music while setting up her new laptop, which Miles would use to coordinate with the gang through their upcoming cybernetic enhancements.

"Then it'll be Christmas," he chuckled. "Have you found us a street clinic?"

"Yeah, Dr. Fedorov's Clinic. The reviews say he's good at what he does and values patient confidentiality, if you catch my drift," she replied slyly, offering a wink.

"Perfect," he nodded approvingly, flicking his cigarette butt out of the window.

"I messaged him, and he does provide the implants we need, but it will cost extra since they are military-grade and not exactly legal. He does have other stuff too if you’re interested?" she continued.

"Really? Show me," Scourge requested, turning his attention to her.

"Eyes on the road, babe," Fiona playfully scolded. "Don’t wanna be in a body cast before the big day."

“C’mon baby, your boy’s a good driver…” the green hedgehog began, his hand stroking her arm with a self-assured smirk. However, the tender moment with his girlfriend was short-lived as he abruptly hit the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision with a turning car. The irate driver honked at him, prompting Scourge to retaliate by flipping them off and calling out, “up yours too, you old bitch!”

Fiona leaned her elbow casually against the door panel, raising an eyebrow as she rested her cheek on her knuckles, her gaze fixed on Scourge.

"What?" Scourge inquired, bewildered by her demeanor.

"Is this why you prefer running?" she queried, her tone laced with sarcastic curiosity.

"Cut me some slack, Fiona. I'm just hyped about everything that's happening, plus I've got a hot girl by my side," he retorted defensively, shrugging his shoulders.

"Am I too much of a distraction?" Fiona teased, a playful glint in her eye. "Because I can hop out."

"Please, exit the moving vehicle," Scourge replied amidst laughter.

"I might just do that. I'd probably better have better chances with that than being in a crash with you at the wheel," she jested, joining in his amusement.

"You bitch," Scourge teased, shaking his head.

"You're a bitch too," she shot back with a smirk, playfully poking his arm.

"The baddest of them all," Scourge declared, raising a finger in emphasis.

“Damn right,” Fiona replied, affectionately resting a hand on Scourge's shoulder, causing his grin to widen in response to her gesture.

“Does our doc buddy take walk-ins?” Scourge inquired, pausing at a stoplight and tapping his finger on the steering wheel, displaying a hint of impatience as he waited for the light to turn green.

“Yeah, but for now, we only have time for the procedures Miles mentioned. He says if we want it done today for three people, they better come in pretty soon,” Fiona answered, retracting her hand to focus on her laptop.

“Call the guys, then. Make sure Miles gets some food and water before they head over. Can't have a dead rat lying around,” Scourge instructed, his tone casual.

“On it,” Fiona responded, scrolling through her contacts. “And while we're out, how about you and I grab some actual food for a change?”

“Takeout only,” Scourge declared, navigating through the pristine streets maintained by private cleaning companies in this upscale area. He adjusted his sunglasses as the reflection of a sleek skyscraper caught his eye. “This place is different from the slums. People pay more attention to politics around here. They might recognize me.”

“As long as it's not dripping in grease, deal,” Fiona agreed, raising her phone to her ear to notify the Destructix about the upcoming appointment.

From what Scourge told them about the clinics, the gang harbored some reservations about visiting one. These establishments often offered walk-in surgeries for cybernetic implants and plastic surgery, resembling tattoo parlors in their approach. Overall, the idea of undergoing surgical procedures in a building situated across from a strip club left them feeling somewhat uneasy.

Despite the initial reservations, the clinic appeared to be well-regarded and maintained when Simon, Predator, and Lightning stepped into the empty waiting room. The sole occupant, a teenage receptionist, was engrossed in air drumming to a tune playing on her earbuds, her eyes shut tight, oblivious to their arrival.

Unperturbed by her distraction, Predator approached her and deftly removed her earbuds, eliciting a startled yelp as she opened her eyes to meet his unyielding gaze.

"Jesus, dude! What do you want?" she exclaimed.

"We're here to see the doctor. Our boss arranged cybernetic procedures for the three of us," Predator stated firmly, his expression as unchanging as a statue’s.

"Uh, yeah..." she stammered, clearing her throat and avoiding his chilling gaze. She turned her head towards an archway down the left hallway. "Hey, Uncle Rick? These guys are here."

"Come on back, fellas!" a gruff voice called out from the indicated direction, prompting them to follow the sound into a small, dimly lit operating room. The examination table, peculiarly equipped with straps for the arms and legs, was surrounded by an array of advanced equipment and technology that seemed more at home on a spaceship than in a street clinic. Why the technology on display surpassed anything they had encountered on Mobius, which was already far from primitive.

“Alright, so here’s the rundown,” he began, fixing his sunglasses, “Each session will take about two hours each. Y’all will be put under the whole time and won’t feel a thing. Aftercare is just a pill a day to help with any aches and fight off infections. And before I forget,” he added, extending a hand forward expectantly “payment’s up front. 9,000 moebiums.”

“That’s insane,” Lightning scoffed, crossing his arms.

“These are military grade implants you fellas are asking for,” Dr. Fedorov chided, “illegal without government authorization and not exactly a commodity amongst street clinics.”

“Relax, Lightning,” Simon said, smacking Lightning gently on the back of the shoulder before handing over the cash. “We can afford it regardless.”

After quickly thumbing through the bills, Dr. Fedorov grinned, his gold tooth glinting from the soft glow of the neon lights in the room. “Great. Who's up first?”

“I will go first if nobody objects,” Simon declared. When the group didn’t object, he continued “alright, you guys don’t gotta wait around ‘til I’m done. Go do whatever.”

“Later, man,” Lightning said with a wave, motioning for Predator to follow him out of the clinic.

For Predator, it felt like he didn’t get to spend much one-on-one time with Lightning nowadays. As they strolled past the many vibrant, and some vulgar signs and advertisements, his gaze flitted between the colorful displays, but his focus remained on the man beside him. Remembering the previous night after the bank robbery, when Flying ended up joining them on the ride home, Predator couldn't shake the feeling that something important to him had been interrupted. Nevertheless, now they had this time alone, and Predator felt a unique sense of calm and connection with Lightning, like they were a force shielded from the chaos of the world around them.

Reflecting on these feelings, Predator wondered if it was strange to experience such closeness with a longtime companion like Lightning. More than anything, though, he pondered whether Lightning felt the same way in his presence.

The blaring horn of a passing car jolted Predator back to reality, causing him to shift his thoughts and chastise himself for delving into such introspection. He recognized that dwelling on these feelings served no practical purpose and only served as a distraction from their established camaraderie.

Lightning, however, caught sight of Predator's gaze from the corner of his eye before the blue hawk quickly averted his eyes. Frowning slightly, Lightning inquired, "you alright?"

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine," Predator replied, clearing his throat nervously, feeling his heart skip a beat under the scrutiny of Lightning's gaze.

“Okay,” Lightning responded, raising an eyebrow in skepticism before dismissing it with a shrug. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“I’m open to anything,” Predator answered.

“Anything? Even the XXX Live Theater? Sign says it’s half off Wednesday,” Lightning teased, nudging Predator playfully with a mischievous grin.

With a soft chuckle, Predator shook his head, “god, live theater? What is it, broadway?”

“Yeah, a full-blown musical,” Lightning jested, sharing in Predator's amusement.

“It’d probably be better than that one-man play Flying did last year. I’ve never heard an audience actually scream boo,” Lightning remarked as they stood waiting to cross the street.

“Well, whenever you spray the front row with a fire extinguisher while screaming the alphabet, it really kills the mood,” Predator quipped with a shrug.

“Hopefully the ‘Happy Holiday Special’ doesn’t have as many problems,” Lightning remarked as they began walking across the crosswalk together.

“The what?” Predator asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“You heard me,” Lightning replied with a small laugh.

“Lovely,” Predator said sarcastically.

"To be honest, though, Hawks, it feels like you and I don’t hang out as much lately," Lightning remarked, wrapping an arm around Predator in a friendly gesture. "We got a couple hours to kill and it’s a big ci- what was that?"

“What was what?” The blue hawk inquired, dumbfounded.

“Your feathers got all puffy for a second and your tail, like, wagged,” Lightning pointed out, a teasing smirk playing on his face.

“I was only adjusting my feathers,” Predator replied, feigning interest in reading a nearby sign as he struggled to hide the flush creeping up his face.

“Hm, alright then,” the lynx chuckled, not entirely convinced by his friend's explanation but choosing to let it go.

Eager to shift the focus away from the embarrassing moment, Predator quickly scanned their surroundings for a distraction. His gaze settled on a skyscraper about half a mile away, sparking an idea.

“Well,” he began, an implicative grin forming, “I bet the view from that skyscraper is breathtaking.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lightning responded, intrigued.

“If you want, we could find out for ourselves,” Predator proposed.

“I’m down,” Lightning agreed enthusiastically.

With a swift motion, Predator spread his wings and took flight, with Lightning leaping up to grab onto his ankles. Carrying his friend effortlessly, they shot through the air toward the towering skyscraper, their destination in sight.

Upon reaching the rooftop, Predator landed smoothly, allowing Lightning to hop down onto the concrete.

“Wow…” Lightning marveled, settling on the edge. “This city may be a dump to live in but… you were right about the view.”

“I’ve... never seen anything quite like it,” Predator admitted softly, his usual stoic demeanor momentarily softened by the awe-inspiring sight before them.

The mesmerizing horizon held them in silent awe for several minutes. Sitting side by side, they absorbed the symphony of flying vehicles' gentle hum and marveled at the kaleidoscope of colorful city lights flickering below. Even in the daytime, the urban landscape sparkled as sunlight bounced off the polished surfaces of the towering skyscrapers.

Despite their shared knowledge that New Moebotropolis was far from utopian, in that moment, they felt a sense of detachment from its flaws. In the serene stillness of the sky, even the most sordid aspects seemed to fade away, revealing an unexpected beauty in the urban chaos.

In the presence of one another, they both found beauty where no one else could.

"I wonder what the view’s like from somewhere even higher?" Lightning mused, casting his gaze towards an even taller building.

“That’d be all well and good, Lightning,” Predator replied, “but I’ve a feeling you’d want to do more than just sightseeing…”

“Maybe I do,” Lightning responded, turning to face him. “What did you have in mind?”

“We freefall,” Predator declared as he rose to his feet. “As far down as we can.”

“And potentially splatter against an airbus?” Lightning quipped with a chuckle.

“Lightning Lynx, when did you start to fear risking your life?” Predator teased, lowering himself to Lightning's level, a smirk playing on his lips as their eyes locked.

“Who said I did?” Lightning shot back with a playful tone, standing up.

“Ah, yes. Because you know better than to forget who is looking out for you,” Predator remarked, rising to his feet.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lightning scoffed before playfully urging, “you first, Hawks!” and gave Predator a sudden push over the ledge.

Predator's eyes widened in surprise as he tumbled backward. Although he knew he had nothing to fear as a bird, he never expected his friend to push him off a roof in any circumstance. Moments later, as Lightning leaped after him, a mix of determination and smugness on his face, their eyes met, and Predator couldn't help but grin with a blend of amusement and camaraderie.

Adjusting his position in the air, Predator oriented himself downward, maintaining a vigilant watch for any potential obstacles as he descended rapidly towards the ground, with Lightning not far behind.

For Lightning, the sensation of detachment from solid ground was both exhilarating and liberating. As he ripped through the air with no fear, embracing the risk and the rush of adrenaline, he felt a profound sense of empowerment that surged through him, amplifying the thrill of the freefall.

As they descended closer to the ground, Predator turned towards Lightning once more and gestured for him to grab onto his feet. After aligning themselves, Lightning firmly clasped his ankles, and in a swift motion, Predator shot back up into the sky, narrowly evading the bewildered onlookers below.

Reaching the next skyscraper, they paused to savor the breathtaking view before Lightning, brimming with confidence, snapped a photo of the duo against the urban backdrop. Without hesitation, they plunged back towards the earth. As they neared ground level, they propelled themselves upwards to an even taller skyscraper, repeating the cycle from one building to another until they reached the tallest skyscraper around.

"This time," Predator announced, positioning himself at the edge with his hand extended towards Lightning, "we fall together."

With a warm smile, Lightning took Predator's hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with his trusted companion. "On three... one, two, three!" Predator counted before they both leaped off the ledge, their hands clasped tightly as they plummeted towards the ground.

The thrill of freefalling was intense, but the shared experience with one another made it all the more exhilarating. As they locked eyes during their daring descent, the rush of adrenaline was magnified by the bond of something more than mere friendship that united them in this extraordinary escapade.

Lost in the thrill of the moment, they failed to notice how rapidly they were approaching the ground. As Lightning turned his head to take in the surrounding view, his initial excitement swiftly transformed into a sense of urgency when he realized their perilous proximity to the sidewalk below. Reacting instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Predator's neck, gripping him tightly as he shouted, "Pull up, Hawks!"

Cursing softly under his breath, Predator swiftly extended his wings and ascended back into the sky, maneuvering them both safely back to the rooftop of the skyscraper they had leaped from moments before.

"Jesus, Hawks!" Lightning gasped, his heart pounding in his chest, momentarily forgetting that his arms were still wrapped around Predator.

"Sorry, Lightning," Predator responded, placing a comforting hand on Lightning's shoulder as the lynx sheepishly withdrew his arms.

"Don't worry... I still had a great time," Lightning managed to say between pants, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Me too," Predator replied sincerely, giving Lightning's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. With his eyes stuck on his companion’s grin, he felt compelled to speak up, "Hey, Lightning?"

"What's on your mind?" Lightning inquired, noticing a shift in Predator’s demeanor as he somehow seemed startled by his own question.

Retracting his hand and wiping sweat from his brow, Predator let out a deep sigh and gazed down at his feet before asking, "where would you like to grab some lunch from?"

"How does ramen sound? We can have it here," Lightning suggested, perched on the ledge.

"Sounds good. Wait here, and I'll bring it up, okay?" Predator agreed, gazing out at the horizon before spreading his wings and taking flight.

During his search for a ramen shop, his mind was tearing itself apart. Predator Hawk was anything but a coward, but he couldn’t bear the risk of jeopardizing the bond he had with Lightning. He treasured his relationship with him deeply, considering him one of his most cherished, irreplaceable companions. With only a few words, Lightning may never see him the same again. After all, he still held bitterness about his heart being broken by Conquering Storm several months ago. Would broaching this potentially sensitive topic cross a line with Lightning? Could it imply to him that their friendship was lacking in some way to Predator? Even if Lightning responded the way he dreamed, what then? With his lack of experience in that field, things could end badly, thus causing him to lose both what he has now and what he wishes he had.

Besides, he couldn’t risk revealing such a deeply personal and vulnerable side of himself. For years, he had meticulously worked to mask that part of his identity, a task he had undertaken since childhood, ever since his own mother had abandoned him.

He had long known that she didn’t like him. She was constantly yelling at him for things including not making eye contact, swaying in his seat, fussing when things were too loud, or struggling to express himself. But it was the late-night arguments between his parents that truly exposed the depth of her resentment. As he lay awake in bed, he overheard her tirades, calling him a freak and resenting his father for not giving her a "normal" child. In comparison, his father’s disdain was more subdued until she left.

From that painful moment on, he resolved to improve himself so that no one would ever want to leave him again. Every day became a challenge to better himself and reach new heights. By his teens, he had become a fierce soldier in the Battle Bird Armada, learning to endure eye contact, sit still and quietly, manage overstimulation, and most importantly, mask the parts of himself that had previously been shunned by others.

Despite his fierce pride and genuine enjoyment of his achievements, his father rarely showed any pride in him. No matter how much he changed and grew, to Nigel Hawk, Predator would always be the abnormal child who drove his wife away. The day Predator was promoted in the Armada, he returned home, packed some essential belongings, and left without a single word to his father, severing contact forever.

For a time, his might and determination to be the best were his only constants. These traits saw him through being expelled from the Armada for attacking the Battle Lord's son and during his tenure with the Babylon Rogues. However, after joining the Destructix, despite its shifting leadership and affiliations, he found another constant.

Simon, Flying… and Lightning.

He knew what it was like to lose him. Even with his gratitude for the presence of Simon and Flying, when Lightning left the Destructix to rejoin the Raiju Clan—where he wasn’t nearly as valued as he had been among the Destructix—a part of Predator felt hollow. The empty chair at the table, the silence where Lightning’s words should have been, left an undeniable void.

Lightning had been back for quite some time now, and although Predator hadn’t shown it much, he was overjoyed by his return. It was because of this that he knew he couldn’t reveal his true feelings for Lightning. The revelation would inevitably lead to the displaying of a weak, vulnerable side of himself that may push Lightning away. Predator resolved to take these feelings to his grave.

No matter how foolish it seemed, though, he wanted it more than anything. The more he repressed his feelings, the louder they became. Even if he wouldn’t allow himself to act on them, he couldn’t lie to himself—they were undeniably there.

"Predator?" Lightning's voice cut through the silence as the two gazed out over the urban horizon from the skyscraper, each holding a takeout lunch.

Lost in his thoughts, Predator had barely registered the last thirty minutes.

"Yes?" Predator responded, trying to collect himself after noticing Lightning's concerned expression.

"You haven't even opened your ramen," Lightning remarked, twirling his chopsticks in his bowl before taking a bite of noodles. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just waiting for it to cool more..." Predator replied, clearing his throat as he removed the lid, releasing a puff of steam into the air.

"Then why'd you keep the lid on?" Lightning inquired. "You know that just traps the heat."

"I guess I forgot," Predator admitted, absentmindedly taking a bite of his meal then wincing as he spat out piping noodles that had burned his beak.

"Slow down, Hawks!" Lightning cautioned. "You seem really out of it. You sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine, Lightning," Predator responded, wiping the mess with a napkin.

"I know you better than that. What's wro-"

"I said there's nothing wrong," Predator cut in sharply.

Taken aback by his tone, Lightning reacted with a scoff of offense before turning away, muttering, "fine."

The two lapsed into a bitter silence, finishing their meals before receiving word from Simon that his procedure had gone well and it was time for one of them to undergo it.

"Do you want to go next?" Lightning asked, his gaze locked on his phone rather than Predator.

"Fine," the blue hawk replied impassively.

As they flew back to the clinic together, the storm in Predator's mind raged on. He hadn't intended to be harsh with Lightning, but he couldn't let his inner turmoil spill out. Now, tension lingered between them. While he knew they could likely overcome it, the guilt of his treatment towards Lightning weighed on his heart. Concealing his feelings felt crucial, yet he pondered how far he would need to go to maintain that facade.

Above all, he questioned whether it would be worth doing so in the end.

…

(SO the surprise was revealed! It’s Ursula the Polar Bear!!!!! For those unaware, Ursula belongs to @ceoofdestructix and was written in with both their permission and guidance! Thanks for letting me use the mama bear, friend! I can’t wait to write more “surprises” with your help 😉)

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angelicyouth · 2 years ago

Text

Youth ; Chapter 15

⇢ pairing: kenny mccormick x marsh!reader x craig tucker

⇢ synopsis: ❝Growing up with the boys as the sole girl of the group, it was only natural for them to grow protective over their pseudo-little sister as the years went by.❞

⇢ [AO3 link] ; [series masterlist] ; [previous] ; [next]

The shrill sound of the telephone wakes up the sleep deprived group of teens slouching in on each other for more comfort. The rickety chairs that have been more or less their tentative homes in the recent days squeak and groan at every movement of their too-large bodies as they shift to forced consciousness.

Their bleary eyes scream at them when they fight off the last dregs of sleep desperately begging to bring them back into its embrace, the glowing numbers of the clock hanging on the wall announcing to them that the time is now currently 2:48AM. Tired hands come up to their faces, languid in its motion as it takes a couple of times to direct the appendage to wipe at their sleep encrusted eyes when it repeatedly misses its intended target.

Hearing the muffled words coming in through the transparent window separating the boys from the detectives at their desks, Stan immediately shoots up in his seat when he hears my name being tossed around. He shushes the tired groaning of the others, bringing a hand up as a nonverbal command to keep their bodies still.

Results.

Phone tracking.

Location.

Now.

This is the last thing the elder Marsh hears before he clumsily heaves his body up, hands blindly reaching for his jacket to throw onto his rushing form as he runs out of the double doors leading to the outside world of the police department.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

A sea of luxurious silk linen lightly caresses every curve of my body, the softness of the mattress surrounding my form as I lay in the depths of its smooth embrace. I’m seated upright in the temporary fortress that I’ve woken up in since the day of my abduction—a four poster queen sized bed with a canopy of gentle white, the soft material cascading down into billowing curtains over the metal rods that support the structure.

Shackled around my ankles are a cool metal, heavy in its weight and linked to the bedposts at the base of the two rods in front of me. Higher above the swollen, red skin that’s been uncomfortably chaffed into tenderness from my confines is nothing but a babydoll dress made up of black lace adorning my frame.

To erase anything from your old life, they had said.

Sick pervert, I had thought back in discontent.

My wrists are currently screaming in searing pain, the bones that make up my non-dominant hand dislocated and mangled beyond belief as I forcibly slip it free from the rough texture of the ropes that bind them together. I will myself with all of my might to not pass out from my self-inflicted agony as my head becomes increasingly light, the mounting dizziness forcing black spots to teeter into the edge of peripherals.

Body trembling from the excruciating torment, I can feel my perspiration begin to lightly bead against my hairline as I force my shaking hands to bring the thick cord back around my wrist to keep up the illusion of detainment. My throat tightens around itself as I force the bile that threatens to come out back down from the burning feeling. I try to focus on the distinctive, copper taste that my teeth invokes from my lip in an effort to discourage any sounds from escaping my mouth.

I curse inside my head when the door to the room opens up, my perpetrator perching themself down onto the length of the bed in front of me. Their added weight makes my body lean closer to theirs, the slight shift of my faux bonded hands behind my back making me want to scream into oblivion. In stark contrast to the binds that keep me in place, their touch is gentle as they carefully bring the metal edge of a spoon towards my lips, silently urging me to take in a mouthful of food.

My head stays slightly lowered in submission, my eyes never making eye contact when a few seconds pass by with no movement on either end. I don’t even flinch when my captor predictably loses their temper at my disobedience, the piping hot bowl of soup getting thrown at the nearest wall when I refuse to eat.

As always, my assailant will become violently upset when I don’t part my mouth for any sort of nutrition they try to provide me with and I wonder when it will inevitably turn into their seething appendages against my flesh. My eyes don’t waver from its unrelenting focus onto a particular spot on the blanket covering the bed as they loudly curse to themself at my predictive unwillingness to cooperate, their thundering footsteps echoing out into the hallways before they come back to clean up the mess they have made.

Investing their time into bringing the room back to its orderly state allows them enough moments to calm down before they resume their undivided attention to my still form, their body settling back down onto their previous position from before their little tantrum. A warm yet damp washcloth glides over my smooth skin, running along the droplets of stew that became a casualty in its demise as my perpetrator’s hands softly tend to me.

“... I’m sorry you had to see me like that. You know that I just care about you, right? I wouldn’t ever hurt you. It only worries me when you don’t eat.” Their voice is hushed in the otherwise quiet room and my mouth remains shut.

I have not deemed my captor worthy of my voice for anything unnecessary since the kidnapping and they routinely sigh at my expected muteness, their larger hand coming up to lightly cradle my cheek when my skin is deemed soup-free. I’ve been extremely selective with what I say, the rare times my lips part to let out my thoughts are when I ask them to let me talk to or see my friends and family—nothing more.

My throat is sore from disuse and my refusal to drink even a bit of water. I don’t even allow myself the short respite of sleep because if I do, the waking world will greet me with severe disorientation and a panic attack when my eyes settle onto my unknown location. I didn’t need my captor rushing into the room from my distressed cries and screaming to comfort me, not wanting a repeat of the first time it happened. The less contact with each other, the better.

My assailant’s thumb is almost nonexistent, my brain not registering the carefully gentle movements as they attempt to soothe the soft skin of my cheek as I begin to disassociate. “You haven’t eaten anything since you’ve came and you don’t talk to me. I’m just trying to help you, you know? You’re safer here and I can give you anything you want, Y/N… I can make you happy.”

Better than most situations, yes.

But it was still disgusting, to be frank.

Almost vile.

Sickening.

Granted, my perpetrator didn’t mistreat me in any way or intentionally inflict any abuse either physically or psychologically onto my person. But, their sick delusions in keeping me locked up for their own selfishness made me sick to my stomach—the obsession this person harbored that grew until they couldn’t hold themselves back any longer when they saw me alone at the parking lot.

The one, rare moment that I wasn’t seen with any of the boys and they jumped at the opportunity. Just thinking about it brings up the nauseating question: how long have they been closely watching me to seize such an infrequent occasion?

There’s a stretch of silence between the two of us before they sigh in defeat from my unwavering stubbornness and I try my absolute hardest to refrain from sneering in disgust when they plant a gentle kiss onto my forehead. My jaw tightly clenches and my eyebrows crease together as I feel my anger manifest into the physical remnants of tears beginning to thinly coat my eyes in frustration.

I count it as a small victory when nothing escapes from my eyes—they didn’t deserve my tears.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

It’s a whole operation, one with full combat gear and everything. Exhilaration fills everybody’s system as they follow the glaring colors of red and blue sitting on top of the multitude of police cruisers rushing down the desolate streets of South Park.

It’s quiet in the car, the teens forgoing the sound of music in exchange of the wailing sirens from the Tactical Response automobiles that they closely keep their eyes on. The prospect of finally getting their missing member back fills every pore in their body with a nervous thrum of anticipation, hands trembling on their seated laps in bottled up energy as they come across a swarm of officers exchanging words and talking into radios behind the police tape.

When the boys unload the two vehicles that they all crammed into, they’re predictably denied entry from getting closer to the site as they were deemed unauthorized personnel. They instead take the time to take in their surroundings and from mere observation, it seems that the signal they traced from the phone call brought them to an industrial block close to seemingly nowhere.

Most of the buildings seemed to be factories and warehouses, almost eerily abandoned from the husks of cement that encloses them. The windows adorning the stretch of structures are eerily dark, resembling the empty eye sockets of a person in its lifelessness.

Kyle subtly motions his head in the direction of the surveillance van that is heavily armored and the group catches his nonverbal cue as they pretend to leisurely check out the area in order to bring their bodies closer. From their position, they can see an abundance of green-tinged surveillance screens and a multitude of unfamiliar electronics that flash LED lights.

Interlaced with the humming and whirring of the electrical devices, they can hear a detective murmuring directions into their mouthpiece as they keep their eyes glued to a live feed of one of the helmets of the men inside. The night vision of the cameras give the screens beyond the mess of wires and cables a green hue, looking similar to the ones you’d see in ghost documentaries or horror movies.

Suddenly, words become more rushed and frantic as fingers rapidly begin to dance along the keyboards stationed inside the array of devices, the boys instantly surging into impulsive action when they hear the words: getting away.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

My lack of clothing causes goosebumps to arise all over my body as it hits the cold Colorado air, my perpetrator hastily shoving me into an unmarked van in an attempt to put distance between us and the frenzy of law enforcement that steadily gets louder as they approach our location. Curses cut through the air of anxiety ridden breathing when we suddenly hear loud footsteps, a foreign body suddenly tackling my assailant from behind.

Taking this opportunity of transferred attention, I finally cease my charade of faux restraint as I push the tangle of bodies away from me to run in the opposite direction and take cover to the closest area. The sound of scuffling continues with the added noise of yells so I keep my body hidden in a mixture of nervous anxiety, not wanting this sliver of hope to diminish if I were to be seen.

My body curves in on itself as I crouch as low to the ground as I can while my hands cover my ears, shaking fingers curling over my unwashed hair as I pray that no one finds me. I force myself to pay attention to the pieces of gravel painfully digging into my bare feet while I try to regulate my breathing, my body hunching in on itself even further to insulate more heat.

It isn’t until the sounds of grunts and fists making contact with flesh come to a stop that I chance a peek over the broken rubble of what was possibly a wall long ago. My eyes widen in surprise when I see that my boys have come to my rescue, covered in an array of both cuts and bruises with their chests rapidly heaving up and down from exertion.

The moment of elation immediately turns into dread when I see that my captor has unfortunately obtained a new hostage in my absence, the air thick with newfound tension. Butters winces at the tightening arms locked around him, his hands shooting upwards to soothe the exerted force of the headlock he’s in.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Adrenaline starts to pump through my veins as I try to desperately rack my brain for any ideas on what to do when something catches my eyes. The reflection of moonlight creates a glare over its shiny cover, the item that piqued my interest under stray pieces of rubble. I silently make my way to the object and feel the corner of my lips quirk up when I’ve identified the heavy steel as a compact handgun—a fully functioning glock that must’ve been knocked away during the altercation minutes ago.

I would say that I’m pretty adept with using the weapon—my Uncle Jimbo having taught my brother and I at a young age whenever he took us out to spontaneous camping trips as a sport, but most importantly to teach us a decidedly lethal form of self defense. He began to take us to shooting ranges instead, however, when our combined stubbornness caused us to refuse the purposeful harm of inflicting wounds on innocent animals.

I step out of the concrete camouflaging my body to reveal myself, my face devoid of any expression and my voice flat yet loud. “Let him go.”

“Y/N!” All of the boys exclaim in relief when they spot me but I don’t acknowledge any of them, refusing to look away from my target for even just a second to allow them an opportunity of escape.

My perpetrator’s eyes widen behind the material concealing their identity when they land on my form, a black ski mask with just a large oval cut out of it for their vision. They laugh, irritatingly confident with fake assurance of our time together.

“Come on, babe. You wouldn’t shoot me. Now be a good girl and come back here so I can let your little friend go.”

I let a few beats of silence go by and when time proves that they won’t relent, I tiredly close my eyes.

Breathe in, and out.

Concentrate.

My chest rises up as I inhale a deep yet steady breath to bring clarity into my mind, my neck leisurely rolling my head around before I grant myself my vision back and focus. Steadily bringing my arms up into the stance deeply ingrained into my body from my adolescence, my fingers take off the safety to pull the trigger and shoot.

The sudden onslaught of meticulously thought out bullets causes my assailant to drop Butters in their surprise, but none of the shots I take pierce at their skin. I only have the metal pieces graze at the fluttering material of their clothes in warning and the outline of their body in an effort to intimidate them. I walk forward with confidence, expertly dropping the first magazine and quickly reloading it as I let muscle memory take over.

In my ruthless shooting, I don’t take notice of Kyle whacking both Craig and Kenny behind their heads in admonishment when their lips slightly part at the sight of me in awe. Deep vermillion shades their cheeks despite the situation, their hands distractedly coming up to pat Butters in reassurance when the blonde hastily makes his way back to the group.

My eyebrows don’t even furrow in my unwavering concentration, my face apathetically blank as I finally stand in front of my disguised perpetrator. The conservative amount of openings on their mask doesn’t provide much but the sight of their eyes is all I need to know that their body is racked with fear.

Without breaking eye contact, I reach into the front pocket of their flannel shirt to lightly graze my fingers against the box of cigarettes that I know is almost permanently etched in there. Bringing a stick up to my lips, I light it up with the lighter kept in the box for convenience and languidly inhale the toxic fumes until it fills up my lungs.

Tendrils of smoke begins to slowly leak from my mouth before I mockingly blow a stream of it onto my assailant's face, my eyes lazily trailing down when I see the growing pool of wetness that forms between the material of their shaking legs. The pungent smell of urine invades my nostrils from our close proximity and I cruelly smirk around the rolled-up nicotine, my hand bringing the pistol in between their eyes.

I slowly lift up my unoccupied hand, ignoring its screams for medical attention as I lightly graze the cheek of the person in front of me. Gently grasping the course material covering their face in between my fingers, I take my time in lifting it further up and away from their head.

The boys behind me suck in a sharp breath when it’s finally revealed that it was none other than the teen that approached me at North Park Funland’s food court when I was waiting for the guys to grab lunch.

“What the fuck?” Someone exclaims from behind me in a mixture of confusion and exasperation, desperately grasping onto the faint remnants of memories that contain the face in front of us.

Pressing the cool metal further against his skin in threat aides him to nervously speak up, his mind running at a million miles per hour as he answers the unprompted questions in all of our heads.

“Don’t you recognize me, Y/N?” Despite the anxiety overcoming his body, there’s a manic grin that begins to stretch wide on his face yet I continue to keep my face devoid of any emotion.

He laughs and the sound of it makes everyone in its vicinity uncomfortable, the madness and hysteria in his tone sharply bleeding through his vocal chords. “See, this is why I took you. I bet you only remember me from the time I came up to you at the amusement park, huh? I went to North Park High with you, and I loved you. You never dated anyone so I thought you returned my affection too, just waiting for me to finally gather up the courage to speak to you.”

“… Holy shit.” A voice exclaims from behind me at the deranged confession.

“But before I could, you suddenly disappeared at the beginning of sophomore year. I was devastated, Y/N. How could you do that to someone who loves you? How could you do that to us? How could you just leave me so easily? When I finally saw you back at the amusement park at North Park, I thought you finally came back. I knew I had to talk to you when I took all of the times that I could have for granted but when I finally did, these bastards interrupted. They took you from me, Y/N.”

A shaky hand reaches forward in an attempt to caress my cheek but I just press the cool metal harder onto the skin of his face in wordless threat. “You understand, right, Y/N? That I had to do it, for us. They changed you—you weren’t like this last year so I knew it was all of their faults.”

My eyes apathetically blink slowly at the pleadings leaking out of the mouth in front of me, the glowing embers of my cigarette casting a warm light against the visage of the begging teen in front of me. The mixture of shades are reminiscent of the color I’d associate with the blazing pits of Hell, a place that’d be worthy of housing the pathetic figure in front of me.

“Just come with me, Y/N. I didn’t hurt you, right? I showed you that I could take care of you and I wasn’t lying when I said that I could make you happy. Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.” He offers me a placating smile, wobbly around the corners yet gentle all the same. But despite the soft way his lips curve around his cheeks and how his voice noticeably lightens when addressing me, the deranged undertone of his intentions cannot be ignored.

A beat of silence stretches on as everyone tentatively soaks up the onslaught of information, a whistle cutting through the area. “… What the actual fuck.”

“This guy is actually batshit insane.”

“More like pathetically delusional.”

“You sick fuck! I swear I’ll bash your fucking head in!”

“N/N! Back up before he tries to do something!”

In answer to everything and everyone, my wrist fluidly turns the object in my hand around to harshly slam the butt of the gun onto his face. When his hands shoot up to nurse the blood streaming down from his now crooked nose, I pounce on his larger form and begin my assault on his face with my relentless fists.

There’s a small quirk to my lips when I hear the satisfying sound of his bone crunching underneath my knuckles, the voice below me just begging for reprieve. The point of contact between the both of us that I know will inflict a world of hurt causes an overwhelming sense of euphoria, the body trembling underneath me in both unadulterated fear and absolute pain.

For the first time in days, I feel good.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

My revenge didn’t get as far as I would have liked it before a cacophony of panicked voices fill the air at my merciless revenge, arms settling themselves over my waist as they heft my body away from my assailant. When the distance between us steadily grows, I take petty satisfaction in spitting at the vivid reds and deep purples beginning to bloom in a sea of blood.

When my cigarette is but a slowly diminishing roach, my hands flail to extinguish the flame onto the skin of his face. I struggle for a bit as a scream of anguish rips out of the gurgle of blood in his throat but my quick attempt as a last resort of revenge proves to be fatal when my perpetrator quickly grabs onto my mangled wrist.

I yell in excruciating pain as they purposefully exert force in the hold that they have over me, knowledgeable of the tender skin laying underneath their grip and using it to their advantage. Their unoccupied hand hurriedly reaches into the denim of the back pocket of their jeans, the arms wrapped around me frantically trying to pull me further away as I desperately try to wrench back my screaming wrist.

Their efforts prove to be successful as if in slow motion, a syringe filled with a sickly green gets brandished before they try to stab the thin metal into the expanse of skin onto the arms wrapped around me. I can physically feel the color drain from my face when I can feel a slight pinch in my skin come from the needle being ruthlessly jammed into my arm in its haste, my veins beginning to feel like they’re burning as he mistakenly injects me with a foreign liquid.

My body immediately falls limp like a puppet whose strings got cut off at the unknown intrusion, the other boys quickly tackling my assailant to properly hold him down. He begins to maniacally laugh as he eerily smiles at me, my eyes glassy and distant as I stare back. It’s like I have no control of my body, my mind desperately willing my fingers and toes to move, to do anything but all my attempts are otherwise unacknowledged by my body.

I can’t do anything as I fall onto the rough asphalt of the floor, pieces of gravel painfully digging into my exposed body as Tweek falls from my unexpected dead weight. The blond cushions the rest of my body as he cradles me in his lap, my head facing up into the dark sky from my new position.

There are no stars up above to provide me Craig’s gift of everlasting comfort, I realize.

Tweek’s shaking hands push my limp head to the crook of his elbow, my form draped across the safe solace of his lap as he adjusts my body for comfort. Slender fingers tremble as they try to clumsily push away the stray strands of hair that fell over my face, my sticky cheeks making it harder as silky locks are wet from the tears that were invoked when my assailant forcibly applied pressure to my self-mutilated wrist.

My body feels as if it’s alight in pure hell as every single cell in my body begins screaming at me, willing it to do anything to rid my system of this tortuous sensation. Tears begin to gather at the corner of my eyes, my vision glassy and unfocused at the pure agony that my nerves rapidly signal to my brain for some desperate help.

“Guys! GUYS!” In my silent suffering, I fail to notice the apprehension of my prior classmate as the boys begin to quickly gather around me at the sounds of Tweek’s frantic yelling.

His erratic fingers continue to desperately push away the locks of hair obscuring my vision, his chest quickly heaving up and down in panic as he takes in my state. “Ngh! She hasn’t moved since the guy injected her with something—she hasn’t even BLINKED!”

“What?!” Kenny roars in anger, not comprehending how the situation got even worse than it already was at the slight error on their part for not quickly capturing my perpetrator as soon as I started attacking.

“What the fuck did you do?! Fucking ANSWER ME!” My brother thunders out loud this time, but nobody can provide an explanation as they watch my terrifyingly still body.

Kenny shoves his way to where Tweek has me, the blonde getting roughly pushed aside as I’m forcibly transferred onto another lap, the new face revealing itself to be my blonde lover. His brows are furrowed in frustration and his normally crystal-like eyes have a thin film of cloudy tears around it, threatening to break free when he heaves a shaky breath out at seeing my unresponsive face.

“No. No, no, no. Princess?” His whisper is so feeble and weak, his normally confident and easygoing voice utterly distressed as he frantically scans my face for any detection of life.

“Come on, baby. Don’t do this to me, please. No more, I just got you back.” Shaky hands gently grasp at one of my shoulders, softly urging me to do something as his pleading voice transitions into feeble begging.

He lightly presses his forehead against my own, his fingers softly grasping onto my hair and twirling it around his fingers as an outlet to release his nervous energy. My body screams out at him but no one can hear me, my form as limp as ever and still burning. However, Kenny’s arms wrapped around me so securely after so long apart causes a bit of relief from my own internal torment.

He can’t help the sob that shakes his entire body at its sheer magnitude when I don’t respond to his familiar touch or the soothing cadence of his voice like I usually do after minutes of trying. The blonde’s breathing becomes increasingly panicked, every inhale and exhale of his chest shaking my own form as he cradles me against his clothed one.

“Always and forever, remember? You can’t leave me now. We’re supposed to get old and grey and when our lives are almost done, you’re supposed to grin and turn to me and Tucker and tell us all about how much fucking fun you had.” His voice comes out in broken whispers, almost becoming delirious from his haywire emotions in its rawness and how utterly torn it sounded.

As ironic as it is, up until this moment the blonde truly thought he knew death. Dying as often as he did, Kenny figured that it could never get worse after all of his gruesome experiences with it. But it never quite prepared him to consider the other perspective of it, to watch someone else pass and the foreign emotions that came with this new territory. He’s lost his limbs, even his own heart, but he has never felt such a loss like this in his entire life.

In the privacy of the darkness that overtakes his room with nightfall, he would consume a conspicuous amount of alcohol and drugs in order to numb the pain of constantly dying. But after the discovery that I’d remember if he left, he realized that he didn’t need all of that anymore when he knew that someone was expecting him back. That sole moment of discovery was an absolute dream come true because Kenny absolutely hated dying, the way the hurt never got better and how it made him feel so forgettable and insignificant.

It was the reason he opted to take home economics in elementary school instead of the shop class filled with sharp material and dangerous equipment with the rest of the boys. It was the reason he chose to be a fucking princess in their fantasy role-playing game, wanting to be the one who got saved for once in his life from his intimate relationship with death and his time as Mysterion, the superhero who rescued others.

Because he never understood—who saved him while he always saved everyone else?

But at this very moment, he thinks about how he’d gladly take my place if it meant seeing my smile again. Despite how much he grew up absolutely dreading the familiar emptiness that came whenever he woke up to the water-stained ceiling of his bedroom. Regardless of the way the people he held so dearly to him acted so normal when he came back, as if something wasn’t amiss despite their swollen red eyes or the lingering smell of alcohol on Stan’s breath.

Because to Kenny, the blonde saw the heavens every single time my lips curved in happiness. And he didn’t want to lose the one good in his unfortunate life full of poverty provided by his deadbeat parents.

Not now, not ever. Not when there was still a promise of always and forever.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

Red locks suddenly appear in my peripherals, a large hand going over my chest as Kyle leans his head closer to my still body. After a few seconds, he places his fingers on the pulse of my neck and wrist before ultimately placing a finger in front of my nose.

“… There’s no sign of breathing.” It feels like a cold bucket of water drenches my body at the curly haired teen's whispered words, my mind screaming that no, I’m still alive.

“How the—but she was just… Is she dead..?! Please don't tell me she's dead.” Clyde’s panic-stricken voice wobbly sounds out from somewhere to my left, the boys yelling out shocked expletives at Kyle’s solemn announcement.

“There’s just no way. Try again, Kyle. Please.”

“No. No, no, no. Not her. Please, not N/N.”

“Are you sure you checked correctly? Maybe it’s faint, check the pulse on her neck or wrist again!”

“How..? She was just breathing.”

All variations of false hope, all coming to the same conclusions no matter who checks and how. Stan doesn’t relent in his desperate attempts, determined to hear the sound that belongs to the other half of him.

It just didn't make any sense, it couldn’t even register in his mind despite everyone’s efforts and their repeated confirmation. I’ve always been there with him. Who was Stan Marsh if not the twin of Y/N?

My heartbeat is all that he's ever known, the one thing he’s so sure of in a universe filled to the brim with the undiscovered. It’s something that he's so in tune with—he knew the exact beats of it and could recognize the warmth of it whenever he was near me. But right now as I lay still with my eyes wide and glassy, it was like listening to deafening static and hoping for nothing.

I would’ve jolted if I had control of my limbs as an agonized scream sharply cuts through the air, my brother’s voice full of anguish at the reveal. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!”

“You better speak the fuck up or I swear to fucking God that you’ll wish the police got to you before we did.” Craig’s monotonous voice rings out from somewhere to my side, my screaming brain wailing out to my raven-haired lover because I feel scared even in the comforting presence of the others.

I hear something loudly make contact with the ground, my perpetrator grunting a little further away. “FUCKING DO SOMETHING! YOU WANTED US, RIGHT? NOT HER! YOU WANTED TO MAKE HER HAPPY YET YOU STILL DID THIS TO HER! TAKE ME INSTEAD!”

In the quietness of the night, so soft that it’s almost hard to hear he speaks again. “Please. Please, just take me instead.”

The raw pain colored in Craig’s voice hurts my apparently unbeating heart even more, his voice breaking apart as it dissolves into a small plea at the end of his sentence in unadulterated desperation. A drop of liquid falls onto my face as he threatens the teen and my eyes shift up to see Kenny softly weeping over me, the sight making my heart feel like it's breaking into a million pieces as I desperately wish to just reach out and soothe the weeping boy.

Nobody says anything, the sound of sobbing and sniffling the only thing filling the air.

When the blonde pulls me closer to his chest in order to bring my limp body into a tight hug, the slight alteration to my position allows me to see Craig as he takes a few quick strides to where he threw my assailant. The groaning teen begins to cry out in pain when the ravenette intentionally grabs him by the shoulder where a deep crimson begins to bleed through his jacket.

“FUCK YOU, you sick fuck. I can’t believe you’d kill someone you claim to love. If you make it out of this alive, just remember: when you killed her, you didn’t kill just one person.” He raises his fist and roughly slams it against the already battered visage of the bleary eyed teen in front of him, quickly lifting his curled fist to deliver repeated punches again and again.

He laughs but it’s devoid of any emotion. Yet it’s somehow ruthlessly cruel in its emptiness and hollow in its hurt.

“Never get too attached to anyone, dipshit. Unless they also feel the same way towards you. Because one-sided expectations can mentally destroy you. Well... I guess it’s too late for that, you crazy fuck.” Craig cuts off the boy begging for mercy or for any sort of undeserved reprieve as he kicks him down onto the ground, pressing a knee onto his chest as he scoffs at the delivery of his too-late advice.

He exerts as much of his weight onto the wheezing body in front of him, the struggling teen spitting out the onslaught of blood that pours into his cut lips from his broken nose. His hands clumsily shoots out to try to relent some of the pressure from the ravenette’s knee as a large hand reaches for his hair to harshly slam his head onto the ground.

My unnamed assailant frantically begins to yelp, his voice raspy as he tries to force out the words from his throat. “Stop, STOP! She’s alive, okay?! Just let me go and I’ll do something.”

Kyle backs away from me and I feel the tears begin to leak out from the corner of my eyes quicker than when I was in pain and I know that my body would have been absolutely sobbing in distress if I could move. The diminishing presence of the boys around me causes my brain to go into a frenzy of panic, desperate to be heard from the others and to keep their comforting presences with me.

Already overwhelmed with the ongoing pain coursing throughout my body, the additional panic of the boys losing hope wills myself to open my mouth to yell out for them. When nothing works, I curse at the fact that my eyes were left open because now I just wanted to block everything out—for everything to be over with. Whatever was injected into my body was killing me and I could feel it.

It’s as if whatever higher deity is up there finally answers my prayers as tufts of silky blonde hair enters my vision from the corner of my eyes, Butters expression filled with melancholy as he scans my face. He brings a hand up to the skin of my cheeks, his touch so soft that it almost feels nonexistent. He lightly skims his fingers over the expanse he has access to and when they creep towards my damp eyelashes, his hand stills from their gentle ministrations.

His eyebrows furrow, his voice soft in its disbelief as he speaks up. “She’s crying.”

“What?” Tolkien approaches my view, his own expression tensely mirroring the blondes in his well-deserved skepticism. He carefully watches as Butters brings up the soft material that makes up the sleeves of his jacket to gently dab at my eyes, the area not staying dry for long before my tears immediately resurface.

“Holy shit, she’s crying.” He echoes out in confirmation, a mixture of bewilderment and confusion painting his words.

A beat of silence tells me that they’re all looking at the previously masked teen for answers, the boy speaking up at their expectant faces when the sound of a fist meeting skin sounds out through the air. “Fuck! I told you, it’d be a slow and painful death. She’s not dead, yet. She’s still alive, I can do something if you just let me.”

“No fucking way! We can't trust him!” Cartman barks out to the group in caution, a sneer deeply curled onto his face as he stares down at the beaten teen.

Butters immediately starts sobbing at my lifeless face, the salty tears that are escaping his eyes begin to gently drop down his face until they meet the already damp skin of my own. He’s frantic in trying to catch every drop that trails down from my own orbs, his aim not that accurate due to his shaky hands.

“Fellas! FELLAS!” The blonde musters up what little of his strength he has left as he yells over the boys arguing, effectively cutting off the voices fighting over our heads.

“We have to help her. We have to. She’s my little sister, I can’t lose her.” He hysterically babbles, his frantic speech making it hard to make out his words.

“Butters, calm the fuck down.” A hand tries to placate him by laying itself on one of his shoulders, the blonde venomous as he urges everyone to just listen as he sharply slaps away the comforting touch.

Although hope was beginning to form due to Butters’ efforts, the pain coursing my veins was starting to change, feeling like something within me was ominously shifting. While everything still hurt, my senses were beginning to gradually fade as my body began to give up its fight. Everything around me felt like it was getting duller, my brain slowly starting to not register the feeling of Butters’ fingers against my face and the surrounding voices of the others.

“We can’t trust him! He can’t do anything, he’s just fucking lying again! He’s deceived us once and he's just going to do it another time. She’s GONE! He can't bring her back!” Cartman impatiently tries to yell some sense into the boys, everyone lost on what to do and sharing conflicted looks with one another.

“Let him go. Do it.” Stan decidedly breaks the silence, tensely forcing his demand out through gritted teeth as he vehemently glares at my assailant.

I felt so… gone.

But my brother knew he had to take the chance, however small and uncertain it may be. He had promised and he was going to do whatever he was capable of doing at this moment to keep it. Every time he was there, he always told me that I’d be safe and he’d be damned if he turned his back on his baby sister. Because if there was even a chance, a small sliver of hope that I was still alive…

“He might be lying, Stan…” Kyle shakes his head, a pained expression crossing his face as he whispered logically to the furiously demanding teen.

“DO IT! I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND, FUCKING FIX HER!” His scream pierces through the air, a few of the boy’s bodies jumping slightly at the sheer volume of his distressed voice. He ignores his best friend’s reasoning, not even sparing a moment to acknowledge that his emotions may be irrationally controlling the decisions he’s making.

No one moves for a moment, everyone warily eyeing each other. Cartman furrows his eyebrows and takes a step forward before Kyle stops him. “If you do this and something happens, it’s on you. Would you be able to live with your conscience if nothing happens to N/N and he’s able to get away?”

“It’s a chance that I’m willing to take, Kyle. Don’t fucking question me, this is my fucking sister.” Stan impatiently snaps at the curly haired teen, the redhead glaring back at the bleached blonde from the insinuation of his words.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Marsh. She’s my little sister, too.” He bitterly bites back as he roughly pushes past the sneering teen and grabs the discarded gun from the floor before kneeling down, freeing my perpetrator from the thick rope the boys used to crudely detain him with.

Kyle threateningly points the heavy metal towards his head, the other boys closely watching to see if he’ll flee as their bodies tense on the chance that they may have to jump into action. My captor grabs something from the unmarked vehicle, his hands nervously shaking as he brings another syringe out to imbed into my skin. The boys all collectively flinch when they watch the long needle trespass against my arm, their breaths baited as they tensely observe from the crowd formed around me.

The second the liquid enters my system, it’s as if my body got released from the paralysis keeping me shackled in its silent hold. Only one deep breath gets heaved out before I let out a bloodcurdling scream to vocalize the intense agony I’ve been feeling all this time.

Shocked, the boys didn’t know what to do as they watched in muted horror as I begin to scream bloody murder on Kenny’s lap. They just kind of expected me to wake up, never having guessed that they’d be presented with the painful image of my back contorting to an exaggerated arch and my limbs violently flailing everywhere.

My sobs begin to combine with my torturous screaming, my hands failing multiple times before they’re able to grab onto the material adorning Kenny’s frame as I shake his still body. “MAKE IT STOP!”

The screeching finally prompts him into action as his hands attempt to restrain my thrashing body, my chest painfully heaving as I blabber nonsense to anyone listening through my thick tears. All the boys could do was cry at the sight, feeling useless and frustrated as a few of them join us on the ground to assist the blonde in keeping me still.

From upside down my vision, Craig gently but firmly grabs onto my cheeks to still my flailing head as he presses his soft lips onto my skin to speak against my forehead. “Shh, I’m here, babe. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

All the boys let out their own shaky variations of both verbal or physical assurance and comfort yet nothing changes. Clyde hysterically sobs, turning his face from where it was nestled into my neck to beg at the teen who administered my pain. “STOP THIS!

He glares at my former classmate without breaking contact with me, the teen looking sheepish as he averts his gaze from the deathly looks of the group of teens. His voice is low and meek as he mumbles to the others, “... Her body’s been getting tortured like this since the moment the liquid entered her system. It’s just that now, she's finally able to physically and verbally react to it.”

Everyone feels their entire guts plummet at the information revealed to them, my body beginning to weakly curl in on itself as my screams fade away to loud sobs. They’re speechless at the fact that I’ve felt like this the entire time, all of them ignorant to my silent pain and for thinking I was already dead.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” Kenny vehemently seethes from where his own body is wrapped around my own in an attempt to comfort my relentless weeping, his form shaking in unbridled rage.

My whole body twitches and throbs before the pain manifests itself into bile forcibly exiting my mouth, my delirium unable to put a name to the voices and hands trying to soothe me. Whatever happened with the second dose made my eyes heavy with fatigue, my head going eerily limp from the sudden decrease in energy.

“Stay with me, okay, beautiful? It’s over now, you just need to stay awake with me. We’re going to keep you safe.”

But I was too tired, too filled with pain, and too weak to keep the promise of the comforting voice. I could feel gentle fingers stroking my cheeks, soft kisses placed against the skin of my face, and both of my hands in someone else's grip.

“Come on, baby. You can do this. Stay with me.”

The sounds around me gently morph into an orchestra of panic but all I can do is lightly smile at the cacophony of hysterical noise as the warmth from everyone comfortingly surrounds my whole body to rest.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

My parents had offered to drop my brother and I off to school, the both of them pulling Stan aside to exchange a few hushed words as I patiently wait along the pavement of the frosted sidewalk. I vibrate in place as I wait for Stan, excited to finally be away from the sterile, white confines of the hospital walls.

Once their conversation concludes, he walks the short distance between us as he intertwines our fingers together, his moving feet leading me along the almost desolate hallways of the school. His body is slightly ahead of my smaller one, as if shielding me from anything that we could possibly come across and I just softly smile at his ridiculous yet endearing overprotectiveness.

I unconsciously shrink in only myself before he notices and shoots me a comforting look, his supportive smile making me stand a little bit taller in confidence before he pushes the heavy wooden door to our first class of the day–homeroom. My eyes flicker from side to side, slightly widening as I take in my surroundings to look at the faces around me in a mixture of both anxiety and excitement.

Not paying much attention, I fail to notice that my brother has stopped walking as my body softly runs into the thick material of the jacket that adorns the back of his body. I lightly giggle at my clumsiness, my inattentiveness making the both of us grin as he begins to slightly pull our interlocked hands to bring my form a little forward.

The expression on his face is soft as he lightly smiles down at me as a form of reassurance, his eyes taking the time to run along my face to take note of any signs of discomfort. Once satisfied after nothing sets off his instincts, I offer a soft grin of my own when my brother brings my attention to the group of teenage boys gathered in front of us.

They’re all in varying stances, some perched onto the seats of their desks while a few lean against the table top of the hard structure to be in closer proximity with their friends before the school day starts. My face slightly angles downward towards the linoleum floor when I notice that all of their expectant gazes are carefully watching me, nervous energy reverberating from their bodies in barely contained energy.

Of what, I’m not quite sure as my eyes look back to search for ones identical to my own in encouragement as the nervous thrum begins to run along my veins at their attentive stares. My brother’s voice is patient when he speaks up, soft in between the contrasting air of chattering students surrounding all of our bodies.

“N/N. Do you remember any of them..?”

My body seeks refuge from the intense gazes of everyone as I slightly retreat to hide half of my face behind Stan’s clothed arm, my hands clenching around the ones in my hold in anxiety. I shake my head, the nonverbal answer knocking the bated breaths out of the group of teen’s bodies in a mixture of evident disappointment and apparent anguish.

There’s an apologetic expression on my face as I whisper honestly to my brother.

“No.”

#south park #south park x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #craig tucker x reader #kenny mccormick #craig tucker #south park fanfiction #lalawrites

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benjaminvox · 2 months ago

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Benjamin knew he'd been played: but was it a small price to pay, knowing he might (and it was heavy use on the word might) be able to get some sleep without having to worry about sleeping with one eye open. Still, he took the bags as instructed, but his head snapped to the left as he was offered another, and snorted. "Free drugs? Never heard of that before." Also said with a jokey laugh following. "Right." Benjamin didn't waste time as he began to rack up on the side, rolling the note. "Do the honours," offering one of the two lines he made.

It was customary to share the first.

"So, Roman -- " guess this was probably as friendly as they were going to get, but he wasn't going to give up that easy. Would he be Melissa Lin's boy if he did? "What exactly do you do? Work, I mean."

He really must have wanted to get along because Roman was absolutely sure there were others with stuff that didn't cost as much. And yes, Roman definitely did hype up the price. Why the fuck not? It was his, so he could make whatever price he wanted to.

Taking the money, Roman slowly counted it before giving him a bag and a five-pound note from the stash. "Have another." Discount, he meant, in more of a joke style.

#romanbaranovsky #roman & benjamin #event: the camp out 24'#int. luxury tent #location: their luxury tent.

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deadprocess · 5 months ago

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Resurgence

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Proposition

Learning that there is no war, Shockwave and Soundwave take residence with an over eager Rust Dust who informs them of certain legalities involving their unexpected stay on Cyberonica.

Soundwave stood in silence for a few clicks, digesting the information as best as he could. He was well acquainted with traveling through a space bridge, but dimensional travel was not something he was expecting to encounter, least not experience himself.

“Decepticons: eradicated?”

“No. One cannot eradicate something that has never existed. Our war has not happened, nor will it. At least, that is what I was informed,” Shockwave turned his helm towards the door, “Rust Dust has informed me that we are currently located in a rural town called Primatonta, which is located near a city called Univiron. It was mentioned that it is the hub of scientific endeavors. If we were to travel there, It could be possible to utilize their advancements to return home. Though It is unknown to me whether or not this planet has adequate enough components to pull off such a feat.”

“Natives: Will let Shockwave into their labs? Use their research and tools?” Soundwave’s body language was incredulous, helm tilted and arms crossing in disbelief. Not being immediately attacked was one thing, but letting two outsiders into their labs and accessing research was an entirely different thing. No bot would be that stupid.

A flash of a Vehicon’s face passed through Soundwave’s processor.

Well…some would but those were few in between.

“I do not have a clear answer, but there is no indication that they would consider us a threat. However, persuasion will be applied as necessary should the situation call for it,” Shockwave turned towards the door, his purple bitarlueus biolights flickering in an ominous pattern. His arm cannon was a staunch reminder of what he had lost long ago, but it also served as a reminder that he was not to be trifled with. Many enemies had been felled by him and many would fall if they should dare get in his way, “come, Soundwave. Let us suggest this idea to our host.”

—-

Rust Dust’s residence…was far messier than what one would think for a fellow bot. Numerous trinkets lay scattered across counters and pictures of unfamiliar faces decorated the walls of each corridor. A plethora of luminescent flora hung around her residence, all in various states of living, if one could call it that. Soundwave could almost picture one poor plant calling out desperately for sustenance as its leaves lay limp and dying. It was shocking how much stuff one could have, though it was possible that he just never had the luxury to own anything besides Lazerbeak. He, however, would hardly call her something he owned, as she was as much a part of him as his own spark.

Shockwave cleared his intake, causing Rust Dust to look up briefly from her display screen. Sounds of gunfire ceased as the screen displayed the word ��PAUSE”. She was playing a game that appeared eerily similar to the ones that humans occupied themselves with back on Earth.

“Oh, hey guys. Was that en-...oh. Primus, I’m sorry! I forgot to get that energon for you! Here, one second.” The femme jumped up, rushing around a corridor into a room before rustling through something. No doubt a supply closet as she reappeared with a bright, neon cube. “Here, sorry about that again!” Handing the cube to Soundwave, who tentatively grasped it, she sat back down glancing at them expectantly. “Well…? You guys can take a seat, no need to be so formal!”

There were a few different options; a lengthy cushioned slab, a few metal chairs and a singular cushioned one. Shockwave moved to sit on the slab, his weight shifting the furniture slightly. It was a shock that the furniture even fit a bot like him. Were there others that rivaled his size? Or did the femme simply prefer roomier options? Soundwave remained in place, gaze fixed on the swirling substance he held in his servo. It looked like energon, smelled like it too, but it had a thicker consistency that he remained unsure about as his tentacle emerged to probe at it. Shockwave took it upon himself to speak for the two of them as the other officer occupied himself with the foreign energon.

“After speaking to my companion, we find it best if you were to show us to that science capital you were telling me about earlier. Univiron, was it?” His servo moved to direct attention to the window nearby, attempting to appear casual in the conversation so as to not raise any suspicions, “We make it a point to engage ourselves with fellow scientists. Collaboration is imperative within the field, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yeah, Univiron! I can absolutely show you two around there! I’m sure Lancer and Crosswire would love to hear about your work too. There is a transport system that runs through here every cycle, “ Rust Dust stood from her current lounging position, optics wide with enthusiasm before a realization dawned on her, “but, we’re going to have to visit the actual capital first. I know this might be odd, but we need to get you two registered.”

“We do not intend to stay long term.” Shockwave quickly interjected and Soundwave raised his helm to stare at the femme. Rust Dust held her servos up, sensing the shift in tension.

“Oh no! I didn’t mean for you two to register for permanent residency or anything. When we have newcomers, it’s just standard procedure to get their information and issue them temporary residence if they are staying for more than a solar cycle. It helps the government keep track of resources, spending and who is currently on the planet.”

“Soundwave and Shockwave: will be watched and escorted?” Soundwave’s purple optic bore a hole into the smaller bot. Shockwave had never seen his compatriot’s face before but the striking optic that glowed under the shade of his helm was certainly unnerving. This much was apparent as Rust Dust shifted nervously under the scrutinizing gaze.

“Excuse him. We are just interested in how the council proceeds with situations like this. Will we be treated as guests or as unfavorable characters?” Shockwave quickly diverted attention away as Rust Dust’s ever present smile twitched downwards as her discomfort became palpable.

“Primus no! You won’t be like under surveillance or treated like criminals but you’ll definitely be escorted around. Cyberonica is huge and traveling around can be difficult since you don’t know much about our transportation system. On the bright side there is plenty to do, so think of it more like having a personal chauffeur that will take you to the best spots before you guys leave! You guys are super lucky too. We have some major events coming up!” Rust dust’s upbeat attitude returned, contrasting starkly to the brewing impatience from Shockwave and Soundwave.

“Very well. How long does it take to get to your capital? And once we have an audience with your planet’s officials, will we be granted approval to travel to Univiron?”

“Well…Generatium is five cycles by air transport, so if we leave now we can be there by nightfall. I don’t think you’ll be able to see Univiron for a few days though. Everyone is preparing for the Spark Festival. A lot of our scientists and engineers head to Animatrix to collaborate and make sure the artists are following safety protocols, so there won’t really be any higher ups in the labs.” Shockwave’s antenna twitched, his digits tapping against his tibulen. Patience was a virtue but time was of the essence. This Spark Festival was going to derail his time schedule...

And Primus, ”Spark” festival? What an uncreative name!

“Surely we could engage with those remaining in the lab? Have they not been trained well enough to offer a tour and collaborate? Forgive my impatience, but our trip was meant to be relatively short and we really should be trying to repair our device.”

Trip? Soundwave’s helm tilted slightly. What had Shockwave told the femme about their current circumstance?

“Oh, I think they have, but I’m sure the lead scientists wouldn’t want excess hands in the lab because of safety issues. A lot of the lab personnel left behind are there to make sure that any running experiments are going smoothly and to clean up. You know…basically making sure nothing explodes as Lancer says.”

Soundwave placed a servo on Shockwave’s shoulder plating, signaling for his EM field to retract as the scientist's growing frustration heightened. Exasperated, Shockwave yielded. There would be nothing to gain from threats of violence or impatience. They were not deemed a threat yet, so that is how it should remain until they could find a way home. Any unnecessary actions could prove to be consequential after all.

“That is sound reasoning. Let us travel to Generatium at once then. Soundwave, are you well enough to depart?”

Soundwave silently sipped at the cube through his tentacle, his intake lurching at the odd texture that greeted his fuel lines. His exposed optic shut as he repressed a shudder. He could not taste anything but he was sure that the flavor would be unforgivably nasty.

“Affirmative: Intake levels optimal for short trips.” Shockwave rose, nodding at his fellow officer before turning his attention to Rust Dust who was grabbing a small data pad.

“Perfect. I have my pass right here so we can get going. I’m sure our council members will be able to expedite things including medical care. Those dents and vizor of yours should be easy to fix for our experts!” Rust Dust gave another enthusiastic thumbs up before turning on her heel struts towards the door.

Soundwave’s optic flickered down. To fix his vizor meant for their medical personnel to remove it entirely. He would be exposed. Perhaps he could request the tools and proceed with fixing it himself? Perhaps he could find a way to shield his facial-...

A servo found its way to his shoulder pad. Looking to his side, his gaze met Shockwave’s. A small gesture of comfort. A silent promise.

We will deal with that when the time comes.

—--

The transport station was huge. For as small as Rust Dust described Primatonta to be, the station was a hive of activity. Bots of all sizes rushed to different designations as a femme’s voice announced arrivals and departures. There were large screens that displayed various things above them with one depicting three separate transportation methods; air, water, and land. All with symbols next to them. Prices? It was an educated guess as it was all written in a language that Shockwave was unfamiliar with.

“Soundwave, do any of your databases have information regarding this language?”

“Negative: databases are unable to be accessed at this time. Language: unfamiliar regardless.” Soundwave let a bitter edge seep into his voice. Shockwave had to be aware of the damaged state he was in and yet here he was, being asked nonsensical questions. Though he supposed his irritation was more linked to the vulnerability he felt rather than the scientist being naturally curious.

Shockwave had always been a bright mind that was eager to sponge up any information he could. It was something he had always admired about the mech and it was good to see that he retained that even after all these vorns.

“Alright gentlemechs! I have three tickets for Generatium. We are departing from platform X, and it is leaving in a couple of breems so let's get going!” The femme began bounding towards in a direction that was assumed to be where this platform X was. Shockwave cursed inwardly as he quickened his pace to catch up with the femme, his servo placing itself on Soundwave’s back plate, urging him to follow as best as he could in his current state.

He could only hope that this trip would be over in a timely fashion, but with how many surprises there had been, it was doubtful.

Xx Author's Note xX

Thank you very much for reading! Lots of dialogue and world building coming up.

I'll be posting a peak at the different cities involved in this story. It will include their functions and important events tied with them! Let me know your thoughts!

#shockwave #soundwave #tfp #transformers #transformers animated #transformers prime #bumblebee #cybertronians #decepticons #megatron #starcream #knockout #breakdown #rust dust #crosswire #lancer #fanfic #slow burn #slow build

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cinebration · 2 years ago

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The Darkling’s Shadow (The Darkling x Reader) [Part 3]

After days of waiting, you are finally sent on a mission—alone with the Darkling.

Tagged: @don-daygamerz, @weallhaveadestiny, @kaqua, @sinful-wxrld, @ashdab2611, @ultarviolence, @chodingcreature, @demonenotturno, @crowssixof, @mxacegrey, @dreamlandcreations, @s-r-reads, @byulsrecs, @peleksstuff, @seraferna, @imtherain, @vexedvalerie, @rayrlupin, @peakyispunk

Warnings: mention of blood and gore

Gif Source: chailame

Boredom set in quicker than the mud could dry on your boots. Five days had passed since you had last spoken to the Darkling, let alone glimpsed him in the camp. No new orders had been issued, not even from the Darkling’s right-hand Heartrender, that dour Ivan. The disdain rolling off the man had hardly concealed his fear when showing you your new quarters, his eyes glancing furtively at the white embroidery on your kefta.

At the edge of camp, your tent could only accommodate one person and their bare necessities: an elevated cot and a desk that doubled as a chest. A small wash pot perched precariously on the table beside a lamp low on oil.

“Such luxury,” you had muttered, earning a venomous look from Ivan. He left before you could dismiss him.

Stripping out of your soiled kefta, you washed your hands and forearms in the bowl until the water turned pink and bits of gore floated in it. Dumping the bowl outside of your tent, the water splashing more mud onto your boots, you seized the first person walking past, a woman approximately your age but visibly older from years of war.

“Who do I speak to about washing?” you asked.

The woman gestured in the direction she had just come and hurried off.

Retrieving your kefta, you strode through the camp until you located the washing station. Several Grisha worked diligently around a large pot of water, scrubbing furiously at blood-stained keftas and clothes. They glanced up as one as you approached, took one look at your kefta, and immediately stepped back to make room for you.

You took your time washing the kefta, allowing everyone to gawk at you. You hadn’t yet washed your face or changed out of your clothes, displaying the blood prominently for passersby to see. Whispers swelled around you in a wonderful chorus of fear and disgust.

The soldiers only glimpsed you at meal times in the days since.

Less is more, you reminded yourself each time you collected food. You refused to sit with the other Grisha, keeping to yourself and your tent.

By day three, you caught whispers of the Bonecrusher.

A vicious grin split your lips.

Grisha abilities dictated that you must, at the very least, see a person to apply your power against them. Your training, however, honed over years of concentrated practice, allowed you to sense the bone structures of people beyond your visual capabilities. You could not affect their bones, but you could sense them, could visualize the person’s movements.

Lying on the cot on day five, staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, you passed the excruciatingly slow hours sensing the presence of others scurrying past the closed flap of your abode. Red, blue, and an occasional purple flitted across the thin gap revealing the world beyond your quarters.

The Corporalki were braver than their Etherealki comrades, venturing close to your tent in an attempt to glimpse you. Their skeletons moved furtively but with intense curiosity as they skirted past. One had an old injury in their femur where an inexperienced or perhaps poorly trained Healer had clumsily re-stitched the bone together. Another suffered from a hairline fracture in their collarbone.

A new figure several tents over strode toward you with purpose. After the fourth step, you recognized it as the Darkling.

A thrill shot down to your toes.

Throwing an arm over your eyes, you feigned sleep until the entrance to your tent flapped open, a dark form silhouetted in the entranceway.

“Come,” he commanded.

Unfolding yourself from the cot in no great hurry, you plucked up your kefta from its place across the desk and slipped into it as you followed the Darkling out into the cloudy morning.

All eyes tracked you both as you returned to the Darkling’s tent.

Again it was empty.

Pleasure unfurled in your chest. You wrestled to keep satisfaction from showing on your face.

Sweeping around his war table, the Darkling plucked up a map and spread it out atop everything else. You drew near, scrutinized the map’s depiction of Northern Ravka.

He tapped a fort along the Fjerdan border.

“Ulensk,” you murmured. “I know nothing of it.”

“I expected as much.”

The faintly smug note of his voice pricked you. “If I had grown here in Ravka, I would not have the ability I now possess.”

“You could have been with my army ages ago.”

“As a mere Heartrender with no greater skill than those here.” Shaking your head, you let slip the iron control in your vice, allowing scorn to bleed through. “How you teach Grisha here is abominable—keeping them constrained by senseless ideas of division. Do you think the Black Heretic thought along the lines of convention? No. How else could he create the Unsea?”

You glanced up to meet the Darkling’s gaze, expecting to see displeasure writ large on his fine features. Instead, something inscrutable livened up his eyes. The tendons in his neck were taut, as though his throat strained against him.

You frowned, unsure what to make of it.

Swallowing thickly, he forced his attention down to the map. “The Lantsovs believe the fort is sufficiently defended, but I have reason to believe there are weaknesses there.”

“Structural or…personnel weaknesses?”

“You and I shall find out.”

Quelling the excitement blossoming in your chest, you mused aloud, “If this is meant to be a stealth mission, how many soldiers are we taking with us?”

“None.”

You fixed the man with an incredulous stare. Rising to his full height, he met your gaze levelly, eyes slowly arching in challenge.

“The forest,” you muttered, sweeping your hand over the map, “is an ideal place to ambush and hide a body.”

“Yes, it is.”

You let a smirk pull at your lips, opting for silence. The Darkling’s gaze lingered for a moment longer on your face before he snapped up the map, rolled it into a tight cylinder, and made a sharp gesture of dismissal as he turned his back to you. “We leave at dusk.”

And travel under cover of darkness, you thought, heart hammering deliciously in your chest.

#The Darkling x Reader #The Darkling #The Darkling imagine #Aleksander Morozova x Reader #Aleksander Morozova #Aleksander Morozova imagine #General Kirigan x Reader #General Kirigan #General Kirigan imagine #Ben Barnes x Reader #Ben Barnes #Ben Barnes imagine #Shadow and Bone #Shadow & Bone

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morganaseren · 9 months ago

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Snippet Sunday (Arranged Marriage AU)

Tagged by: @blackjackkent

Tagging forward: @illusivesoul, @this-is-something-idk-what, @noeldressari, @chaosroid, and anyone else who wants to participate!

Pairing: Leliana/Niamh Cousland

Rating: Teen

AU: If You'd Cross An Ocean for Me

Note: Honestly, you could consider this scene to be a continuation to this one I posted a while back.

---

Following dinner, Leliana found that the tent she was meant to share with her new wife had already been pitched up. It was domed in its design, and as expected as one of the leaders of the nomadic coalition, it was larger than many of the others that darted the valley. As La Louve brushed aside the tarp entrance to allow her through, Leliana couldn't help the sudden nervousness that settled over her as she wandered into the darkened space.

With their wedding ceremony and the feast that came afterward, the consummation of their marriage was, of course, to be expected.

Leliana was hardly new to sharing her body with another, whether for romantic intent or to satisfy a carnal curiosity. Despite the abruptness of their arranged marriage, La Louve had so far shown herself to be rather courteous--enough that Leliana wouldn't have been opposed to laying with her.

Still, after Marjolaine, Leliana knew all too well that the persona one presented in public could be so very different when behind the privacy of closed doors...

Before her thoughts could darken upon that memory, her breath hitched when she heard the snapping of fingers behind her. Her startlement had less to do with the sound but the fact that the act itself had instantly lit the candles that were lined in various locations within the tent. It brought a comforting warmth to what had been an unknown space to her.

Leliana could see the clean reed matting placed over the ground, providing a clear separation between the outdoors and one's personal sleeping area. Given how nomadic the Fereldans were, she expected the tent to be rather sparse, which was proven true. Save for a collapsible writing desk and chair along with the bags that held their clothing in the corner, the majority of the space was taken up by the pile of furs that Leliana realized was meant to be their bed.

She found that she had wandered over to it without truly meaning to, and as she reached down to touch a large, silvery pelt, she found that it felt just as soft and luxurious as she had expected. Looking over her shoulder, Leliana found that her wife was still standing at the entryway and hadn't bothered to close the distance between them. From the sheepish expression on the other woman's face, she couldn't help but wonder if La Louve was perhaps just as nervous about the expectations of their marriage as she had been.

Soft lips parted to speak, but before La Louve could voice a single word, a shout--a summon perhaps?--from outside had the woman frowning. In response, La Louve poked her head out of the tent briefly, and Leliana could just barely hear the muffled conversation outside. Before long, her wife flashed a look of apology her way. She didn't understand the words that followed either, but she also didn't miss the way La Louve gestured emphatically toward the bed before she left the tent entirely, her dark cloak sweeping behind her.

All in all, it was... not quite how Leliana expected to end her evening.

With nothing left to do, she began to undress, leaving herself only in her smalls before she tucked herself under the covers of the bedding. She couldn't help her sigh of relief as she sank into the soft furs, grateful for the chance to simply relax after such an eventful day.

An eventful month in general if she were being completely honest.

Exhaustion weighed heavy upon her, but she felt it polite to at least wait for her wife before succumbing to it. However, as the candles around her gradually lowered and dimmed, and with La Louve still nowhere in sight, lethargy settled more quickly into her bones.

A few minutes, Leliana thought to herself, barely suppressing a yawn. She could rest her eyes for a few minutes before continuing her vigil. She curled up more comfortably beneath the covers to take a brief rest, but despite her best intentions, her breathing soon slowed as she transitioned into deeper slumber.

---

When Leliana next awoke, it was to the sound of gentle clamoring outside the confines of her tent along with the scent of food being cooked. Much closer, however, she could hear the repeated scratching of quill against parchment. Blearily shaking off the lingering dredges of sleep from her mind, Leliana slowly sat up in bed, causing the sound of writing to be stopped.

"Leliana."

She recognized her wife's voice immediately. Common was perhaps a coarser language than her native Orlesian, but Leliana had quickly noticed that La Louve and her siblings had a distinct inflection--different from the linguistic standard found in Ferelden--when they spoke. Her wife in particular was rather soft-spoken, and it added a pleasing... lyricality when she uttered the syllables of Leliana's name.

She looked up to see La Louve standing from her desk to deliver two bowls to her: one filled with an arrangement of freshly picked berries while the other held the remnants of the ram they'd had last night but in a stew-like form. Energy for the day ahead, she supposed.

Leliana took the food from her wife gratefully, and if her wife appeared at all discomforted by her current state of undress, the other woman didn't show it, offering only a friendly smile, which she recognized to be genuine.

"Thank you, but did you not eat?"

As expected, her inquiry drew confusion in that gaze even as the smile across from hers remained politely in place. The language barrier was likely going to be a continual test for their marriage, Leliana thought, as she carded a hand tiredly through her hair in an attempt to make it more presentable.

"This," she said, pointing to the bowls atop her lap that were barely half empty. She gestured to La Louve then. "Surely, you need more sustenance than this to get yourself through the morning."

Thankfully, the other woman caught on quickly to what she was trying to ask and responded in kind, saying something in Common as she gestured to the bowls and then back to herself before holding up two fingers.

Two... Leliana's brows furrowed, trying to make sense of what was being conveyed to her. Her second bowl then?

"You already ate?"

La Louve seemed to confirm as much with a nod although it was done hesitantly, as if she wasn't sure if she completely understood the question.

"I see." Leliana huffed out a small laugh at the early morning charades before picking up the spoon in the stew bowl. "Thank you then."

With a relieved smile, her wife wandered back over to her desk to begin working anew on the various missives atop it. With the way the other woman's cloak was so casually draped across the back of her chair, it didn't seem she or the Fereldans were in any rush to leave the area anytime soon. Still, there was likely work to still be done, and she didn't want her new wife and clan to think she was a layabout. As such, she ate her fill before preparing her mind for the rest of the day ahead.

---

It was on her second week with the Fereldans that Leliana found herself growing increasingly perplexed, but it had little to do with the differing customs.

No, that had long been expected.

Rather, her bemusement came with her wife's continual disappearance from their tent whenever night fell. It wasn't as if her wife was avoiding her, Leliana knew. La Louve was always at her desk when Leliana awoke in the morning, rode at her side when it was time to travel, and joined her for every meal.

Yet, Leliana still went to bed alone.

Frowning as she stared at the empty pile of furred pelts, she finally wandered out of the tent to seek an answer. Of course, she soon realized that trying to find one was quickly turning out to be an exercise in frustration.

She had tried to speak with a group of returning hunters to find the whereabouts of La Louve, but, as always, the language barrier proved to be too much. They were hardly rude as they stood there, struggling to understand what she requested of them. As the wife of one of their leaders, perhaps they were wary of showing anything less than the proper deference to her. Still, after a time, one of them--a mage if the staff over her shoulder was any indication--motioned for Leliana to follow her.

She sound found herself led to one of the campfires dotted around the area. As luck would have it, both of La Louve's siblings were there. The mage shouted a greeting, drawing the attention of the two warriors, who saw Leliana and grinned widely in greeting. Both rose to meet her, but the mage who led her there got to them first.

A rapidfire conversation followed that Leliana had no chance of understanding, and the two leaders' gazes darted to her every few seconds, but from the puzzlement in their own gazes, it didn't seem they were any closer in offering her the answer she desired either. The mage could only offer a smile of apology to her before she quickly left to find the other hunters and help dress and preserve their catch of the evening.

Weary, Leliana was all but prepared to return to her tent at that point, but she tried yet again with a small sigh. "Do you know where La Louve is?"

The two warriors glanced at one another for a long moment before the blonde woman spoke to her.

“Neev?”

Of course, the word itself meant nothing to her, so Leliana couldn't help but stare blankly in response.

“Lah… loov?” the woman asked haltingly, trying to form the Orlesian words. She then drew her head back to emit a low pantomime of a wolf’s howl before raising her brows in question at Leliana, who recognized at once what she was trying to tell her.

“Yes! La Louve!" she replied excitedly, relieved at having finally gotten a lead. "Do you know where she is?”

The woman could only grin smugly at her brother, who rolled his eyes before waving her off. “Neev,” she said profoundly before escorting Leliana away.

Neev?

Leliana tossed the word around her mind for several minutes as La Louve's sister led her through the throng of tents. The way the other woman had said it seemed important however--at least in relation to her wife.

She blinked then.

Was it La Louve's actual name?

Before long, they had gotten past the settlement and were making their way down a grassy incline towards the riverbank. The fires of the camp didn't encroach as far out, but with the twin moons hanging overhead, there was little concern about losing their way in the dark.

Or finding La Louve as it turned out.

The woman in question was sitting at the edge of the water atop a bedroll with a sketchbook in hand, determinedly filling in the details of something or other on the page. Leliana knew she always carried it about when they were traveling. Her wife was apparently quite the artist, one who could often be found documenting the flora and fauna around them when her duties as the clan's emissary weren't needed.

"Neev!" the warrior beside her boomed out humorously, causing that dark head to turn toward them.

Moonlit eyes were surprised to see them there although La Louve seemed less than pleased to see her sibling if her expression was any indication. Although Leliana didn't understand the words being spoken between them, the rapport of sibling banter was as universal a language as anything. She bit her lip to keep from laughing when she saw La Louve's eyes roll so hard in exasperation at her sister's comment that she was almost half-convinced they were going to roll right out of their sockets. Having had her fill of the teasing, La Louve clicked her tongue and summoned the mabari pup that had been laying next to her.

In response, the white-furred puppy rose to his paws and immediately placed himself between the warrior and his mistress, bristling and yapping with infantile fury even though his current foe was several times his size. It was so adorable that Leliana almost couldn't resist cooing at the sight. La Louve's sister laughter was a deep, bellowing sound, but she held her hands up placatingly while backing away from the pup. Still, the little mabari insisted on herding the woman away from the two of them, tail wagging all the while--likely pleased at protecting his favorite human--while barking at the warrior's ankles in a vain attempt to get her to move faster. The sounds of them both soon faded away as they passed the perimeter of the encampment.

"Leliana is... okay?"

Leliana turned to see La Louve looking up at her with concern, but she smiled. "I'm fine, yes. I was just curious as to where you've been all these nights." As expected, all she received in return were dark, furrowed brows as her wife tried to piece together what she was saying with little success. Leliana shook her head, unbothered. "But never mind that. Is Neev your name?”

Ghostly-grey eyes lit up toward the end of her sentence, and Leliana felt she was making progress with communicating with her although perhaps not quite enough to bridge the language together just yet. She glanced down at her wife's sketchbook and found the woman had been drawing a flower of some sort but had also written some notes next to it. As she eyed the writing, she found Orlesian and Common shared a similar alphabet although the latter seemingly lacked any diacritics.

Leliana gathered her cloak more tightly around herself to ward against the night's chill before crouching beside the bedroll, motioning for the sketchbook and charcoal pencil in La Louve’s hands, who gave them away without much protest. In little time at all, Leliana had her own name written on a fresh page, which she showed to her wife.

"Leliana." She pointed to the page emphatically before gesturing to herself. "Leliana," she repeated again, watching as more understanding filled her wife's gaze. With the connection made, she proceeded to write what she assumed to the other woman's name just below her own. "Neev," she stated then, pointing to her writing.

After a brief inspection, Leliana could see her wife was very clearly trying not to laugh at her if the smile threatening to curl at the edge of her lips was any indication. Clearing her throat, La Louve gestured for the sketchbook back. From there, the other woman proceeded to cross out the attempt at her name before writing something else down in a neat, flowing script that she finished with a flourish, which she presented to her.

"Niamh."

It was... clearly not spelled as Leliana had expected, and when she looked back up with suspicious eyes, La Louve--no, Niamh--merely smiled.

"Are you just teasing me now?"

Niamh bit her lip, shoulders shaking silently, before writing down another name on the page. “Fergus,” she announced, pointing to her brother in the distance, who Leliana could see was helping another clanmate set up a tent. The spelling was more or less what she had anticipated it would be, but when Niamh pointed to her sister, who was currently wrestling with an absolute beast of a mabari--and was laughing maniacally all the while if her ears were to be believed--the arrangement of letters that had been revealed to her was even more complex than Niamh's own name.

"Saoirse."

Silence.

"Now you are teasing me..."

Leliana doubted her wife completely understood what she'd said, but she supposed her expression said enough for the both of them because the laughter that spilled from her wife's lips then were akin to the wind chimes that hung along the stables back at her mother's estate--airy and beautiful in their tinkling sound.

"Alright then, Niamh," she said with some measure of humor once her wife's amusement faded on the breeze. "Why are you sleeping out here--" She tapped at the bedroll the woman was sitting on. "--and not in our tent?" she finished, gesturing toward the Fereldan encampment.

As her wife's gaze following her outstretched arm, Leliana wasn't expecting any answer she would truly comprehend, but the pensiveness she saw settling on Niamh's features had her curious as the woman turned back to her.

"I sleep here to..." A jaw worked itself thoughtfully as she struggled to find the words. "...To give Leliana comfort alone."

Leliana blinked as she turned Niamh's answer about in her head.

If she understood correctly, her wife had taken to sleeping out beneath the stars every night because of her. It wasn't far from her initial assumption. Their marriage was still new, and with them both being of different cultures, perhaps Niamh hadn't wanted to overstep any boundaries Leliana might have had. Rather than inadvertently risk making her uncomfortable, Niamh had stayed away to allow Leliana to acclimate to her new surroundings alone.

It was... very thoughtful, Leliana could admit. Unnecessary but thoughtful all the same.

"Well, if you won't join me in our tent, then may I at least sit here?" she asked, tapping the bedroll repeatedly with her request.

Her wife's gaze turned to Leliana and the bedding several times before her eyes widened in seeming realization. The other woman nodded rapidly with her consent, making room for Leliana, but she scooted herself over so much that Leliana couldn't help but laugh when Niamh nearly ended up on the grass.

"Come here, Silly!" she said, reaching out to steady her wife before she needed to fish her out of the river. She tugged her closer across the bedroll and marveled at the warmth emanating from the mage's body even on such a cool night. She smiled. "There's space enough for both of us, no?"

---

And that's it for now! I always love writing soft things about these two! If you liked this, please leave me a like or comment, and consider checking out the other AUs I have!

#dragon age #leliana #female cousland/leliana #OTP: What If We Rewrite the Stars?#AU: If You'd Cross An Ocean for Me #my writing #lee's au ideas #yes i know this snippet was longer than i planned it to be #i'm also aware it's not sunday anymore 😂#i'm always very slow with these things unfortunately #again this is still very early on in their relationship for this AU #it's not realistic for leliana to understand niamh's language and vice versa just yet #niamh probably sounds like a cavewoman here trying to communicate with leliana but i promise it won't be forever!#please tell me i did good 🥺

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bonezone44 · 1 year ago

Text

Quick and Dirty (18+)

Ezra x afab!Reader

Word Count: 2,1k

Secret Santa Prompt for @gasolinerainbowpuddles : Ezra discovers they have a foot fetish and wants to explore it with you.

Tags: feet, frottage, tiny mention of past anal, f-masturbation, toeing the line of ball-torture maybe??

Reader pet names: starlette, mama

Ezra pet names: little boy, baby

@@@@@@

The room you rented on the station was small, but quiet. The walls were a warm yellow and the bedspread was the color of pale jute. It was soft, too, and more luxurious than you had experienced in years. But you could afford it–you and Ezra had just finished a prosperous contract on the Green and the bonuses you gained (through less than honest means) had filled your pockets heavy.

You were feeling victorious. Like you owned the whole wide universe and all the riches within. And with a loyal, beguiling man by your side.

////

He had approached you in the early weeks on Bakhroma's moon, offering his guidance on harvesting aurelac, and you allowed it. Allowed him to speak to you on a private radio channel, to hover close and guide your hand through the thick layers of your enviro-suits. Allowed him to condescend and cradle your ego as if you were brand new to womanhood in the big, bad Fringe.

It made his expression of shock all the more amusing when you harvested a gem on your own in 13 seconds flat.

“What? Was it supposed to be harder?” You asked with a wry grin.

His wide eyes and gaping maw shifted when he caught the glint of your teeth holding tight to your bottom lip.

“Well well well,” he drawled, his mouth twisting into a grin of his own. “A little trickster, are we?”

“I wasn't tricking you.” You chuckled, unmoving, boring your eyes so deep into his, you were practically groping his soul. “I liked your little game. I didn't mind playing along.”

He lowered his voice. “I know a few more if you're interested.” He tilted his head, appraising you. “Perhaps you and I can amuse ourselves in a more private location once the day's tasks have been completed.”

“Perhaps,” you mused.

The rest of your time spent on the Green that was not dedicated to harvesting or recovery, was spent making love and fucking dirty in a dimly lit shared tent. Your enviro-suits half-on, half-off. Your sweaty skins sliding against one another. Mouths devouring the salt of your natures.

////

The shower of your room was simple. And while you would have found more rest and relaxation in the deep waters of a bathtub, you were pleased by the accommodation. It was satisfying to watch the weeks of dirt and grime and work get washed down the small round metal drain. You scrubbed every inch of your skin raw, as if it would birth your body anew.

It worked well enough. You exited the shower feeling bright and shiny, eager to apply lotion to your tender shell.

***

Ezra sat in the window sill, gazing out at the bustling station below. His jumpsuit was unzipped and tied around his waist by the sleeves, exposing the long-sleeved white undershirt hanging loose and ill-fitting on his form. In his hand was a canister of sweet wine that he emptied slowly, sip by sip as you showered.

A new thought had occurred to him. A new spark of inspiration created by your presence–your magnetism. He hadn't considered it before. He'd had plenty of partners in his time, but none that could read him quite like you could. And here in this shared space, for the first time he can remember, his mind was not preoccupied by the next job, the next journey. He was satisfied for once to rest–and without the dread of the vacation's end creeping in the back of his mind.

No. Instead, his mind was busy thinking and obsessing over you. Over your body. And the way it made him itch and burn and ache for your touch.

A new thought sprang to mind when you two first stepped into the room and you began to immediately undress. He had seen your body before, but watching you remove your jumpsuit, untie and unravel the laces that criss-crossed up the center of your boots, unsheath your feet from long thick socks that protected you from chafe and blister--it all caused a hypnotic trance.

You retreated to the shower unaware. But Ezra was never one to keep his thoughts to himself for very long.

When you returned to the room, he made his move.

He left his wine behind on the windowsill as you plopped onto the bed, situating yourself right in the middle. You reached over and grabbed a small tub of cream from the nightstand.

Ezra lowered his knees on the end of the bed, his weight sinking down into the mattress. “Starlette?”

“Hmm?” You answered, rubbing the thick lotion into your arms and shoulders. It smelled faintly of flowers.

“You have honored me greatly these past few weeks.” He hummed. Eyed you up and down. “Sharing your divine form with a mere mortal such as myself.”

You threw your head back with laughter. “What do you want, Ezra?” You massaged the lotion into your elbows. “I'm too tired for you to put anything in my ass tonight.”

He released a breathy chuckle, eyes locked on your lower half as your hands moved to your breasts. “A knuckle would not exhaust you–” he stopped himself. Shook his head. “--not that that is what I am seeking to explore with you in this moment.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then what?” You grinned. “What praytell has you looking like a little puppy dog begging for scraps?”

Ezra bit his lip. One eyebrow arched high into his forehead. He took a deep breath causing the hem of his shirt to ride up and expose his belly, a brief line of hair. He reached forward. “I have yet to fully appreciate–” The long fingers of his left hand trailed down your shin. “--all parts of your angelic physique.” He laid his warm palm on your forefoot, fingers wrapping around your instep. His thumb rubbed circles on your ankle.

“What… what do you mean?”

He glanced up to find your mouth agape, eyelids heavy. Your hands frozen on your outstretched thigh. Lines of cream around the edges of your fingers.

Ezra pursed his lips. “While you were taking your time cleansing yourself of any and all filth.” He released your foot, fingertips tracing along your toes. “I was out here, sinking into the very depths of the gutters as I imagined what it would feel like to slide my cock against these beautiful feet.”

“Ezra,” his name released from your lungs like a plea. You stretched and curled your toes against his touch, causing him to grunt. Causing his hips to thrust forward into nothing.

“Would that please you as well?” He asked with a smile, brows high, making lines in his forehead.

“I think it would,” you whispered.

“Immaculate,” he whispered back.

***

He crouched down on his hands. His eyes locked with yours as he gripped your left foot. He trailed soft, lingering kisses with his pouting lips down the top of it and across your toes. His tongue slipped between the big and second toe from underneath, flicking as if his mouth was on your cunt.

You gasped and twitched.

Ezra grinned and sucked your second toe into his mouth. Then he sucked your third toe in along with it.

“Kevva's grace,” you moaned. Your hands returned to your breasts. Cupping and squeezing them in your palms.

Ezra placed a chaste kiss on the tip of your big toe. “As soon as I worry that I am asking you to indulge me, I discover that I am, in fact, indulging you.”

“Congratulations,” you quipped. You unfolded your right leg, splaying your toes and offering your other foot for Ezra to enjoy. You squeezed your thighs together to alleviate the growing ache between your legs.

Warmth spread through your chest as Ezra rubbed his cheek against the bottom of your right foot, like a cat spreading his scent. He licked up the arch with the flat of his tongue, before delving the tip of it into the little gaps between each toe. Sucking one of your little piggies into his mouth whenever he so felt the desire to.

Your feet were turning into a sloppy mess. And after all that time scrubbing them in the shower, too.

You had to lean back on one of your hands to keep yourself upright. The lotion long forgotten. Your breasts needn't any more attention, either. Watching Ezra worship your feet with his drooling mouth and reddening lips was enough. He made you feel like a goddess. Made you wanna give up the whole wide universe to take care of his every need. You brought your fingers between your legs, unsurprised by the pooling slick.

“Fuck, Ezra,” you groaned as you used two fingers to spread your wetness through your folds. “You're a dirty little boy, aren't you?”

“I'm terrible, mama.” He locked eyes with you and smiled mischievously. He massaged the ball of your right foot with his thumb. “Is mama gonna let her dirty little boy fuck these pretty feet?”

“Yeah,” you moaned and fell on your back, freeing your legs to move as he pleased. “Fuck my feet, baby boy.”

***

Ezra leaned up with a groan, his brain focused solely on sexual pleasure. “Mama's so good to her little boy.” He inched forward on his knees. He grabbed your right foot again and pressed it against the aching bulge trapped beneath his jumpsuit. “Little boy can't be without his mama. Can't come without mama.” He whimpered with his lips pursed and flicked his hips in small tight bursts. The knowledge that it was nothing more than the arch of your foot providing the pressure made his cheeks burn. Made his hardness harder. “Shitshitshit,” he cursed through gritted teeth. His eyes screwed shut. He focused on nothing but the growing fire through his body. Teasing himself. Pushing his limits. He groaned. “Mama, please.”

“Take that cock out, baby boy,” you said, your own hips curling to fuck your own fingers.

“Thank you, mama. Thank you,” he huffed out. He groaned and swiftly tugged his jumpsuit down further–

“Just the cock.”

“Fuck,” Ezra groaned, leaving his balls trapped against the tight knot of his sleeves. “Mama, please,” he begged again with his lips pursed and his brows tight.

He held his cock tight at the base.

“Just this foot,” you said, loving to deny him a little. You pressed your right foot forward, damp with his saliva, and spread his pre-come around with your big toe.

He gasped. “Oh, fuck,” Ezra groaned again. “Mama’s so mean. Mama's mean.” He chewed his lips, his eyes glazed over and staring at you.

You scoffed. “Mama's giving her dirty little boy just what he needs.” Your own eyes were barely open. Your fingers sliding around your clit.

“Lemme have it, mama.” Ezra’s face had gone red. Sweat lined his temples. “Please.”

“Then take it, baby boy,” you laughed through panting breaths. “I’m not stopping you.”

With his free hand, he grabbed your foot and held it tight against his thick cock. He thrusted and grinded against your arch and big toe.

“Mmm�� mmm…” He whimpered. “Wanna come on these pretty little toes, mama.” He bit hard into his bottom lip.

“Oh yeah?” Your face burned. You could feel the heat rising within yourself.

“Oh shit yeah,” he slurred.

“Go ahead, baby boy.” You splayed your toes again. “Make a big ol’ mess for mama. Come on. Come on.”

His hips stuttered and he gasped. His eyes rolled back in his head as his come spurted upward. It covered your toes and the top of your foot.

“Mama's dirty little boy made a mess. Made a big mess!” You groaned loud with your orgasm, fingers working your clit fast after seeing his spend slide down your foot.

Kevva's grace! You might just be in love with this man. He was right. Every time he pleaded for you to indulge him, he woke up some new spark of sexual fervor inside of your brain. Sending your psyche spiraling. Sending your heart into free fall. Shit, you barely recognized yourself. No other man had ever crawled so deep inside of your skin, found a safe place to nestle, found a tender hearth to call home.

Ezra fell forward onto the bed, reaching haphazardly to free his balls from their confines. “I worship you, starlette.”

You giggled. “I know, baby. I know.”

@@@@@@

#ezra prospect #x reader

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uyuartik · 6 months ago

Text

othello ch.5| anakin skywalker x reader

tags: othello au mini series, no major character death (just want to make that clear), borderline dark fic, anakin's shifty nature, finally some revelations about things, betrayals, probably the most unedited chapter in the series...

summary: Things finally unravel.

also crossposted on ao3!

word count: 2271

prologue | ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | finale

chapter 5

His heart settled on one thing in the morning, when he saw your room, every drawer and wardrobe open, contents on the floor forming a cloud made out of fabrics, and you, curled up on the bed, totally inconsolable despite Emilia’s best efforts. The redness of your eyes indicated two things clearly, how you lacked sleep and how you spent the night crying instead. Emilia seemed to share your woes too, her face was sunken and wet and weary- yet nowhere compared to yours. He all saw this through the ajar door, the hallway empty of the anxious maids, deflected by the echoing your sobs. Your face was pressed to the pillows, yet Emilia was sitting, so she was the only one who noticed his presence, and that split-second eye contact was enough to convey her aversion. But like yesterday, there was something off- the disapproval that came from how he was unfit to be with you, that he would treat you poorer than you deserved eventually (even though she had every reason to believe that was the case), or the partiality he faced was not the source of her emotions. It was personal, as if she was more tentative now, fearing the damage could be lodged to her too. It was fear, hidden under these bluffs, scattering anger as a cover.

What bluffs did she have for you, then?

As much as his mind was still divided, the urge to believe in you weighed heavier, as always. And whatever the case, he couldn’t stand seeing you upset. His heart rotted whenever he witnessed even the slightest downturn of the corner of your lips, let alone tear yourself up like this. But the roots of evil Iago had planted dug deeper into his spirit, and he couldn’t interact with you without resolving this matter once and for all. Also, the thought of separating you from your only “friend”, was downright cruel. He was not perfect, but he would never be that wicked.

Thus, he kept on walking, throwing himself out of the house with only a purpose on his mind.

===

The method did not come easily to him as the purpose did- and he found himself scouring every neighborhood, every pub, every commander’s room to find a clue, to find someone who could spill the answers, yet he was not that lucky, and now he had no idea how he spent the entire day, achieving nothing but strains in his muscles.

When his feet led him back to his home, late in the night, all that changed.

He was ready to hear the whispers of the staff, quietly but surely talking about the day they left on the way to their respite, but that was not the source of the hushed argument that reached his ears. His eyes were quick to locate the source- Emilia and Iago tucked away in a corner, having a heated discourse that clearly was too urgent be had that they couldn’t wait to be in their own house. Normally, he would not eavesdrop on this- he had a beautiful life that didn’t involve this kind of transgression.

But, having Iago slither into his very soul, and the inclinations he had about her this morning, Anakin listened.

And he heard enough.

“-you need to give it back. Whatever feud you have with Othello- I don’t mind it. But she doesn’t deserve this.“

“He deserves it for letting me rot while he makes a captain out of that scoundrel Cassio, so she toodeserves it. I won’t let him have even the luxury of her, he will know total desperation, just the way he made me desperate! First, I took his right-hand man away, disgraced him with his own foolish shenanigans and with his own lust for that local whore, I shall end him, and in the process, she will be tarnished too, another black spot in his life.”

“Do you even listen? The way you’re handling this- we’re going to lose it all! If they learn I gave that handkerchief to you, it will all come down. This has gone too far, I never agreed to things ending up like this.”

“Come down?” He snickered. ”I am about to win it all! If you have so much concerns now, you may better pray that she doesn’t have enough life left in her to find out the truth, fiance.”

God, he could strangle both of them on the spot without as much as twitching.

Knowing only that it was his plot, without all the details that heralded him into this position- he would still be content and his conscious would be at peace forever, even washed in their blood. He knew that reason said that he should lock them up first, make them confess, for everyone and for you to learn but a part of him knew, hoped that you’d believe him if he just said what he’s heard- you’d still believe him- and even if you didn’t, it’d because he deserved it, and he would gladly surrender to the fact.

But, he didn’t do any of those. With his nails digging into his palms enough to draw blood, he saw the couple resuming the fight, and he made his way to you, to warn you about Emilia. Every word she had uttered to you was poison, and you needed the antidote, fast. He first had to be sure that you knew that.

When he met your sleeping body, he felt the air returning to his lungs again.

Safe.

Curled atop your wedding sheets.

Of course, he couldn’t help but remember that night. Nothing but the pitch black sea across the horizon, the faint sounds of the crew and their little illicit party they were having down the deck (well, it was only useful that there was noise to drown out yours, and who was Anakin to deny them happiness while he found the lifelong source of it), your relatively small dowry chest tucked into the corner of his cabin… Your white nightgown and the linen sheets were probably sitting in it for ages, all planned out years ago, yet the unplanned part was just as magical, like how deft you were to open his buttons (he had to comment on your talent- knowing it was not talent but eagerness, the joke perhaps not suited for the occasion but you two made it work) and how ticklish you were when he touched your waist for the first time. You had ended up in pretty much the exact position, only with the addition of his body hugging you from behind, the sweat gleaming on your skin, breathless and smiling with all your teeth.

How much and how little had changed since then?

“Ani?”

Shit, before bringing himself to hinder you from the only peace you’ve known lately, you had woken up. Your voice was creaking, and your eyes were barely open, stinging due to all those tears, and you moved slowly, raising only half of your body from the bed.

He strode against the room in three large steps, kneeling beside you. Still, you were so disoriented that your body refused to straighten, to dangle your legs from the edge of the bed. The only reaction you had was your low sound of surprise that caught against the rawness of your throat and mattered little in terms of pitch.

“Ani- My lord… I can’t find it anywhere.”

“I will make this go away, and beg for your forgiveness til the end of times.” He looked at your puffy eyes, even if yours escaped his gaze. His hands landed beside your thighs, not touching, for he saved that for later, for the time you needed it more than his explanation. He had frightened you enough. “Just stay here, and don’t let anybody in.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I will explain it later, angel.”

Your heart fluttered at the adoration he used. It almost created a whiplash effect, another earthquake to shatter your world, but alsoa wave of relief washed over your mind, clearing doubts from it. You were still in the dark, proven by this exact position, his restriction of himself to touch you, the promise of his plea, but it was enough for you to feel lighter, unburdened after days of emotional heavy lifting.

Unfortunately, time was of the essence when there were traitors on the loose, so he stood up, murder in his eyes. You still reached for him. “Please, don’t leave.”

“I’ll be back once I make this right.”

“No, wait.”

You were finally on your feet by the time all hell broke loose.

His eyes flitted to the door, spotting the bitch you called a friend, watching dread fill her eyes. She dropped the tray she was carrying, and the disturbing noise echoed through the hallway. You opened your mouth-

“Don’t speak to her!” Anakin shouted, and walked towards her, his body towering over hers in a blink. He grabbed her arm, and while it was nothing good, the fury in his face suggested he was holding himself back from doing worse. “You thief! Living under our roof, eating our food, stealing from her and pretending to care for her like it wasn’t your doing!” He dragged her downstairs, to the garden where he had seen them minutes ago, unphased by screams that came from both of you. Even a servant shrieked a little when she saw the scene, quickly covering her mouth with her hand and stepping back in order to stay away from the route he was storming through.

The only reason he stopped, halfway through the gates, in the middle of the garden – the wet grass reminded you that your feet were bare a little too late- was that he spotted the actual mastermind, the man who turned his weeks into a living hell for his own treacherous reasons. He strode towards him with a newfound ferocity, yanking his hand back from her with disgust. She fell, as a victim of momentum.

“You!”

It was taken. Just as he said. And it was Emilia who took it.

And it was only half of the news. The remaining part was everyone’s guess, albeit it was more of a belief at first, a fact, undetailed and consequence-free. You came to terms with that after your shift.

You don’t know why you acted the way you are, planting yourself between Iago and Anakin, but that’s where you found yourself. Perhaps it was the sight of Anakin reaching for his sword, while Iago was a little too late to act on his own weapon. Because you knew when your husband appealed to violence, it ended swiftly and permanently. That was not the fate he deserved.

As the bringer of this plot, as the maker of your agony, he deserved every tormenting second of his confession, and trial, the humiliation for his atrocious wishes, the shame of carrying this fate til death paid him a visit.

And his punishment started now. With his own words, spilled in utter defeat.

Anakin, as his hand rested on the handle of his blade, and you, your airy touch on his wrist, ready to retreat at any moment, posed enough threat for him to speak.

“Drop your sword.” Anakin commanded, and he unbuckled the belt, letting it fall to the floor with a clitter. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I might’ve not ended you, but I will rejoice with the knowledge that I gave you hell for a couple of weeks.”

So. It was true.

“What about the hell you’re giving yourself and everyone around you for the rest of your life?”

Emilia’s sob echoed.

“I. Have. No. Regrets.”

He truly was the devil, standing in front of you, smirking.

You didn’t know how it happened, but your fingers acted on the dagger Anakin kept at his waist, and you hurtled it towards Iago with a scream-

It didn’t meet his body, for your arm was captured in the air by Anakin.

What were you doing?

This was the first and only time you’ve understood the urge to kill, to be the justice itself, acting out your own laws and punishments, and it didn’t feel wrong at all. You could’ve defended that this was the right way, putting shame on all your moral and societal values. He deserved the pain, the wound and the beating, and you deserved to implement them, hurt him for the hurt he’s caused, perhaps a remedy to your blinding need for vengeance.So, you just squeezed your palm around it tighter while surrendering to Anakin, keeping your muscles tight enough to parallel his, letting him wrap his other hand around your waist, tucking your shoulder under his chin. His warm breath synchronized with yours, anchoring you to the world. The weight of your fury was being shared, and you felt it become more bearable yet burn brighter at the same time.

“And I will laugh forever with the fact that I. broke. her.” Iago spat, eyes boring into yours shamelessly.

“No, the only fact is how far you are to have true love.” Anakin glared. Stepping sideways, the two of you allowed his eyes to spot the now empty spot where Emilia once fell. You saw the fury being reignited in his face, but the mixture of basic emotions that brew inside invisible, the disappointment and jaelousy… What she has done was nothing unhonorable, whether it be running away from her evil fiance, or surrendering herself to the nearest authority.

She had to live with herself after all, and that was her punishment.

#anakin skwalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker angst #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin x reader

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