#maybe the corner of a tower dug in?

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Oh I am an idiot sandwich

[wearysparrows]

Twice the Sun Rises

ao3/masterlist

Summary: Caleb stands you up for dinner for unknown reasons. You make your way to a club in Skyhaven, and he intercepts your time with a stranger. Back at his apartment, you tell him the truth of your feelings.

cw (18+): female reader, reader is mc, Cock Warming, pnv sex, Creampie, Jealousy, Alcohol usage, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Pseudo-Incest, mentions of eating disorders, Mentions of Suicide, Pet Names, Happy Ending, Not Beta Read 6.5K\

Caleb was late.

You had agreed to meet at a restaurant in Skyhaven. He was pulling another late night, and planned to come straight from his duties as the Colonel to meet with you. Your relationship had remained tumultuous at best, but he had been making every effort to reconcile with you in the only ways he knew how. The same ways he had reconciled with you as a child. You checked your phone for the umpteenth time that night. No new texts from Caleb. It was nearly forty-five minutes past the time you had agreed to meet. Even with the ways he had changed, and in some sense, the things you were unable to recognize – you knew this wasn’t like him. He was always cordial. Usually, replies to your texts came almost instantly, and your phone calls were answered within two rings. Still, doubt dug dirty little claws into the corners of your mind. Maybe he didn’t want to see you. Maybe he was hung up with someone else. Even as the Colonel, he was still handsome, successful. It wasn’t impossible. You knew very little of Caleb’s private life, despite his assertion that he was an open book. The past was certainly open – but the state of the future remained continually uncertain. 

  You had picked somewhere mid-scale, hidden away in a corner of Skyhaven that wouldn’t draw too much attention. Despite Caleb’s insistence that all would be well, the idea of being seen with him while he was the Colonel seemed, in your mind, to bode poorly for both of you. You tapped your finger anxiously on the table. The unused silverware reflected your frowning face back at you. You cast your gaze from it. You had yet to order, and the waiter was flitting about nervously in your periphery – clearly wanting to clear the section of you to make room for patrons who were actually paying. Considering Caleb had chosen tonight to be otherwise occupied, who were you to deny the waiter his paycheck? With a barely constrained sigh, you lifted yourself from the booth and quietly slipped from the dark warmth of the restaurant back into the street, the door finalizing your leave with a soft bell behind you. 

Now what?

You were in Skyhaven, and it was late. The air had taken on a new lightness of chill that it hadn’t had when you had first arrived. You should have brought a jacket. It wasn’t as if you could just take the next train back to Linkon and disappear quietly in your sheets to accept the truth of your abandonment. You could go to Caleb’s apartment, (he had given you the master key, after all) but that idea seemed even less enticing, considering the logistics of your current situation. You needed a middle ground to wait it out, until Caleb deigned to grace you with his presence. You looked up at the night sky. Not a star was visible for the density of the light pollution, blocked out even further by the towering black skyscrapers. Without the permanent residents of the sky to guide your way, you suddenly felt lonely. Afraid. 

Perhaps Caleb’s return from the other side of death was all just a fantasy you had dreamed in your delirium, and you had brought yourself here to meet the illusion of your brother for a date. How could you have laid a body down when you hadn’t even been able to hold his ghost in your arms one final time?  The world outside seemed to reflect your uncertainty. Lights around you blurred, and your body, ever the machine that you had pushed to its utmost limits, picked a direction that seemed productive to head in. You let your legs carry you past all manner of buildings, seeing nothing, brushing against other goers of the night, who looked at you with a mix of concern and confusion clear on their faces. The attention did nothing to help your state. You needed to hide. From them, from yourself. From your brother’s ghost.

You picked an establishment at random, one that seemed like you could disappear into a crowd, in the back of the bar, and let the pulse of sounds drown the spectre of Caleb back into the world of infinite shadow where it belonged. A sign outside glowed faintly yellow. The Golden Fleece, it read.

  There was virtually no line. The bouncer let you in wordlessly after you produced your ID. You slipped inside, and were immediately integrated into a throng of pulsating bodies in various degrees of undress. The smell was that of the sweat of the night, permeated by the heat of alcohol. Music with a deep, rhythmic bass welcomed you with a fervent undercurrent of antagonism, and you felt as if it met your heartbeat in time. Your blood coursed with the melody, and you were accepted further and further into the writhing mass of limbs. Your breath still hadn’t found you completely, and you searched for somewhere to lean – to rest. A wall. You pushed your way through until you found it, and leaned your back against it, blessedly. It was cold through the back of your dress. How long had it been since you had worn something besides your uniform? You regretted leaving its comfort behind in the name of trying to look nice for Caleb.

Caleb.

You studied the floor, focusing on the rhythm of the music instead of the impossible race your own thoughts were attempting to conduct. Something out of time, disjointed. Strange and staccato around the forbidden shape of your brother’s name.

Your brother. The one you had come here to escape the thought of. 

Providentially, a distraction in the form of a man appeared. Your first impression of him was a pair of monk-strap shoes that seemed a little too nice for this fine establishment, even if the club was, to your eye, upscale. Your eyes drifted up and up. He was tall – not Caleb tall, but enough. He had a bright face, with pretty golden curls, like Apollo, and blue eyes full of white light. Nothing like the dark hair and deep lilacs of your brother, but enough. He had straight teeth, too. He didn’t have a crooked tooth. Not like Caleb.

It would have to be enough.

He was leaning down to talk into your ear, over the sounds of the music, asking you if you wanted a drink in a deep voice with an accent you couldn’t place. Not the fond, boyish sound your brother had retained, despite growing up into such a big man. You agreed, and let him order you one – no, two drinks from the bar. Somehow, he had led you by the hand to the stools and sat you next to him. You sipped the drinks interchangeably. Both were too sweet. Not the sour tastes Caleb liked. Hawthorn, lemon. You could almost taste them on his breath when his face would come close.

Your new companion was surprisingly pleasant – a strangely stark contrast to the dark of the club, with his halo of curls and pale skin. You found yourself warming to him unexpectedly, despite the dullness of his conversation. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the shade that nipped at your heels, the one that left footprints in the shape of your brother’s behind it. The man’s hand covered yours on the bar, and you let it. His right hand was warm. Not like Caleb’s. Not like the one he had lost. When you resonated with him, you could feel the undercurrent of its cold, persistent ache. The pain was always there. A constant reminder of how he perceived himself. No longer whole. A tool. A body to be used. Not your brother. Not a man. A weapon.

Your right arm throbbed.

“Hey, are you alright?”

The deep, concerned drawl of the man whose hand you were holding snapped you out of the vestiges of Caleb’s feelings, the lingering webs of him. You shook your head apologetically. 

“Sorry, yeah. Got a lot on my mind.”

The man nodded empathetically, as if he could understand what you were going through. He tapped the top of your hand.

“Dancing with me might help you forget about it. At least for a while.”

In any other moment, your first instinct would have been to deny him. But your brother was dead. You were a few drinks in. No one was coming for you. You wouldn’t forget. Ever.

What was one little dance in the grand scheme of fuck-all?

So you nodded your assent, and let the man with the pretty curls lead you by the hand onto the dance floor. They bounced as he walked, like a cherub. You still didn’t even know his name, though he had probably told you. It didn’t matter. He made his way behind you, and his hands were warm on your hips as you leaned back against him. When you weren’t looking, you could imagine it was Caleb. Almost.

Even if one hand was too warm. Even if he smelled wrong. You danced for a time, leaning back into the wrong body. Trying to be one with the music. The man’s face was by your ear, and he started to say the beginning of a word, but he stopped short, and stilled. You looked up from where you had been watching the moving feet of the people around you. Some had begun to stop, to part. There was a tittering of proverbial feathers, an undercurrent of fear. People parted as a dark sea. A tall pair of boots came into your vision, then the large body of man in a black uniform, heavily decorated. A cap with a golden crest sat atop his head. Dark hair framed his brow, and amethyst eyes burned from within his skull. He came towards you with rhythmic footsteps, in time with the music that pounded in your ears, those of a trained soldier, the same hypnotic rhythm as he had counted for you as a child as you jumped rope. 

One, two, three, four…

The echo of the beat of your heart.

The man's hands were still on your hips. You no longer wanted them to be. Looking at Caleb, you weren’t sure you ever had. The man spoke, concern palpable in his tone. His hands left your sides, then. He stepped back from behind you, anxiety leaking into his tone. He rubbed a hand up your arm, probably hoping to be reassuring. 

“Do you know this guy? Why is he..?”

You heard the unspoken words in his ask. Caleb was an impossible figure, one that rose from the dead and imposed his presence. Returned to the clouds without you. Even if other people didn’t know him, they sensed him. Something different. Something powerful. Words slipped out of your mouth. The only ones you had. A dead man walking was standing before you. A man who had died as your brother, and come back as someone you didn’t recognize.

“Don’t worry. He’s my big brother.”

You heard the strange relief in your own tone, and it surprised even you. 

“Your brother? Not your boyfriend?”

You shook your head. How could you even begin to define Caleb? You couldn’t grasp him any more than you could tug his phantom from your memories of sunshine. 

The man seemed to dissolve back into the crowd, compelled by some force. Perhaps Caleb’s energy – perhaps his evol. Perhaps he could sense it was best to leave. It was impossible to say. His removal was wordless, calculated, painless. Caleb’s face was completely still. He was frightening, like this. A man who had once leaked liquid sunshine from all of his cracks, now the tall blackness of an obelisk. But even in all his terror, he was alive. Standing before you. Except there was something there, in the face of death. Walking with a little smile, hopeless, fond. A touch of an upturned lip. The surroundings seem to wash away. Caleb was stepping towards you, closer, closer, until he was leaning down to speak into your ear. His tone was strangely forlorn. Almost fond. It didn’t match that dead face.

“It’s been a while since you called me your big brother.”

I’m not your brother.

An echo of his own words. Of course it had been a while. He was dead. And then he wasn’t. He wasn’t your brother. He wasn’t dead. He left you behind. When he went to college. When he died. When he was no longer your brother. When he stood you up. You were always looking at his back.

Except now, when he was looking down into your face. He wrapped his fingers around your wrists, and used his back to part the people around you – leading you, walking backwards while looking at you. His face betrayed no anxiety, but his grip was so tight that it bordered on pain. He was wearing those leather gloves, so you couldn’t feel his skin. He guided you back to the wall you had been leaning on when this all began, and swiftly pressed you against it, rotating you with a grip on your hips to do so. He took up all of your vision, leaving you unable to see anything save for his face and chest. The other patrons of the club disappeared, leaving just you and him. Looking into the flint of his lilac eyes reminded you of just why you had ended up here in the first place, in the arms of someone who felt just vaguely Caleb shaped when he was holding you from behind. Your anger rose like black bile in your throat. You had been avoiding meeting him in person, despite his willingness to text and call. You always had an excuse. Another mission. You needed to protect Rafayel. Sylus commandeered your expertise for some clandestine event in the N109. Finally, though, you had relented. Agreed to meet up. Used a day off where you could have been in the sheets of your own bed to meet up with Caleb. Overcome your fear of touching someone who still had grave dirt on his back.

And he had blown you off.

Maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe he had realized you weren’t the same person you were growing up. Figured out you weren’t willing to be his little shadow anymore. Not a creature he could clip the wings of and keep in a cage. You had a gravitational pull of your own. New orbiters. A different life. 

It was better that he didn’t care. It really, really was.

So he didn’t need to see your anger. It wasn’t a privilege that was afforded to him anymore. Even with the blood alcohol level you were sporting, your thoughts stayed comparatively level. You looked up into his handsome face. He looked down into yours. You spoke first, over the pulse of the music. You almost had to yell into his face to be heard.

“Why are you here, Caleb? Just let me go.”

Caleb’s eyes widened a fraction. His dark brow furrowed. He made no move to let you off of the wall. You pushed on one of his arms that caged you in. Once, then again with more force. He didn’t budge. 

“You’re asking me why I’m here? I’m here to pick you up. To take you home. I was–”

You pushed on his elbow again, interrupting him. He only leaned into you further. His scent was so strong. Honey, amber. Wheatgrass. Apple peel. 

You raised your voice, just a touch.

“My home is in Linkon. You made it clear you didn’t want to see me. So just let me go.”

His hand held the back of your neck, trying to guide you to look into his face.

“Baby, look at me. Please hear me out. Please.”

Hearing him plead so earnestly, so sweetly, did make you look at him, despite yourself. You saw the tension of his body. The sweat that beaded along his hairline. There was a dark spot on his collar, on his otherwise crisp uniform. Suspiciously red. Your anger was forgotten, if only for a moment.

“Is that blood?”

Your hands spread on his chest, underneath his uniform jacket, almost of their own accord. He was slightly damp from his sweat. He leaned into your touch.

“Not mine,” he breathed into your ear. His voice barely concealed his want.

You wanted to push him away. To pull him closer.

You swallowed. He continued.

“I was on my way to see you, but I got a call from the fleet. There was…an incident. One the Colonel couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t use my phone, princess. Not in all that commotion. All I could think about was gettin’ back to you. I came straight here, as soon as I could. As soon as it was over. I’m really sorry.”

A few things became clear to you, at that moment. The first was that whatever incident had occurred, Caleb was under order not to discuss it with anyone. Secondly, Caleb had likely ended multiple lives before stepping into the club. Thirdly, he had referred to himself as the Colonel, like it was a skin suit he put on and wore. A third person. Not himself. The Colonel killed. Caleb – your brother– came to pick you up, still wearing that skin. Lastly, Caleb somehow knew your location, despite you long since having removed the bracelet he had put on you to keep track of your whereabouts. His hands had moved from caging you against the wall to running up your stomach, your sides, your arms. Before you could respond, he was nosing your neck again, speaking.  His voice, sweet with his apology not moments before, had taken on a harder edge.

“You smell like someone else. You were with someone else when I came.”

It wasn’t a question. He hadn’t even given you a chance to get a word in edgewise to accept or deny his explanation, his apology, before moving on to what you had been doing while he was enacting whatever nonsensical violence the fleet required of him. Your anger had begun to dull into flat resignation. 

“Yeah, well, while you were taking care of your incident, someone else was taking care of me. So there’s no need to worry. Apology accepted. Now let me go, so I can fuck off back home and you won’t have to deal with me again.”

You saw real hurt flash in Caleb’s eyes, just as a strobe light illuminated his face. Then, it cooled into a smile with warmth that didn’t reach elsewhere.

“Takin’ care of you? There’s no one else that could take care of you like I do. Even if there was,”

Caleb made a motion next to his head, miming a gun with two fingers. His thumb pulled the trigger, and his head recoiled in a mock suicide. His smile had a sort of frenzied panic to it. It reminded you of when he had offered to build you a garden, to rebuild your little house in Linkon. A maze.

“I’d just make them go away. And it’ll only be us. Just like always.” 

His voice, though he almost had to yell, was chipper. Your eyes drifted to the blood on Caleb’s shirt. 

Your right arm ached.

“Caleb–”

But he wasn’t listening. Caleb hoisted you into his arms effortlessly, and any struggle you could put up was subdued by the force of his evol pinning you close to his chest. Your face was just next to his collar, next to that blood stain. You smelled the iron of it. Of someone else's blood on him. The hand that was hooked under your knees made a motion, and an eerie slowness fell over the club. People still moved, but it was as if someone had taken frames from them – like they were photographs spliced together to create the illusion of movement. The music slowed strangely, too, a low hum instead of a pumping bass, like a sound out of Hell. Caleb carried you, stalking through the mass of slowed bodies. He looked down into your face. You saw the fondness of your big brother in his eyes as he spoke, and you were as a child again in his arms.

“I’m going to take you home. You’re going to wash up, and I’m going to cook you dinner. You’re going to eat, and then I’ll put you to bed. Okay, princess?”

What could you do but nod when he was like this? Your body felt exhausted from the weight of his evol, from the weight of his possession. You leaned your head against his chest, and inhaled his lovely scent, clutching at his uniform. He took you from the club and into the cool of the night, where his car was parked in the street. You squirmed upon seeing it, and Caleb chuckled, his evol opening the passenger side door. 

“I hate this fucking car,” you complained. 

As if he could do anything about it right now.

He deposited you in the passenger’s seat. His big hands took their time putting your seatbelt on. He lingered over your hip, just barely brushing your ass, and adjusted the strap over your breasts. A touch that was barely there. Your body was too warm. The alcohol. His touch. You wanted him to take the softest parts of you into his hands. Instead, he pulled away, and answered your complaint with soft placation.

“I know, baby. Be a good girl and bear with it for now.”

He pulled away, and offered you a little smile before shutting you in. He came around the driver’s side, and got in next to you. The vehicle roared to life under his touch. You turned towards him, adjusting your body. You put your elbow on the console, resting your weight on it. Even now, you found yourself falling into the familiar rapport of your banter.

“And what if I wasn’t good? Are you going to punish me?”

You echoed his own words back at him. Caleb’s expression was unreadable, but his gloved fingers brushed delicately over your forearm as he guided the car onto the darkness of the street.

“Do you want me to punish you?”

Caleb’s fingers retracted back to the wheel. His voice was so soft compared to the tone he had used in the nightclub. More delicate than even his touch.

“Or do you feel like you need to be punished? Like you deserve it? The way you punish yourself?”

You stared at him, agog.  His eyes, face, hands – all were quiet. You snorted, indignant. Heated words tumbled out of your mouth.

“That’s rich, coming from you. As if you don’t punish yourself in every aspect – even your meals are punishments, Caleb. I’ve seen the way you eat, the way you push your body. I know you. Maybe I’m your punishment, too.”

Caleb chuckled, a little exhale of breath. He shook his head. The fingers of his gloved right hand slipped into yours. A passing streetlight illuminated his face brilliantly, just for the briefest moment.

“What sin did I commit to earn such a perfect little punishment like you? If that’s what you are, I was born to be punished.”

Caleb had insisted on carrying you from the car into his apartment. You no longer had the energy to deny his insistence, so you let him. You clung to his front, one of his hands securely under your ass, the other around your back. You buried your face in his shoulder. The decorations on his uniform dug into the places where your skin was bare, like proof of violences committed, embedded into your skin. You pressed closer to him as he walked, and heard him inhale, almost imperceptibly, as you tightened your hold. Rather than let you go, Caleb’s evol retrieved his key, and unlocked his door. He carried you in, and shut the door behind him with a kick of his boot. You clung to him tighter.

He was going to put you down, but you didn’t want him to. You wanted to crawl inside that stupid uniform, to be the Colonel. To be Caleb. To be your brother. To be him. 

He smelled so, so good.

But he didn’t put you down. He carried you into the living room, and deposited your combined bodies onto the couch. You naturally came to straddle him. You felt his chest move with a laugh. The ornaments that hung from his ribbons clinked with the movement.

“You’re like a little vine, clingin’ to me. We can stay like this, but you’d feel better if you changed out of your shoes ‘n dress, angel. You need to eat, too.”

You peeled yourself from his chest to look into his face. His hat cast a dark shadow over his eyes. You removed it for him, wanting him to be in the light. His face became a little more familiar. A little more Caleb. You set the cap aside on the couch. Caleb made no move to stop you. He merely tilted his head with a smile. His hair was a little damp with sweat.

“And what about you? You’re still in full uniform. Aren’t you hot? Uncomfortable? You’re still wearing your boots. You need to eat, too. Shower. Rest.”

Caleb twirled some of your hair between his fingers thoughtfully. He was still wearing those damnable gloves, like an intentional barrier between you. The longer you sat on top of him, the harder you felt him grow underneath you.

“What happened to the little girl who demanded I help her dress and undress? To feed her? I feel a little spoiled, havin’ you ask me to take care of myself. I might get the wrong idea if you keep it up.”

You took yourself from his arms, and he squeezed you for a moment, as if reluctant to let you go. But he did release you. You stood in front of him, and bent up your knee, so that your foot was on his knee as he sat, against the white pants of his uniform. If helping you would compel him to take care of yourself, you would indulge him.

“Take off my shoes.”

Caleb’s eyes came alight as you spoke. They roved over your leg, down to your foot on his knee. He could have looked directly up your dress, had he wanted. You wanted. But he didn’t. Instead, he trained his eye on your foot, and his hands began working the straps open, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. He slid the shoe from your foot, lifting it by your heel. 

“Even your feet are pretty,” he murmured, seemingly talking to himself more than to you. He lifted your foot further, and pressed a kiss to the inside of your ankle, before letting it down delicately. He held his hands out expectantly for your other foot, and you put it in them. He repeated the same routine. Your shoes were set aside. His compliance and the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream had put you into a playful mood.  Any thoughts of eating or resting left you. You knew Caleb.

I’ll always play with you. Always.

 You stalked away from him, out of the living room and into the kitchen. He stood and followed after you obediently, the smile still on his face. You heard the sound of his dog tags clink as he got up, even underneath his uniform. His footsteps were assured, confident. 

“Playin’ tag with me, pretty girl?”

You leaned your stomach and face against the counter of his kitchen island. It was pleasantly cool on your too-hot skin.

“Not tag. Just wanted a change of scenery.”

Caleb hummed thoughtfully. He came to stand behind you. Hovering. You had a bizarre sensation, like for a fleeting moment, you were him. Seeing yourself through his eyes. Feeling his want. Your arm ached. The same feeling echoed between your legs. 

Pain as a result of desire. Desire as a result of pain.

You blinked, slowly, and it was gone.

“I like this scene.”

You peeked back at him. He rolled his right shoulder. You wondered if it was hurting him. You stayed leaning over the counter.

“Help me unzip, Caleb.”

Caleb said nothing. His hips slotted against yours. You felt his dick hard on your ass, his gloved hands making contact with the zipper of your dress. He took his time, the sound of the teeth coming apart loud in the otherwise silent apartment. The seams of his leather gloves ghosted over the skin of your back, making goosebumps crawl all the way up to your neck. You lifted your torso as he made his way to the bottom of the zipper, and the dress fell in a pool around your feet, like the shed skin of a snake. You hadn’t worn a bra under the dress, so you were left in just your panties. You leaned back down against the counter. It was too-cold on your bare stomach and breasts. You melted into it. Your body felt like a heavy liquid. Caleb leaned over you, enveloping you with the heat of his torso on your back. He supported himself with one hand by your head. 

“I should undress you, too,” You said, nearly speaking into the countertop.

“Not should. I want to.”

Caleb was quiet. The leather of his gloved fingers trailed down your sides, as if mapping them. You moved your hips back against him, and drank in the sound he made with an eagerness that surprised even yourself. You wished he would crush you up with those hands, peel off your skin, look at your insides – anything besides touching you like you would fall apart.

Why did he insist on staying clothed? The barrier began to frustrate you more and more. You pushed your hips against him again. He gripped your hips, grunting. His touch forced you to be still. He whispered, close to your ear.

“Should I let you? Earlier, you said someone else was takin’ care of you. Now, I want to take care of you. Only me. Do you want it to only be me? Is it only me?”

You knew what he was asking.

Is there someone else?

Caleb slid the last of your remaining garments from your body. They joined the corpse of your dress on the floor. You were naked, bent over the counter. You shivered. He hadn’t even removed his boots. Caleb leaned up, away from your back. You heard the sound of his zipper.

“Caleb,” you pleaded. The words he wanted to hear – you weren’t sure you had them. What did it mean for you to accept his care? To let go of being alone? To let go of the fact that he was dead?

To let go of your brother?

“Please,” you tried. You heard a shuffling of fabric, a quiet exhale.

“It’s so hard for me to say no to you. You know it, too.”

He sounded relaxed, like had sounded when he was certain he would win a game for you as kids. You pushed your thighs together, anticipating his touch. 

“But I won’t say yes, either. Not until you tell me that it’s only me, pip.”

The nickname sent an inexplicable wave of sadness washing over you. Instead of giving you what you hoped for, Caleb’s gloves caressed your thighs, your ass. You felt no shyness about being exposed to him; only that it was right. Only that you wanted more from him, like you had for a long time. His hands squeezed with less delicacy than before, spreading you open. Gripping your muscles with big, strong hands.

“I’ve wanted to see you open for me like this for so long,”

His thumbs kept you spread apart. You looked back over his shoulder. He was looking at your sex with such intensity that it made your heart want to come out of your throat.

“So perfect. My pretty girl.” 

“Caleb,” you tried. You were used to making demands of him. Maybe he would give in to you. Like always.

“I want you inside of me. Please.”

You lifted your hips, stood on your tiptoes. Caleb made a frustrated sound in his throat.

“I’ll fill you up, baby. Don’t worry. But I won’t do anythin’ more than that until you tell me what I need to hear.”

A gasp left you as you felt the head of Caleb’s cock press against you. You were so wet that you were certain he wouldn’t struggle. Even with his size. You heard him spit into his glove, then wrap it around his cock, stroking himself with the wet leather.

Caleb was sliding himself inside you, then. Stretching you apart with himself, filling you in ways that you had imagined so, so many times. He was impossibly warm, perfectly big. It was like your body already knew his shape and size. It accepted him with only the smallest of difficulties. You overflowed with him perfectly. You scrabbled at the countertop, and Caleb trapped your wrists between one of his hands.

You both breathed silently, for a time. You, through your open mouth, he through his nose. His weight was reassuring on top of you. 

“Caleb,” you breathed,

“You feel so – so good inside of me.”

Caleb’s cock twitched inside of you at your words. 

“I know, baby. It’s ‘cause I was made for you. To make you feel good.”

As if to prove his point, he shifted his hips against you harder. Not fucking you, just trying to reach deeper inside. You lifted your hips into him. He gripped you, holding you in place. You still couldn’t feel any of his skin – just his uniform and leather. You hated it. Even while he was inside you, he punished himself. He punished you. 

“Touch me. Without the gloves – just..” 

His hands caressed your sides, your ribs. Your shoulder blades.

“Tell me the truth, then. Go on. I know you can do that for me, right?” 

He fisted a hand in your hair, and pulled your head up by your neck. His teeth grazed the newly exposed skin there. You swallowed with difficulty. The angle made it harder to speak. Your voice came out cracked, but assured.

“You’re the only one. My only brother. My only man. Caleb, please. It’s – it’s just you. It could only ever be you.”

A sound of pure aggression, arousal, ripped out of Caleb’s throat. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

His gloves came off, then. They landed with ferocity on the counter next to you, thrown down. Caleb’s hands – one metal, one flesh, caressed your skin. You were still full of him, his hands stroking every inch he could reach, cold and warm at the same time. He lifted you so that your back was against his chest, cock still inside of you. One hand, the metal one, went gently around your neck. Squeezed. The other went between your legs.

“You’re gonna’ cum on my cock, okay? I’m not going to fuck you, and you’re going to cum.”

You arched into him, wanting more than just his hand. More than just his stillness inside of you. More than a punishment.

“But–”

Your hands tugged at his mechanical arm, looking for purchase. Hoping to spur him on. 

“Do as you’re told.” 

His command came at the same time that his fingers started to move against you. As he touched you, quicker and with more urgency, you felt him grow impossibly larger inside of you, twitching with every sound and movement you made. You barely had time to whisper his name before you felt yourself tighten around him, your pleasure reaching its peak with just his fingers and his closeness, after being teased for so long. Your body stiffened, and he lifted you as you came, your feet dangling just above the floor. He held you tight, so tight you could no longer breathe, if only for a moment. His hips made one singular movement – only fucking into you once, the sound wet. 

“Fuck, baby girl, I’m gonna’ come inside of you –”

You felt the heat of his spill inside of you just moments after, his dick pulsing. You fell limply back into him, and he stayed inside of you, riding it out as he held your full weight. He slipped out of you as he began to soften, and you were lifted into his arms by his evol, into a princess carry. You hardly had the energy to cling to him, your body melting into his. He pressed soft kisses to your forehead as he walked. His gait, the heavy sound of his boots – they lulled you into a state of relaxation. Neither of you seemed to have words, for that time. Nothing was needed.

He brought you into his – your – bedroom, and laid you gently on the bed. You stretched sore limbs. He was still in that fucking uniform. He turned from you, and you caught him by the sleeve.

“Don’t go.” 

Caleb smiled, stroking his hand through your damp hair. 

“I’m just gettin’ something to clean you up. Two seconds.”

“One,” you counted.

Caleb grinned, and hurried to retrieve a towel. He returned with it shortly, and wiped you down, lifting your weary arms, between your legs. You watched him through your lashes as he did so. He had tucked himself back into his boxers, but he was clearly hard again. 

“Caleb,” you threatened,

“If you don’t let me take off that uniform, I’m going to throttle you in your sleep.”

Caleb’s brows shot up, and a cheeky grin erupted over his features. He pinched your cheek between his thumb and index finger.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, pip-squeak.” 

This was your Caleb. Not the Colonel. You rolled your eyes at him, and threw your legs over the edge of the bed. You stood, naked, yet somehow invulnerable near him. He stood, too. His hands hovered around you, like he expected you to fall at any moment. Instead of falling, you went for his tie. You made quick work of the knot, and discarded it on the carpet. Then came his jacket. It fell heavily to the floor. Then his dress shirt. Then his undershirt, until was left in just his pants and boots. You knelt. 

“Pip–” he protested. He sounded strained.

You hushed him, and unzipped his boots, tugging them off of his feet. He helped you lift them off. Then came his socks. Even over the sounds of fabric and leather, you could hear the intensity of his breathing pick up. You righted yourself, and slid both his pants and boxers off in one go. He stepped out of them, not sparing them a second glance. He hugged you to him, as soon as he was naked. His cock was hard against your naked stomach. His big arms crushed you against him, like he was trying to meld you to him. His body was so warm that it was like basking in the heat of the summer sun.

“Caleb,” you said, nearly imperceptibly, into his chest.

He stroked your hair with his big palm, rough from handling a yoke.

“Yeah, baby. I’m sorry. I’m home.”

[fazedlight]

Sand

This isn’t real, she thought, as she dug her toes into the cozy sun-warmed sand.

She kissed me this morning.

Kara gazed ahead, watching as the beach waves crashed on shore, warm and sunny against the backdrop of her planet’s destruction. Out across the waters, she could see the great horror of her past: Krypton as it died, damned in fire, debris floating across the expanse of space.

This isn’t real, Kara thought, listening to the grainy sound of sand as she moved her feet to pull her legs to her chest, placing her chin on her knees in quiet contemplation. She wondered if she would see the Danvers home if she turned around, or if that would be another expanse of sand and ocean and Krypton’s death.

She kissed me this morning.

Kara smiled at the thought. Lena had been working in the Tower lab; Kara had brought her doughnuts and espresso. Just like any other morning, they had cozied up on the couch together, laughing and talking.

But unlike any other morning, an odd sort of silence eventually fell between them. Flickering gazes, shy blushes, a tension that they couldn’t tell was real.

And then Lena leaned forward, and kissed her.

She kissed me this morning, Kara thought, eyes glancing ahead to Krypton, I’m sure of it. I think I’m sure of it. I’m…

Kara sighed, lying down on the beach, stretching as she stared up into the blue skies mixing with the fires on the horizon. She kissed me, Kara tried to convince herself, and then the Tower alarm went off right after, and Alex said I needed to get downtown to fight a threat. But she kissed me. I know she did…

“Would you like some company?” came a familiar voice.

Kara grinned. “I’d love that.”

She didn’t watch as her best friend took a seat on the sands beside her. Lena sighed, looking out on the horizon at the destruction ahead, seeming both curious and understanding. “This isn’t your world, Kara,” she said.

“I know.”

“You’re trapped in a black mercy.”

“I know.”

Lena reached down to brush some sand off her feet, frowning in curiosity. “I thought the plant shows you paradise. This doesn’t look like paradise to me.”

Kara hummed. “Maybe it doesn’t know what to do if reality is paradise enough.”

For a moment, Lena stayed quiet, mulling what to say in response. “If you know this place isn’t real, then why haven’t you woken up yet?”

“Because I’m not sure if reality is real.”

“What do you mean?”

Kara could feel the patter of her heart in her chest. “Did anything unusual happen this morning?” she asked.

There was a shy laugh in response. “It was real, Kara,” Lena murmured, “And if you wake up, I’d like to do it again.”

She kissed me this morning.

Kara smiled, breathing in the smell of sea salt in the breeze, eyes still trained on the bizarre images in the sky. “Okay,” she said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Lena reaching for her ear, no doubt tapping at a device Brainy had provided. Watching as the figure faded away, Kara closed her eyes, feeling as the world began to morph around her, as though she were weightless and falling and flying all at once.

She finally opened her eyes, noting several figures hovering over her as her eyes adjusted to the harsh Tower light. “Welcome back, Kara,” Brainy said, as she felt the black mercy slither off her chest, “You gave us quite the scare.”

The crew began to shuffle around again. Brainy headed back toward a different monitor, Alex gave her sister’s arm a welcoming squeeze before chasing after J’onn, Nia carried the container with the captured black mercy into a back room.

Lena watched Kara intently.

“Was it real?” Kara whispered.

Lena smiled, and leaned forward - pressing her lips to Kara’s.

She kissed me this morning, Kara thought, and now I can kiss her back.

----------

For @ekingston's flash fiction challenge Prompts: fluff & hallucination & post-apocalyptic & sand

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

Obsession (part 4)

Player 001 x Reader [SMUT]📖

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Tw: stalker!In Ho, rape is implied, Dark content.

The sound of the door locking didn’t come, but the lights turned out one by one. In Ho walked around your house, ensuring that you really were sleeping. Your phone light wasn’t on either, you were asleep.

In Ho opened the front door quietly. He shut it behind him and crept through the house silently. He heard the sound of pattering echo the walls. He froze slowly backing up into a darker corner. He saw the cat, a sigh of relief escaping him as they stared at each other.

“Hello, kitty” he crouched to pet him. The cat purred as he rubbed In Ho legs jumping up to reach his knee. Circling through the his parted legs, In Ho stands up. “Take me to Mommy’s room (c/n).” He said as the cat trotted away.

Following silently, In Ho looked at the decor on the walls. He entered your room. Watching you sleep soundly as he towered over you. Watching as you slept. He planted a kiss on your lips. Harsh and vile. Waking you up from your slumber.

“In Ho?” You asked. “What’re you doing here? Get out of my house!”

“Relax, I just wanna sleep with you” he growled. He sat on your torso, ripping his tie off his neck. “Just fucking relax (y/n). I’m not going to hurt you” he began tying your hands up.

“In Ho, I don’t want this.” You said.

“Yes you do. Stop denying me” In Ho said as he ripped the blanket from you, revealing the thong you were wearing. He groaned loudly as his cock raged in his slacks. “I heard you moan for me.”

“Wha- how did you see that video?!” You shout in embarrassment.

“Oh bunny, I saw all of them. Every single one where you begged for me, came for me, told me you were going to cum on my fingers, asked me to fuck that pussy like I was going to die. All of them” he declared evilly.

“In Ho, please” you begged. “Please”

In Ho's fingers plunged into the your pussy, his touch rough and unyielding. He didn't care about your pleasure; all he cared about was asserting his control. You felt a surge of arousal mixed with pain as In Ho's fingers stretched you wide, his fingertips scraping against their walls.

“Oh good girl, so wet for me” he said. “You’re tied up, doing something you apparently don’t want, and here you are, soaking wet and drenching my fingers” you turned your face from him.

He pumped his fingers in and out, his pace relentless as he drove you closer and closer to climax. You felt your body tensing up, your muscles coiling tighter and tighter as you neared release. But just as you were about to tip over the edge, In Ho stopped.

You cried out in frustration, your body trembling with need. "Please, In Ho" you begged, your voice shaking with desperation. "Let me cum."

In Ho just laughed, his eyes glinting with cruelty. "No," he said, his voice cold and unyielding. "You don't get to cum yet."

You pleaded with him, begging him to let you release. But In Ho just shook his head, his fingers still buried deep within you but motionless. You felt like you were being torn apart by your own desire, your body screaming for release but denied it by In Ho's merciless touch.

"Maybe later," In Ho said finally, pulling his fingers out of your throbbing pussy and leaving you feeling empty and unsatisfied. "But for now... you're going to have to wait."

Your wrists were bound, the silk fabric digging into your skin as In Ho pulled it tight. You felt a surge of fear mixed with arousal as you realized they were completely at his mercy. And you loved it. In Ho's eyes gleamed with a sadistic intensity as he gazed at you, his chest heaving with excitement.

You felt a jolt of shock as In Ho's fingers dug into your hips, holding them in place. His cock was rock-hard, and he slammed it into you without warning, making you cry out in shock.

The neck tie bit into your skin as you struggled against their bonds, but In Ho just laughed and held you tighter. He pounded into you relentlessly, his thrusts brutal and unforgiving. You felt like you were being torn apart, your body stretched to its limits as In Ho rammed into you again and again.

You came close to climaxing multiple times only to have him pull back at last second leaving you hanging before finally allowing you release after what seemed an eternity you screamed out loud shuddering from head-to-toe feeling utterly spent.

“I’m not done with you yet” he said. You cried loudly from the over stimulation of cumming and still enduring his cock.

In Ho's grip on their hips tightened as he pulled you closer, his cock still buried deep within. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered "you're mine now... I'm going to bury my cum so deep inside you that your only choice is to just take it". You felt a surge of panic mixed with arousal as you realized you were completely at his mercy.

And then it happened - In Ho came inside your belly hot seed spurting deep within making you feel utterly helpless while declaring through gritted teeth "you're going to carry my child... and there's nothing you can do about it". He spoke harshly.

He planted hard kisses on your lips, as tears ran down your face.

“I need more” you begged. “Please give me more. More of you, I need more” you began to cry. “I haven’t had you in 5 years and all I need is you again, like I did in the games”

“Well, you have me, for the rest of our lives.” He spat laying next to you. Stripping his clothes till he was naked.

“I want you inside me” you whispered. “Please” he smiled. His plan worked out perfectly. He couldn’t deny your poor pussy his delicious cock. He laid beside you. Catching his breath.

“Soon, little bunny, soon.” He sighed. “I need to calm down before I can do this again”

Tag list:

@syraxnyra @colorwastaken @vkeyy @christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21

[awhoreintheory]

okay so MCU canon Peter in DC is all funny and games but what about comic canon Peter? Peter who’s in his 30s, whose life is falling apart(again) and has clones to deal with(man I hate the fact that Ben became evil :(.)

extra points if Miles and/or Mayday is with him. This single dad is STRUGGLING. And the bats wanna help him/his kids cause man! Look at them :(

(extra extra points if Dick = Richard Parker. That’s a whole nother can of worms. Like the bats are thinking Peter = Family of Dick they didn’t know but NO! It’s actually Dick’s son! Dicks a granddad!)

I want to PSA to anyone sending asks/requests, I'm not ignoring you!! I'm just a slow writer!!! I hope you enjoy though <33

Peter B. Parker could, 100%, picture landing in (yet another) alternate universe. You know what? As a matter of fact, he expected it.

What he didn’t plan for, however, was being stranded in another universe with his baby girl strapped to his chest. 

But here he was, crouched in a narrow alley in the darkest corner of Gotham City, New Jersey. From the name alone, Peter knew he landed himself in a section of the Multiverse Miguel had expressly labeled as off limits. It wasn’t his fault he’d landed here, though!

One minute he’d been web-swinging through New York, enjoying a rare peaceful day with Mayday babbling happily, and the next he was crash-landing onto a grimy rooftop in the most dangerous city he’d ever seen. It was like New York turned up to eleven, all shadows and towering gargoyles, dripping with rain that seemed perpetual. The interdimensional bracelet he’d been given to travel the multiverse was sparking and smoking in his pocket— total toast. He was officially stranded. 

Ok, so it maybe, kinda sorta, been an eensy weensy, tiny bit Peter’s fault. 

Peter’s, very high-tech and likely expensive bracelet had been, uh, scratched in a fight the day before. Barely even a nick! He swears he could’ve reattached the wires and fixed the screen. 

He probably should’ve also taken the watch out of his robe pocket before he started swinging Mayday to daycare. 

MJ was going to be so mad. 

It became evident early on it’d take a little bit to find a way home, or for someone to find him. If it had just been Peter, he could’ve roughed it on some rooves and abandoned buildings. It wouldn’t be a big deal, he knew he would be getting home eventually. Being a little smelly was the least of his worries. 

But he had his baby girl with him. 

So, with the money in his wallet, he found an under-the-counter, rundown but otherwise warm, apartment in a place called Crime Alley. (What a seriously terrible name) Peter started pulling together whatever side gigs he could, fixing appliances, tuning up electronics, just enough to get by. Even for a guy who was used to scraping by, the situation felt bleak, especially with Mayday depending on him. 

His little red-headed whirlwind was still too young to understand what was happening, but she noticed the tension and started clinging to him more tightly. Peter knew he couldn’t keep this up forever, but he wasn’t sure how to trust anyone in a city that had both criminals and vigilantes lurking around every corner. When he spotted someone in a cape swinging overhead, he instinctively hid in the shadows, holding Mayday close, her tiny face tucked into his shoulder.

But the Bats noticed him. 

It was hard not to notice a single dad with no records, no job, and no explanation for why he was squatting in Gotham’s most dangerous neighborhood. Bruce, ever vigilant, put out word to the family to keep an eye on him. 

Jason, who patrolled Crime Alley, wasn’t thrilled about the idea. “A guy moved into my turf with a baby?” he grumbled to Tim. “Either he’s got a death wish, or he’s crazy.” 

Tim, on the other hand, was fascinated by the mystery. He dug through every database he had access to, and then some. But “Peter Parker” returned zero results— at least, none that matched this Peter Parker. no criminal record, no birth record, no online footprint. It was like he just spawned in! 

Dick didn’t have a whole lot of opinions. He thought the man was nice, though he had only met him once in a routine mugging. He evidently cared for his daughter, and matched Nightwing’s wit and humor pretty nicely, too. He looked annoyingly familiar too. Maybe it was Tired Dad Chic? He kind of reminded him of Bruce, in a way. 

Steph seconded the funny part. This Peter guy could be one of those dark-humor comedians. 

From what they observed, and conversations supplied by Jason (who was his neighbor in a series of fortunate events), Peter really did seem to just be an ordinary guy.  

Then one night, Peter was picking up groceries from a corner store when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a man in a ski mask brandishing a knife, gesturing for his wallet. 

“Hand over the money, and I won’ hurt ya’ kid.” The man threatened, waving his knife around threateningly. Peter tensed, dropping his groceries in favor of cradling Mayday closer. 

Peter blinked at him tiredly. “The best I can offer is some lint and a can of beans.” 

The man tensed, stepping closer in an attempt at intimidation. Peter thought that his face turning red with anger was kind of funny.

“Don’t fuckin’— are you makin’ fun of me?” The man fumed. Peter might have let out a sleep-deprived chuckle, partially forgetting to respond. 

The mugger lunged, and before he could dodge, Peter felt a searing pain in his side as the blade plunged in, his vision blurring with the shock. Normally, Peter would’ve disarmed the guy without breaking a sweat, but tonight, with Mayday in his arms and his body worn from days of restless sleep, he kind of just… blinked and the knife was there. 

Peter blinked again, then looked back up at the man.

“Oh, wow,” he said, his voice dripping with deadpan sarcasm. “A knife in Crime Alley? Super original. Really, I’m honored to be a part of your creative process.”

The mugger blinked, clearly caught off guard. Peter rolled his eyes, adjusting Mayday to better apply pressure to his side. “Next time you stab a guy, maybe aim for someone with insurance.”

The mugger stumbled back, looking increasingly confused by Peter’s lack of fear. Peter sighed, bouncing Mayday gently as she began to fuss. “Listen, I’m already running on no sleep and the caffeine fumes of yesterday’s coffee. And now you’re just making my night even worse.”

Peter winced, feeling the slow but consistent leak of blood. His healing factor was helping, but it was dulled due to lack of sleep and hunger. 

Between one long blink and the next, someone had jumped down and knocked out Peter’s would-be mugger. 

After another blink Peter realized he was on the ground, Mayday’s wails filled the air, her cries echoing down the alleyway, and Peter tried to smile through the pain. “It’s okay, baby,” he mumbled, clutching her tightly. “Daddy’s fine… just a little… scratch.” But his vision was going hazy as he pressed a hand to his bleeding side. The world began to spin.

One of the vigilantes that Peter recognized as Red Robin rushed over, talking hurriedly into a comm. Peter blinked up at him, his mouth curling into a weak smile. “Hey, nice costume,” he muttered. “Does the utility belt come in dad sizes?” 

Red Robin blinked in surprise, but otherwise keept his focus as he worked to stop the bleeding.

“It doesn’t, unfortunately.” Red Robin offered, popping open his emergency med kit. “I’ve got help on the way, ok? Stay awake for me.” But his attention was snagged when Mayday, overcome with distress, reached out to him, her tiny hands gripping his arm. She wasn’t just clutching it— she was sticking to him, her fingers locked like suction cups on his suit. Tim’s eyes widened as she scrambled up his arm, scaling it like a bug on a wall. 

Red Robin took it in stride, scooping Mayday up as he continued to work. Peter had been on the Meta radar for a bit— a few things here and there just a little off, and it was mostly based on Red Robin’s time spent with super-powered individuals. 

But as he patched up Peter, he discreetly swiped a sample of blood, stashing it in his belt just as the Batmobile pulled up. 

—

Later that night, he ran the sample through the Batcomputer, expecting some small lead. A Meta, possibly insect-based? What with how the kid had stuck to him. Instead, the results left Tim absolutely speechless. 

Peter Parker, the man who was in his early 40s and a single father, didn’t just match someone in the system— it matched Dick Grayson.

Not as a brother, or a cousin, but as a son. 

Tim must’ve ran the test at least 100 times. It came back the same every single time. 

Tim called Bruce and the rest of the family, each of them crowding around the screen with varying levels of shock and amusement as the analysis rolled in. Dick was dumbfounded, staring at the results in disbelief. 

“You’re telling me this guy is my… son?” he stammered, struggling to wrap his mind around it. 

Bruce, socially unaware in all his glory, tried to comfort Dick. “He’s likely from far into the future. Barry said there was a ripple in the timestream around the time Peter showed up.” 

“So what does that make Mayday?” Jason asked, snickering. 

“His granddaughter?” Steph said with a teasing grin. 

“Wow, Dick. You went from a dad to a grandpa in the same minute.” 

“That’s gotta be a world record.”

“You think we can submit this for a Guinness World Record?”

Dick groaned, rubbing his temples as Jason laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“He’s from the future, right? Something must’ve gone wrong on his end," Tim said, folding his arms with a thoughtful look. "He’s definitely got the skills. Moves like you, Dick. It's obvious he's had training.”

Dick couldn't help but smirk, puffing up a little with pride. “Of course he does. He’s got Grayson blood in him, after all.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, because the whole ‘falling on his face with a baby strapped to him’ bit? So graceful.”

Tim rolled his eyes, trying to stay on track. “Look, I don’t know why he didn’t come to us for help in the first place, but the point is, he’s family. We should get him back to his time, if that’s even possible.” He looked over to Bruce. “Are any speedsters available? Maybe the League could lend us Wally or Barry—"

“Hold on,” Dick interrupted, frowning. “I’m not sure we’re ready to ship him off just yet. The guy’s been trying to make it on his own. He’s got a baby to look after, and I think he’s afraid of dragging us into whatever’s going on with him. You know this family and their pride.”

Damian, who had been silent up to this point, finally piped up, his arms crossed. “I’ve seen him with the baby. She’s… persistent.” There was an almost begrudging respect in his tone. “But he clearly doesn’t have the resources to keep her safe here. If he did, he wouldn’t be living in Crime Alley.”

Dick nodded. “Exactly. The guy’s holding it together with duct tape and dad jokes. We can help him and get him back on his feet while we figure out a way home.”

Bruce, listening intently, finally spoke up. “He’s right. Until we find a way to get him home, Peter and his daughter stay here. We’ll pull together whatever resources we can to help them both.” 

Steph and Tim shared a look. He just wanted to meet his grandson and great-granddaughter. 

There was a beat of silence as everyone absorbed the decision, and then Tim looked at Dick, a small smirk playing on his lips. “So… you ready to be a dad, Dick?”

Dick flushed, looking a mix of horrified and pleased. “I’ll just stick to ‘Uncle Dick’ for now. Baby steps.”

EXTRA:

“Hey,” Jason drawled, barely suppressing a smirk as he looked over at Dick, “you think we can submit this for a Guinness World Record? Fastest unplanned parenthood, or maybe most confusing family reunion?”

Dick rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide his grin. “Very funny, Jay. Maybe we can submit you for most inappropriate comments per minute.”

Jason chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just saying, man, it’s impressive. One day you’re Nightwing, lone acrobat extraordinaire, and the next? Boom— you’re the proud father of a scruffy, interdimensional— what'd you say it was, Tim? Spider-dad? A Spider-dad.”

Tim snickered, glancing up from his laptop. “We’re all just living in a 'Strangest Family Reunion’ reality show at this point. Besides, if anyone’s submitting to Guinness, it should be Peter for most relentless optimism under terrible circumstances.”

Bruce cleared his throat, giving them all a look. “Enough. This isn’t a joke. We have a situation to handle here.”

Dick, still grinning, turned back to Bruce. “All right, fine, we’ll save the record-breaking for later. Right now, I say we start by finding this guy and getting him some real help.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Rapunzel, Rapunzel.

Pairing: Yandere!Vil x Reader x Yandere!Rook (TWST).

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Loose Tangled AU, Prolonged Captivity, Violence (Magic and Physical) and Blood, Dehumanization, Imbalanced Power Dynamics, Vil and Rook Are Making Out In The Corner While Reader's Having The Worst Day Of Their Life, and Manipulation.

The arrows hurt more than the fall.

The fall, you’d been expecting. Rook might’ve been able to scale the tower with little more than a dagger, a few footholds chipped into the weathered stone, and a burning curiosity, but you weren’t so graceful, didn't have the luxury of the physique you might've, had you not spent the last eighteen months restrained to a handful of rooms. You knew that you wouldn’t have the time to be as careful as you needed to be, that you’d be fortunate to make it off of your windowsill before losing your grip, and when the time came to let go and pray you broke an arm rather than a leg, you were ready. You could brace yourself. You could see the threat looming ahead of you, and as Vil called your name in the distance, you were able to fall into its open arms of your own volition.

The arrows weren’t something you’d thought to ready yourself for. Vil’s poison, maybe, the weight of his newest curses being etched into the fabric of your being, but not a weapon, not the sting of piercing metal burrowing into the back of your shoulder, then the plush of your side. Even then, you did what you could to keep running, to move forward through the dense forest despite the jagged rocks and winding brambles cutting through the flesh of your bare feet. You didn’t know where you were going, let alone what to do when you reached your nebulous destination, but you didn’t have to. You needed to get away from Vil’s tower – that was it. You could figure out what to do next after you’d escaped him.

With that in mind, you pushed yourself to run faster, to ignore the pain racing through your upper body as you put a few more steps between yourself and the ever-shrinking tower that sat above the treetops, but even that was an effort cut short. There was a bolt of searing pain, a white flash playing across your vision. Your left leg was buckled underneath you, leaving you crumbling to the ground with a broken, ragged scream. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to swallow the sound back before it could force its way out of your chest, but whether or not someone heard you didn’t really matter. You’d seen him shoot hawks out of the sky mid-flight, thread darts through the eye of needles sitting yards away. Rook wouldn’t fire unless he had his target in sight. He’d known exactly where you were the moment drew his bow. This was just his way of letting you believe you’d ever stood a chance.

This was just his way of letting you believe he’d ever been on your side. 

You pulled your injured leg into your chest, fighting to hold back the pained tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You were tempted to stop restraining yourself altogether and cry until the agony subsided, but your hunter emerged from the foliage before you could start to truly wallow if your self-pity. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve approached you silently, been on top of your fallen body before you so much as noticed he was within arm’s length, but Rook made no effort to conceal his presence. If anything, he seemed to want you to know exactly where he was. There was a deep laugh, the muffled sound of a longbow being swung over his shoulder, the feeling of his body blocking out what little light the setting sun still hard to offer, and then, he was crouching in front of you. A gloved hand cupped your chin as he looked down on you with the same adoring, love-stricken expression he always seemed to wear. You’d always done what you could to return it, in the past, to think of it as a glimpse of sunlight in the darkness that was your life with Vil, but now, it was all you could do to glare and look away.

“Merveilleux.” He wasn’t out of breath, but his voice was airy – barely more than a whisper. His leather-wrapped knuckles ran over your cheek, just as slowly and just as adoring as they had on the day you met – the day you’d woken up to the first stranger you’d seen in weeks kneeling at your bedside, idly stroking your hair and complimenting your lovely (albeit, quite difficult to reach) home. You’d tried to warn him away, to tell him what Vil had done to all the other adventurers and heroes who’d so much as approached his tower, but he refused to listen. If Vil hadn’t taken such a liking to him, he’d be little more than a pile of ash you’d have to sweep up the next day, or better yet – another withering rose left in your windowsill to warn away the next intruder. Vil always did have a flair for the romantic, but he and Rook seemed to have that in common.

He'd changed, since that day. When you first met him, he’d been rough around the edges, his hair uncombed and his skin as calloused as it was burnt. His clothes had been nothing short of a travesty – threadbare and ill-fitting, repaired a thousand times over by someone clearly not used to mending. Now, he was just as much of an embodiment of Vil’s ideals as you were: his hair grown out long and restrained by a violet ribbon, his freckles faded and framed by neatly cut bangs, his clothes of all the same dark silks and pristine furs as Vil would’ve chosen for himself. He was as much of a pet as you were, really. The only difference was how enthusiastically Rook embraced his role and how desperately you tried to escape yours.

“In fact,” he went on, his eyes drifting to the arrows still lodged in your back, your thigh. “I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. A damsel pulled from the pages of the most wonderful sort of fairytale, truly.”

“Go fuck yourself.” And then, with a half-choked snarl, “You were supposed to— I thought you were trying to help me—”

“Ah, the searing heat of rage! It shades the color of your eyes with such life.” Rook clicked his tongue, his grin taking on a wry lull. His hand fell from your chin to the collar of your blouse, toying with the mangled fabric as he spoke. “A poor dove, fallen from its nest. Don’t worry, petit oiseau – I’ll make sure you get home before the wolves find you.”

He moved to take you in his arms, but you did what you could to shamble away from him despite your limited mobility. It was difficult to speak, your ribs having taken the brunt of your initial fall and endured further abuse during his first volley of arrows. It was difficult to meet his eyes, knowing what he’d taken away from you, but you forced yourself to do both. You tried to remind yourself that it was still Rook, that you were still facing down the man who’d held you in his arms as you cried, who told you stories of heroes and villains and happy endings when you began to think you might die in captivity, but fond memories were difficult to recall when his arrows were still embedded in your flesh. “You said that— You said that the prince would distract the witch as her captive escaped,” you spat, already aware of how juvenile you sounded, trying your best to stumble through the same story he’d told you a thousand times. You’d taken it as a code, treated it as if you were both colluders in the same scheme, but an ever-growing part of you was starting to think that his stories had only ever been that – stories. “Why didn’t you distract him?” When Rook failed to answer, you bared your teeth. “Were you ever trying to help me escape?”

There was a beat of silence, of stillness. A rabbit rustled somewhere in the underbrush, a robin called out to its mate, and Rook sighed, shaking his head with the kind of humored exasperation a parent might show to a child who just asked about something very, very silly.

He didn’t just toy with your ragged collar, now, but caught it – taking it in his fist and pulling you upright. With his free hand, he took the shaft of the arrow embedded in your shoulder and pulled it free, the head catching under your skin and rendering everything it touched a bloody mess of gore and viscera. The same process was carried out with the arrow embedded in your side, this one accompanied by a searing burn, another second taken to twist the arrowhead free of your skin. You weren’t able to hold back your tears by the end of it, no matter how tightly you clenched your eyes shut, no matter how much it hurt to dig your teeth into the side of your cheek and will yourself not to break down in front of him, not to lose the last semblance of control you had, under Vil’s care.

“I never lied to you,” he said, as he took up the shaft of the third arrow – the one plungest deepest into your thigh. “You know what Vil would do if you didn’t return. I promised you a happy ending, and this is how I intend to give you one.”

With no hesitation, no effort to clot the blood flowing in thick streams from your gaping wounds, he pulled the last arrow free. You let out a fractured wail, doubling over and attempting to curl into yourself, but Rook was already there, already pulling you into his chest as you sobbed openly, freely. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him pull a hunting knife from his belt, the silver of the blade tinted a deep, shimmering violet. You went stiff, but there was little you could do. There was a flash of light caught on steel, a nick of pain in the side of your neck, and then, you were limp in Rook’s arms, quickly losing consciousness as he pulled you against his chest and started towards the tower.

~

You felt velvet against your cheek, first.

Crushed, cool, deceptively soothing – you recognized it immediately, an image of one of Vil’s favored robes surfacing in your mind against your will. Next were the bandages wrapped around your shoulder, your waist, your thigh, then the fur rug underneath you, that of some great beast a would-be hero had once brought to try and rescue you. Vil had wanted to mount the prince’s head on a pike at the base of the tower, but you’d begged him not to, and he’d taken the monstrous stead’s pelt as a trophy, instead.

You took a long, quiet moment to collect yourself, to bask in the last peaceful moment you were likely to have, but your tranquility was quickly interrupted by the feeling of a wooden comb raking through your hair and over your scalp, the teeth dulled by use and the shape familiar enough to make you shudder involuntarily. Vil’s airy laugh played in response, paired with the last traces of Rook’s muttering voice. A new addition, one that left the taste of bile rising up from the back of your throat. One you never wanted to acknowledge again. “I know you’re awake, little one. Might as well face the light now.”

He said that, but when you finally forced yourself to open your eyes, you found that was no light to face aside from the flame of a low-burning candle sitting on a nearby table and the silver-tinted glow emanating from your hair. Clearly, your unconsciousness hadn’t been a good enough reason for Vil not to refresh his eternal youth, tonight.

He’d positioned you as he always did – at his feet, on your knees, with your head resting in his lap. Despite how close you’d come to getting away from him, his expression betrayed no panic, only confident serenity and the slightest trace of smugness. As was to be expected of him. Vil found joy in very little, but somehow, he always seemed to take a certain amount of pride in your defeat.

Your defeat, and your horror. He’d calmed over the course of your captivity, but you could still remember how he’d lorded over you during your first days in his tower, how open he’d been about just how long he’d spent peering your lonely little life in your lonely little cottage, content in the knowledge that no company meant there’d be no one to exploit your magic. Vil hadn’t just ruined that, he’d done it with zeal.

“Raise your head.” It was a command, because Vil didn’t make requests. Reluctantly, you obeyed, and Vil took you by the jaw with one hand, brushing your hair away from your face with the other. Your hair was damp, your ruined clothes exchanged for a black nightdress, simple in design but impeccably crafted. You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised. Vil’s standards for you were only second to only those he held for himself. It was more than likely that you hadn’t made it more than a step into the tower’s walls before Vil deemed you in need of one of his ice-cold baths and something more presentable to wear. “No cuts,” he went on, turning your head to either side. “But more bruises than I care for. Couldn’t you have been more gentle?”

You opened your mouth, but Rook answered on your behalf. You could remember, only days ago, being thankful beyond words to have a buffer between yourself and Vil, but now, you couldn’t say you felt anything beyond resentment. “The lasting evidence of a struggle can add a rugged undertone to one’s charm. And oh, if only you could’ve seen the way they struggled!” He was behind you, holding you up, on arm wrapped around your waist and his legs spread around you. He leaned forward as he spoke, his chest slotting loosely against your back, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “It was fantastic, like watching a songbird with a broken wing struggle to fly. The relentlessness of desperation paired with the inevitability of its downfall - truly magnifique!”

That earned another laugh, a row of jewel-tipped fingers raked through Rook’s hair. “I’d prefer to keep my songbird in one piece.” And then, after a slight pause, “In spite of that songbird’s best efforts to snap its own neck, of course.”

You shrunk into yourself. You’d tried to escape before, to pick the lock on your bedroom or poison his tea or, on one memorable occasion, to steal the spell book he always seemed to keep at his waist, and there’d always been a punishment to accompany your misbehavior – a crop taken to your back or one of your few privileges revoked. You couldn’t imagine what he’d do to you, this time. You couldn’t imagine that anything could’ve been worse than finally getting out of his tower only to be dragged back and deposited into his arms. “I’m sorry,” you managed, eventually, with only the intent of lessening whatever rage he must’ve held for you. “I… Rook is right. It was futile. I shouldn’t have tried to run.”

“And?”

And? There’d never been an and, before. When you could bring yourself to offer an apology, he’d always either accepted it ouright, ignored you completely, or clicked his tongue and promised that hollow words wouldn’t be enough to prove your remorse. You pursed your lips, but made yourself force something out. Silence would be seen as disobedience, and further disobedience would only make things worse for you. “And, it was short-sighted. I wouldn’t have gotten very far, and even if Rook hadn’t found me, I don’t know where we are. I wouldn’t know how to fend for myself. I—” Your voice cracked, your vision starting to blur once more. “I shouldn’t have gotten carried away by stories and fairy tales. I’m sorry.”

Vil let out a labored, languid sigh. There was one more squeeze to your cheeks, and finally, he let you go, setting down his comb in the same fluid movement. There was a small smile, a tap to his thigh, and Rook drew back just far enough to let you push yourself to your feet. Your legs immediately gave out, but Rook was fast enough to catch you, close enough to lower you into Vil’s lap himself and drink in the appreciative hum Vil offered, by way of reward.

“That’s very sweet,” he started, once you’d settled against him. Rook continued to hover above you, but you did your best to ignore him. “But I want you to apologize to our dear hunter, too.”

Something bitter leeched up from the back of your throat. You opened your mouth as you turned to face Rook, but closed it as soon as you saw him, as soon as you caught a glimpse of that careless grin, those half-lidded eyes. For as hesitant as you were to approach him, you snapped toward Vil reflexively, unable to stifle your reactions. “But, he doesn’t use my—”

“He went through so much to bring you home.” He’d shot three arrows. He’d tracked you like a wild animal. He’d brought you back to Vil after promising that he’d help you get away from Vil – after promising that he’d make sure you got your happy ending. “And he’s been so patient with you, since he joined us. Not just anyone can bear your sulking.”

You tried to protest, but your voice caught in your throat. It was more disbelief, than anything – another variable you hadn’t thought would hurt quite as much as it did. Vil scoffed, and Rook gave you a sympathetic smile, and you sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“He lied to me,” you managed, finally. “He said he would help me escape.”

Vil’s lips quirked downward. You saw his fingers twitch, his spell book pulse with a sickly emerald light, but rather than summon a poison-coated dagger or turn you into some chirping, cage-bound bird for the next day or so, he looked towards Rook, more trust in his eyes than he’d ever afforded you.

You felt sick.

“I said that our ending would be a happy one. The poor dove must’ve misinterpreted what I meant by that.” It would’ve been a mercy if the affection dripping from his tone turned out to be ingenuine. It would’ve been a mercy, to find out he was only ever trying to hurt you. “I hoped that I might be to stay with the two of you – at least for a time. If you think I might be a bad influence,” A flash of a grin, a length of blonde hair allowed to fall over one of his eyes, “Then I only ask that you allow me the time I’ll need to savor a death by your hands properly.”

There was a bark of a laugh, a sharp snap of Vil’s fingers. Your eyes dropped to the floor as Vil caught Rook’s tunic in his chest and pulled him closer, as he’d done with you a thousand times. Fabric rustled against fabric, mouths crashed into mouths, but you willed yourself to ignore it, to just bite your tongue and be thankful that Vil’s attention wasn’t centered on you. To be grateful that you weren’t the only one stuck in this cage, anymore. You tried to be grateful. You wanted to be grateful.

And yet, you couldn’t seem to convince yourself that Rook was a prisoner, rather than yet another lock hanging from the bars of your cage.

[mushies-stories]

Disobedient

Kishibe X F!Reader

Summary: Kishibe comes home to a messy apartment and you seem to want to refuse to listen until you get what you want.

Warnings: SMUT 18+! swearing maybe? sub!dom dynamic, unproteected sex, shower sex.

word count: 2299

Kishibe tossed his cigarette butt to the floor before climbing the stairs to your shared apartment. It was late, almost midnight but when he heard music coming from the door and knew you were going to be in a mood of sorts. He stopped outside the door a moment, taking out another cigarette and lighting before unlocking the door and pushing it open.

All the lights were on and the stereo was low enough just so the neighbors wouldn’t complain. You were on the couch not paying any attention to the door opening and closing, to focus on some game on your phone. The apartment was a mess and you seemed to not care. Taking his coat off he noticed a half empty bottle of booze sitting on the table in front of you. 

Rolling his eyes as you still fail to acknowledge his presence as he stands behind the couch. He leaned over and yanked your phone from your hand. 

“Kishibe!” you shout and turn around to face him. He held the phone up father when you went to reach for it. “Don't be mean! Give it back!” you whined, sitting up on your knees now to reach it. 

Kishibe watched you with a bored expression. “Stop acting like a brat.” He says calm, eyes pointed and blank. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I'm a brat? You wont give me my phone back.” you countered. All in vain because even you knew the mood it would put him in seeing the apartment such a mess like it was. But he had been working a lot and coming home mostly to sleep and shower. 

“Have you seen the mess you made in this apartment?” he asked, anger starting to bowl up the longer you played dumb. “Half a bottle gone for what, just to piss me off?’ he asked, voice growing darker and huskier as he leaned over the back of the couch to get closer to your pouting face. He turned your phone off and put it in his back pocket.

“Kishibe, you can't just take my phone.” you say, bottom lip sticking out a little as you look up at him. 

Shaking his head he stood straight and rounded the couch corner. before you could do or say anything his hand was wrapping around your throat and pulling you so you back was against his abdomen and your head was being craned back to look up at the man who towered over you so easily. “Why don't you use your words and tell me why you're acting like such a little brat tonight.” He demanded as gently as he could manage at the moment, his hand keeping a firm bit loose enough grip so you can breathe and speak. 

And even though he allowed you the luxury of speaking, you chose not to. Instead you looked up at him with slow blinking eyes and a crooked dumb grin. 

Letting out a huff he gripped tighter, pushing his fingers into the soft spots on the sides of your neck and squeezed. He held you there, watching your face redden a little as you tried to keep eye contact with him. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth when your eyes fluttered and you gasped softly for air, hands coming up to tug at his wrist until his free hand grabbed your own and secured them against your chest. “Are you going to be good?” he asked. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you struggled to look up at him. You nodded your head and gasped for air. Your nails dug a little into his skin to show your desperation to breathe again. He nodded and released his grip. Letting you take a sharp inhale. “Go on, explain yourself.” He tells you. 

You frown at him. “You’ve been at work really late… you only come home to shower and sleep.” you say softly, trying to act innocent now that you’ve really upset him.

Kishibe chuckled, low and dark. “Poor baby, getting lonely are ya?” he teased, fingers threatening to close around your throat again. “Upset I wasn't giving you all my attention when I get home?”

Your frown turned back into that bratty pout and you wiggle in his arms. “Kishibe, you're being so mean… I just want to spend some time with you.” you whine again.

“Shut it.” Kishibe growls and reaches to cover your mouth, his hand leaving your throat to grip your jaw and force your whining to stop. “Listen up brat, I have the day off tomorrow and I was planning on taking you out, but if you're going to act up I think I might just have to keep you inside instead.” he told you, making sure you were listening properly and chuckling when your eyes widened at what he was insinuating. “Dirty little thing would probably love that, wouldn't you?” he teased.

You tried to yank at your arms in his hold, wanting to be able to speak and fight back. He knew that's what you wanted, always so mouthy when you drank.

Kishibe let out a soft sigh, relaxing a bit as he held you. “I'm going to take a shower, by the time I’m done I suggest you have this mess either picked up or stripped with your ass up on the bed.” said, voice stern and eyes pointed before he let go and stepped away from the couch and headed to the bedroom where the attached bathroom was. 

You sat for a moment and thought about what you were going to do. You looked around and shrugged, cleaning wasn't going to happen. At the same time, you didn't feel like listening since he hasn't given you the attention you’ve been seeking for days now. You heard the water start and with a small smirk you started to pad your way to the bathroom. Stripping each article of clothing along the way. 

You tried not to make a noise when you opened the door but Kishibe being, well Himself, heard you nonetheless. “What do you think you're doing brat?” he called out. 

You slid the shower door open slowly and met his piercing glare. “Kishibe… please.” you gave your all into acting as innocent and sweet as you could, hoping he would take pity on you. 

Kishibes eyes scanned over your naked body with a low hum. “You got the stripped part right.” he chimes. His hand came up to slide around your throat again, gently he led you into the shower and faced you against the wall opposite the shower head. His free hand slid between your thighs, middle finger teased its way to your clit. 

Your back arches and you let out a small gasp, surprised he was even touching you at all after how you acted. “Kishibe, please.” you begged, leaning your head back as much as you could against his chest. 

Kishibe looked down at you with that same unfazed expression while his fingers continued to assault your clit with harsher and harsher circles. “Begging now?” he said in a dull tone. “You honestly think that will work little brat?” he chimed. 

You nodded your head and stuck out your bottom lip.

Letting out a snort Kishibe yanked his hand from your warm core and used it to push your shoulders forward so you were leaning with your face close to the bathtub wall. He let go of your throat and used that hand to hold your hips still in both hands. “Fuckin brat.” he mumbles. 

You let out a shrill whine and look back up at him. “What are you doing?” you asked, that fake pout never leaving your face. 

Really you knew exactly what you were doing, you loved to push his buttons and the alcohol just made it even easier to piss him off. You were less scared of his spanking and more turned on by his forcefulness towards your attitude. 

He groaned low when he slid his cock between your folds and felt how wet you were. “Teaching you a lesson.” he told you then pushed the tip of his already hard cock against your tight entrance and held himself there. You arched your back even more and used the wall in front of you for support, waiting patiently for him to finally fuck you. You weren't sure how that was a punishment exactly but you weren’t going to complain. “You're going to take all of me and not move, gunna warm my cock while I shower, got it?” he instructed you. 

You didn’t answer, you just pushed yourself back against him to feel him almost push inside before one hand came down hard on the side of your ass. You yelped and jerked forward, away from his stiff cock. “Kishibe, that hurt!” you whine.

Before you could even continue to protest his treatment of your bare ass he was pushing his cock through your slick folds again. Without warning he gripped both your hips, his fingers dug into your skin so much he knew you'd be bruised a little tomorrow. He pulled your back the same time he pushed into your tight pussy. He didn't stop or go slow, he didn't wait when you gasped and grabbed at the wall for more support. He buried his massive cock in your little hole all at once, not allowing you any time to adjust. He smirked when your head hung low and you whimpered and moaned under him. 

“Still want to act like a little brat?” he teased, holding you still on his cock by your hips. 

You shook your head softly, some fight still in you as you pushed your ass back as much as you could to feel any bit of friction. You mewled softly and tried to do it again, only to be stopped be Kishibes hand tangling in your hair and pulling your head back.

His hips snapping into you and caused the side of your face and chest to press firm against the cold wall. “Want to stay just like this?” he asked, knowing this was clearly worse than letting you relax as much as you could. You shook your head no, not liking how much your body had to strain to stay standing in such a position. “Are you going to stop being a brat?” his voice was becoming more stressed and annoyed again, wishing you would just listen already. 

Again you shook your head with what little room you had. “Hurts.” you mumbles and try not to sound too whiny. 

With a grunt as response he pulled you back with him, making sure to keep you nice and stuffed. He let you adjust to a more comfortable position with your hands on the wall. His other hand kept you bent over. “Stay still, if you keep acting like a brat you won't get to cum tonight.” he warned. The threat of not getting to cum made you still in obedience. Kishibe wasn't one to threaten then not follow through. You knew he would make you suffer with his large hands groping you in the night. 

You stayed still and kept all of your little noises in whenever he moved and his cock shifted a little inside you. He washed his hair as slow as possible, letting his fingernails scrape along his scalp as he enjoyed the hot water. Your pussy fluttered around his cock uncontrollably when he washed his body, moving around a lot more and at times pulling out a little and sliding back in. you help in your moans and focus as little as possible on his big cock torturing your needy pussy. 

“Alright, you've done good enough.” Kishibe says, sliding a hand over your ass before spanking you once, then twice for good measure. Your hips jerk at the motion and cant help the soft yelp you let out. “I want  you to fuck yourself on my cock, make yourself come just like this.” he instructs. 

You look back at him with another pout. “But my legs are tired… Kishibe plea-”

“No, you can do it yourself if you need it that bad.” He says firmly and pulls back a little, leaving only the tip of his cock. You whine and jerk your hips back to take his cock back in. “See, just like that, keep going.” You let out a sound like a whine and start at a slow pace, using the wall as support as you fuck yourself on his cock. 

You speed up and throw your hips back harder when you start to feel the familiar tingle of an orgasm building. “Gunna, Kishibe, I'm gonna cum.” You whine and chase your high.

Kishibe takes a little pity on you and presses himself towards you a little more so you would feel him hit even harder when you slammed your hips back. “Good girl, make yourself cum on my cock, just like that.” he encourages. He watches as your ass giggles, your legs spread and pussy devouring his fat cock. 

“Kishibe, feel so good.” you whine, feeling or orgasm creeping up and hitting you fast. Your pussy spasms around his cock and you can't stop your pathetic moans as you come hard on his cock. You thrust becoming erratic and slowing down until you come to a stop to catch your breath.

Kishibe slowly pulled out of you, cock still throbbing and now leaking precum. You whimper when you're left empty. You slowly straighten your back and face him, looking up at him with innocent eyes. He chuckles and rolls his eyes, now you want to act obedient. “I want you on the bed waiting for me.” He instructed. 

You smile, knowing the nights not over yet.

!thank you for reading!

[minoulapin]

Chapter Three: Weight of Watching - Between Giving & Taking - Y. JW

Pairing: Demon!Jungwon x Angel!Reader

Genre: Forbidden Love, Fantasy, Romance, Mystery

Wc: 6.8k

Synopsis: A love unspoken, a fate unwritten, An angel and demon, forever forbidden. Bound by the laws of heaven and hell, A story of longing they dare not tell. At the Academy of the Occult, angels and demons coexist under a fragile truce. But when a celestial heir is assassinated, war looms, secrets unravel, and forbidden desires ignite. In a world where their love is a crime, will they defy fate or be consumed by it?

A/N: Coucou!! Now bear with me guys, there is a love story involving Jungwon, I promise. But I’m way too much of an angst and slow-burn fan to make them all kissy-kissy this early. It’s going to take time and maybe a little suffering, but it will happen eventually. Just hoping the wait will be worth it 😮‍💨 - Joe

Tag list: open!! (Comment to be added) @stormy1408 @whateveridontcaresheesh @indigoez @riribelle @iifrui @m3l4nchol @bamguetismee @w1dyvnn

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Angels were not born. They were made.

Forged from celestial fire, shaped by divine hands, their existence was dictated by purpose. There was no uncertainty, no deviation, only order. Unlike demons, who were shaped from chaos, angels were given clarity, obedience woven into the very core of their being. They existed to serve, to uphold, to maintain balance as the Dominion commanded.

At least, that is what they were told.

The Dominion saw their creation as proof of their divine right to rule. Angels were the children of light, the enforcers of harmony. They had no need for questions. No need for doubt. There was no space for uncertainty in the celestial hierarchy.

But what happens to angels who begin to doubt?

The ones who question, who rebel, who seek their own truth, they are exiled.

Some fall to the Infernal Court. Some vanish without a trace. And some, the ones who refuse to choose a side, are erased from history altogether.

The Dominion does not speak of them. The records do not remember them. They are not mourned. It is said that to question is to fall. That those who wander too far from the path will never return. And yet, throughout history, there have always been whispers.

Angels who disappeared. Names that faded into nothing. Unfinished stories left to rot in forbidden archives.

Some say they were unmade.

Others say they fell.

But one thing remained certain:

Angels who strayed too far never came back.

Dust coats the worn leather of the book's cover, its ancient spine barely holding together as Y/n turns another fragile page. The dim candlelight flickers against the towering bookshelves surrounding her, casting long shadows in the farthest corner of the library. Here, beneath the weight of history, the air is thick with silence, watchful, suffocating, like a presence lingering just beyond her reach.

She closes the book, fingers tightening around the edges of the page. Her pulse is steady, but there's a quiet unease creeping beneath her skin.

She knew, deep down, that she shouldn't be reading this. But she couldn't stop. Because this wasn't just history. This was a warning. And she was doing exactly what angels were never meant to do.

She moves carefully, slipping between lessons and training sessions, her eyes skimming over the world around her, but never truly seeing it. If anyone asked, she was just another student walking the halls, fulfilling her duties. But her thoughts were elsewhere.

She was collecting details, threading together half-truths and inconsistencies, piecing together fragments of a story no one wanted told. The deeper she dug, the more the cracks in history widened. Records contradicted each other, timelines blurred. Events that should have been monumental were barely documented at all. Some things, things that should have been impossible, were missing entirely.

No one seemed to notice. Or at least, she thought no one noticed.

But then there was that feeling.

A pressure against the back of her neck, the subtle weight of something unseen, someone just out of sight. It followed her between classes, through empty corridors, into the dim corners of the library where dust clung to forgotten books. A ghost in the periphery, vanishing the second she turned to look.

She ignored it. Because if she started questioning everything, she'd never get anywhere. She kept her head down and continued digging, knowing she was running out of time before someone did notice.

But what she didn't realize, Someone already had.

Jungwon never meant to follow her.

Not at first.

The first time had been an accident. A late-night walk through the academy grounds, his mind heavy with thoughts. He had seen her then, shoulders hunched slightly forward, footsteps deliberate, lips pressed together in quiet determination. Alone, moving like she belonged in the shadows rather than among the celestial.

He should have left. But he didn't.

Instead, he had lingered, just long enough to see the way she hovered outside the restricted archives, fingers grazing over the locked door as if she could will it open. She had stayed there for a long moment, unmoving, and then disappeared down the hallway, silent as a ghost.

Jungwon told himself it was nothing.

But then it happened again.

And again.

The same pattern. The same movements. Late at night, early in the morning, whenever she thought no one was looking.

But he was looking. He didn't know when curiosity became habit. When watching became something he needed to do.

At first, it was logical. Practical. Someone had to keep an eye on her before she got herself killed. That was all.

But then there was that moment in the training hall. He had felt her presence before he had even seen her, the way the air shifted when she entered. It wasn't her magic, it wasn't anything celestial. It was her. Like a disturbance in an otherwise perfect system. A sharp edge where there should have been smoothness.

She was chaos. She didn't belong. And yet, she was still here. And that made him angry.

Jungwon never acted on impulse. Never lost control. He was methodical, disciplined, unwavering. He followed the rules. He enforced them. But she made him hesitate. She made him linger. She made him care. And he hated that. She was a problem, loud, stubborn, reckless. She didn't know when to stop. She didn't know how close she was to getting herself erased. And now, somehow, that was his problem. He should stop. He knows he should stop. But he doesn't.

He won't.

Because now, he's not just watching her. He's waiting. Waiting for the moment she pushes too far. And when she does. He'll be there. Not to save her. Not to stop her. But to see what happens next.

The celestial training grounds were vast, an open expanse of polished marble, ringed by towering columns and enchanted runes that pulsed faintly with energy. Overhead, golden light filtered through the arched ceilings, casting an almost holy glow over the sparring matches taking place.

But Y/n wasn't thinking about the beauty of it. She was focused on the fight.

She grinned. "You sure you can handle me, blondie?"

Jake circled her, his steps slow, calculated. His stance was relaxed, but she knew better than to let her guard down. He had that glint in his eye, the one that meant he was about to pull something unfair.

Jake smirked, tossing a dagger between his hands. "I don't know, Y/n. You look a little tense. Something on your mind?"

Yes.

But she wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, she rolled her eyes. "You talk too much."

"And yet you keep listening." She didn't respond, she was already moving.

Their classmates sparred around them, blades clashing, bursts of celestial energy cracking through the air. Some students fought with elegant, controlled precision, their magic weaving effortlessly into their movements. Others relied solely on their spells, letting power do the work.

Y/n?

Y/n fought with instinct.

She struck first, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. No hesitation. Her footwork was sharp, her movements instinctive, honed by years of knowing that magic would never be her strong suit. She relied on speed. Precision. Strategy.

Jake dodged, barely. Then he grinned. "Too slow."

She didn't let the taunt get to her. Instead, she pivoted, feinting left before lunging right. It was a trick that worked on most people, except Jake wasn't most people.

He saw it coming. He always did.

Jake ducked under her strike, his arm shooting out. Y/n barely managed to twist out of reach before his dagger could land against her ribs. She gritted her teeth. Too close.

"Come on," Jake teased, twirling his blade lazily. "You're gonna have to do better than that."

They had sparred together for years. He knew how she moved, how she thought. And more importantly, He knew her weaknesses. She didn't answer. She just moved. She was fast. Faster than most. She darted behind him, slamming the heel of her boot against the back of his knee, forcing him off balance. He recovered quickly, twisting around to block her next attack, but she was already two steps ahead.

This time, she was winning. She could feel it.

Jake had no opening. She kept him moving, forcing him to dodge instead of counter. She struck again, faster, sharper, forcing him back.

One more move. One more second. And she had him.

Then—it happened. A pulse of energy surged through her veins, sharp and electric, like static crackling beneath her skin. It burned, cold and searing all at once, and for a split second, her vision blurred. Her magic flickered.

A brief lapse. A force she couldn't control, couldn't even predict. The air around her wavered, shifting unnaturally, just enough to break her momentum.

Jake saw it instantly. And he took full advantage.

Before Y/n could recover, he knocked her off her feet. The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, staring up at the sky as Jake stood over her, victorious. Again.

She clenched her jaw, frustration boiling under her skin. "Damn it."

Jake grinned down at her. "You're getting predictable."

Y/n scowled. "You're getting annoying."

She took the hand he offered and let him pull her up with a huff. Except, this time, Jake didn't let go immediately. He was still holding her wrist, studying her.

"You hesitated," he said, quieter now.

She stiffened. "No, I didn't."

Jake tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Your magic—"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

He held her gaze for a beat longer before sighing. "Fine."

But she could tell by his expression, he wasn't convinced.

She ignored his smug look and let him pull her up. "I had you."

Jake laughed. "Almost had me."

Almost.

She scowled, brushing dust off her uniform.

"Again?" Jake asked.

Y/n rolled her shoulders, ignoring the sting of her pride. "Again."

She couldn't let this go.

Her magic had always been her greatest flaw. Uncontrolled. Volatile. Flickering at the worst moments.

Most angels were proud of their celestial gifts, wielding them with precision and ease. Magic was second nature to them, effortless. Even the weakest students had more control than she did.

Y/n?

She relied on something else.

Speed. Strategy. Reflexes.

She was fast, faster than most. Agile. Sharp. Dangerous in close combat. If magic wasn't involved, she could take down anyone in her class. But celestial society didn't value physical combat.

Magic was everything.

And she had never been enough.

Her grip tightened around the hilt of her blade.

She should be getting better. She should be learning control.

But recently?

Recently, it had been getting worse.

Her magic had always been difficult.

Now, it felt like it was fighting her.

And she had no idea why.

But she wanted to find out.

Sparring was just another reminder of that.

The training grounds were still buzzing with energy, students filtering out in groups, laughing, stretching, going over their matches.

She barely heard any of it.

Her frustration still clung to her skin, thick and suffocating, a mix of annoyance, exhaustion, and something deeper she didn't want to name. She should have won that match. She would have won if her magic hadn't betrayed her at the last second.

Beside her, Jake walked in easy silence, rolling his shoulders like he wasn't bothered by the fight at all. He didn't seem mad, just watchful, as if he were waiting for her to say something first.

She was just about to, when a voice cut through the air instead.

"Tough loss, angel."

She stopped walking.

Jake, already on edge, immediately stiffened beside her. His jaw ticked before he even turned around.

Because, of course, it was Heeseung.

He leaned against one of the stone pillars, looking far too amused for someone who had done absolutely nothing all day. His uniform was as careless as ever, tie undone, sleeves rolled up, like he hadn't even bothered with the formality of dressing properly. He looked effortlessly untouchable, and he knew it.

She exhaled sharply. Not now.

"What do you want, Heeseung?" she said, already tired.

He grinned. "Now, now. Is that any way to talk to a friend?"

Jake scoffed. "You're not her friend."

Heeseung chuckled, slow and deliberate, like he found Jake's irritation entertaining. "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean I'm not friendly."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Heeseung—"

He moved closer, the shift subtle but noticeable. "I was just admiring your technique."

Jake let out a low breath, rubbing the back of his neck like he was actively holding himself back from punching him.

Y/n, meanwhile, wasn't buying it. She arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Didn't realize you were watching."

Heeseung smirked. "You make it hard not to."

Jake's patience snapped. "Cut the bullshit, Heeseung."

Heeseung sighed dramatically. "You celestials are always so high-strung. No wonder you're all so miserable."

Then, his eyes flicked back to her.

And his amusement shifted into something else.

Something calculating.

"Or maybe..." Heeseung's voice dipped, soft, smooth, dangerous. "You're just more interesting when you're not playing by the rules."

She froze.

The words felt too sharp, too precise to be casual.

Jake noticed her hesitation instantly.

His head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. "What the hell does that mean?"

Then, loud enough for Jake to hear— "You're doing something you shouldn't be doing, aren't you?"

Y/n quickly glared at Heeseung. "Shut up."

But it was too late.

Jake was already looking at her like he knew.

Like he knew something was off.

His voice was lower this time. Calm. Controlled.

Too controlled.

"Y/n."

She swallowed. "Jake—"

"You told me you wouldn't."

Her stomach twisted. She had told him that.

And she had lied.

"Heeseung is just messing with you," she tried, grasping for something, anything to get Jake off her case.

"Oh, am I?" Heeseung's smirk widened. "Funny. Because I don't remember lying."

Jake clenched his jaw. "Y/n."

She hated how his voice sounded just then.

Like he was disappointed.

Like he actually expected better from her.

She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to—"

"Because you didn't want me to what?" Jake snapped. "Stop you? Keep you from getting yourself killed?"

She winced. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

She had no answer for that.

And Jake knew it.

For the first time in the conversation, Heeseung actually looked pleased.

He took a slow step forward, lowering his voice, leaning in toward her.

She stiffened as he dipped his head closer.

Then, right at her ear, he murmured, "I might know something that could help."

His breath was warm against her skin, a deliberate act of intrusion, making the space between them feel suffocating.

Jake immediately moved.

Before she could react, Jake was in front of her, stepping between them, his shoulders squared, his presence sharp and tense.

"Back. Off."

His voice wasn't loud.

But it was dangerous.

Heeseung laughed. "Relax, celestial. I was just saying—"

"Yeah, yeah," Jake snapped. "You were just saying something you shouldn't."

She didn't stop him.

Because she knew Jake was right.

Heeseung was bad news.

But she was still intrigued.

Because when Heeseung smirked and leaned back, he wasn't done.

"But if you ever want to know what I know..." He tapped his temple. "You know where to find me."

She clenched her jaw.

She didn't trust him.

But she couldn't ignore him either.

The moment Heeseung disappeared, Jake turned on her.

"Later," he said, voice tight. "Our dorm."

"You're telling me everything, " he said, quiet but firm.

She crossed her arms. "And if I'm busy?"

"You're not."

She narrowed her eyes.

She bristled. "Jake, I—"

"No." His voice was sharp. "Not this time."

Jake continued, tone leaving no room for argument. "This time, you don't get a choice."

She blinked, thrown off by how serious he looked.

Y/n hated that she couldn't argue. Because he was right.

She sighed. "Fine."

Jake didn't move. He just watched her for a moment, like he was debating whether to say something else.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Think you can stay out of trouble for a few hours, or do I need to babysit you?"

She frowned. "What?"

"I'm leaving."

She stared at him. "You're, what?"

He let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, because if I stay, I'm just going to say something I regret."

Her stomach twisted. "Jake, don't be like that—"

"Like what?" He let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. "Like someone who actually gives a shit? Because I do, Y/n. That's the problem."

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Jake's jaw clenched. He took a step back, shaking his head again.

"I'll see you at the dorm."

And then, he walked away.

Y/n stood there, still, silent, hating everything about this conversation.

Because for the first time in a long time, Jake was truly mad at her.

Jake was pissed.

And honestly? He had every right to be.

But that wasn't what annoyed her the most.

What annoyed her the most... was that she had no one to blame but herself.

The hallway was quiet.

Too quiet.

The usual hum of students moving between dorms had faded, leaving only the distant flicker of torchlight and the soft echo of Y/n's footsteps.

She moved quickly, her mind tangled in frustration.

Jake was pissed at her.

Heeseung had thrown her under the bus just for his own entertainment.

And now, she was alone with nothing but the weight of her own decisions pressing down on her.

She needed a moment. A breath. A second to clear her thoughts before heading back to the dorm where she'd have to deal with Jake's inevitable lecture.

But the universe, apparently, had other plans.

Y/n rounded the corner.

And collided into someone.

She stumbled back, already irritated. "For fuck's sake—"

Then she saw who it was.

Jungwon.

Her stomach twisted.

Not in fear.

Not in shock.

But in something else, something sharp and hot, something that made her fingers twitch with the sudden urge to push past him and not look back.

Because the way he was looking at her.

Like he had been waiting.

Like he knew something.

Y/n exhaled sharply, straightening. "Move."

Jungwon didn't.

His lips twitched, but it wasn't quite a smirk. It was something colder. "You're in a bad mood."

She scoffed. "You're observant. Congratulations."

Jungwon tilted his head slightly, gaze steady, arms still lazily tucked in his pockets, like blocking her path was nothing more than an afterthought.

Y/n took a step forward, fully intending to brush past him without another word.

But then,

"You should be more careful."

His voice was quiet. Controlled.

But it stopped her.

She frowned, slowly turning back.

"What?"

Jungwon blinked at her, slow and unreadable. "I said, you should be more careful."

Her irritation flared hotter.

"I can take care of myself," she snapped.

"If you actually cared about yourself, you wouldn't be involved with Heeseung."

Y/n froze.

Her irritation flared hotter.

"I'm not involved with Heeseung," she snapped.

Jungwon clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Could've fooled me."

She scowled. "Oh, I'm sorry, was there a rule about who I can and can't talk to?"

Jungwon let out a slow breath, controlled but sharp. "There's a difference between talking to Heeseung and whatever it is you're doing."

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "And what exactly am I doing?"

"You tell me."

She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "Oh my god. If you're going to be a cryptic asshole, can you at least get to the point?"

Jungwon's expression didn't shift, but something in his gaze sharpened.

"What did Heeseung say to you?"

She stiffened.

It was so quick, so subtle, she almost convinced herself she hadn't reacted at all.

But Jungwon noticed.

He always noticed.

She forced a scoff. "Since when do you care?"

Jungwon's jaw tightened. "I don't."

Y/n arched an eyebrow. "Right. That's why you're stopping me in the middle of a hallway."

Jungwon exhaled sharply, tilting his head slightly like he was sizing her up. Then, finally—

"Heeseung plays games," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "You're not as good at them as you think."

Y/n's breath hitched before she could stop it.

She bristled, narrowing her eyes. "And you are?"

Jungwon didn't answer.

He just watched her, gaze steady, unreadable, long enough for the air between them to feel thick, suffocating.

Then, in one smooth movement, he stepped closer.

Too close.

She hated the way her breath caught.

"You should go." His voice was quiet, unreadable. "Dark places aren't meant for an angel like you."

She had to tilt her chin to meet his gaze. The space between them shrank, and for the first time, she felt the weight of his presence in a way she hadn't before. There was something unsettling about it, about him. He was sharp edges and quiet intensity, and right now, all of it was directed at her.

Her breath hitched before she could stop it.

Jungwon saw it.

His lips curled, amusement flickering across his face. "So you can get scared."

Y/n stiffened, irritation quickly replacing the fleeting hesitation she had let slip. "Go to hell," she muttered, voice tight.

Jungwon tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening. "I'd love to go back home."

Y/n's jaw clenched. His arrogant, untouchable demeanor was grating, and she was beyond done with his cryptic bullshit.

She moved first, stepping past him deliberately, her shoulder brushing against his.

Jungwon didn't stop her.

Then she scoffed, shaking her head as she walked away. "You're an ass," she threw over her shoulder. "Leave me alone."

Jungwon didn't move.

He stayed rooted in place, jaw clenched, hands flexing at his sides.

He had been watching her for days, lurking in the edges of her world, waiting for an opportunity to pull her away from the mess she was running toward.

But somewhere along the way, she became the problem.

She was supposed to be another reckless idiot, another celestial too blind to see the bigger picture. Someone he could dismiss.

But Y/n wasn't that.

And it infuriated him.

She had a habit of getting under his skin, making him notice things he shouldn't. Like the way she never backed down, even when she should. The way she looked at him, not with the blind admiration or quiet fear he was used to, but with something challenging.

And worse, he liked it.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He needed to stop.

He wouldn't.

Y/n sat cross-legged on her bed, a mess of papers, books, and hastily scribbled notes spread around her like fragments of a puzzle she couldn't quite piece together. Ink-stained fingertips tapped anxiously against the margins as she skimmed through her findings, if she could even call them that.

Because, in reality, she had nothing.

Jake sat at the edge of his own bed, watching her in silence. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight, not with anger anymore, but something quieter.

She sighed, rubbing at her temples. "This is useless."

Jake didn't answer right away. Then, after a beat, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Walk me through it."

She hesitated. "Jake—"

"Just do it." His tone left no room for argument.

She exhaled sharply, sorting through the mess of parchment. "Okay. So, I started with the official records, but the further back I go, the more inconsistencies I find. Nothing outright missing, but... altered."

Jake frowned. "Altered how?"

"Dates that don't match up. Events that contradict other records. And then there's this" She flipped a particular page toward him. "Mentions of missing angels, but only in fragmented footnotes. Never by name. Just vague references to those who 'strayed from the path.'"

Jake's expression darkened as he studied the text. "And you think this connects to the heir's murder?"

She leaned back against her headboard, shaking her head. "That's just it, I don't know. But something isn't right. The way history's been rewritten... it's like someone doesn't want the full truth to be known."

Jake's grip on the paper tightened. "And you think digging through this mess is gonna get you anywhere?"

She glanced at him. "You don't believe me."

Jake sighed. "I believe something is off. But that's exactly why I don't like this, Y/n. You don't just stop when things get dangerous, you dig deeper."

His words hit harder than she expected.

Because he was right.

She flipped through the pages, her fingers moving with sharp, restless energy. Notes, records, scattered fragments of information that led nowhere. It felt like trying to hold water in cupped hands, every answer slipping through before she could grasp it.

When she finally exhaled, pushing one of the books aside, he leaned forward. "Okay," he said. "Tell me why this is worth driving yourself insane over."

She glanced at him. "I told you already. The heir's murder doesn't make sense."

Jake shook his head. "No, I mean, why do you care so much?"

Y/n hesitated.

For a second, she considered brushing him off. Giving him a half-truth, something easy.

But Jake wasn't asking to annoy her.

He was asking because he knew there was more.

She leaned back against the headboard, fingers drumming idly against the parchment in her lap. "Because it shouldn't have been possible."

Jake didn't respond, waiting for her to continue.

She frowned, looking down at the notes scattered around her. "I mean, think about it. You know how strict the celestial laws are. We're literally created with obedience woven into us. No angel has ever truly rebelled and gotten away with it, not without facing immediate consequence. So how the hell did someone break the laws, successfully? And not just any law, but the most sacred one?"

Jake's expression shifted slightly, his gaze sharpening.

Y/n exhaled, pushing a hand through her hair. "It's not just about the murder, Jake. If someone was able to break the laws so completely, then what does that mean? About the laws themselves? About us?" She hesitated before adding, quieter, "About me?"

Jake's grip on the paper tightened.

She let out a breath. "Maybe it's stupid. Maybe I just want an explanation for why I've never felt like I belong here." She shrugged, but it was forced. "Or maybe I just want proof that we're not as controlled as we think we are."

Jake studied her for a long moment.

He had known Y/n for years. Known that she never let things go once they got under her skin. But this wasn't just stubborn curiosity.

This was something deeper.

And for the first time, he understood why.

She wasn't searching for an answer about the heir.

She was searching for an answer about herself.

Silence.

Jake's jaw clenched.

Had seen the way she stood out, not because she tried to, but because she simply didn't fit. In a world that prided itself on order, on tradition, on sameness, Y/n was an anomaly.

She had always been different. Not in a way that made her weak. In a way that made her untamable.

Jake had never once thought of her as a mistake.

But he knew that she did.

She let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand down her face. "Shit. I'm being dramatic."

Jake rolled his eyes and stood, moving beside her to sit at the edge of her bed. "Yeah, well. You've earned it."

She let out a weak laugh.

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair before finally pulling back. He didn't look happy about this. Not even a little.

But when he spoke, his voice was steady. Resigned.

"Alright," he muttered. "I'll let you keep digging."

She blinked. "You... will?"

"Yeah." He exhaled sharply. "But under conditions."

She groaned. "Of course there are conditions."

Jake shot her a look. "You're the one getting tangled up in some conspiracy shit, Y/n. You're lucky I don't chain you to this bed and call it a day."

She smirked. "Kinky."

Jake scowled. "I'm serious."

Y/n snorted but bit back a real response, settling for a nod instead. "Fine. Let's hear it."

Jake leveled her with a look before holding up a finger. "One. You tell me everything. No more sneaking around."

She rolled her eyes but nodded. "Fine."

"Two." Another finger. "The second you get a solid answer, you stop. No 'one more clue,' no excuses."

Y/n hesitated. "Define solid answer."

Jake gave her a deadpan stare. "Don't test me."

She sighed. "Alright, alright. Keep going."

Jake held up a third finger. "No recklessness. No going off alone. No doing stupid shit just because you're feeling bold."

She exhaled, dragging a hand down her face. "You're sucking all the fun out of this."

"Good," Jake said dryly. Then, more seriously, "Four. Be careful who you trust. Not everyone is your friend."

She didn't argue that one.

She didn't need to.

Jake hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "And five."

His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. "Under no circumstances do you get yourself killed and leave me in this boring-ass place without you."

Y/n's breath caught in her throat, just for a second.

Jake wasn't joking.

There was no teasing, no sarcasm, no hint of lightness in his tone. Just something sharp and heavy, something that made her stomach twist.

She scoffed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

Jake exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "Says the one digging through centuries-old lies like she's going to find a neat little answer tucked between the pages."

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't argue with him.

He was right.

She snorted, but the amusement faded quickly. This was serious.

He was serious.

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders like she could shake off the weight pressing on her. "I'll be careful."

Jake didn't look convinced. "You better."

Jake studied her for a moment, he held her gaze for another long second before sighing. Then, without another word, he leaned over and flicked her forehead.

She flinched. "Ow—what the fuck?"

Jake smirked. "For being an idiot."

She scowled. "You're such an ass."

Jake just shrugged, standing up and stretching like this entire conversation hadn't just aged him ten years. "Yeah, well. Someone has to keep you from getting yourself killed."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something lighter in her chest now, something less suffocating. She watched as Jake grabbed a book from his own desk, tossing it onto his bed before turning back toward her.

He nodded toward her mess of notes. "If you're gonna keep obsessing, at least do it quietly." She smirked, leaning back against her pillows. "No promises."

Jake muttered something under his breath, something suspiciously close to pain in my ass, before finally collapsing onto his own bed with a groan.

And just like that, the tension eased. She still didn't have answers. But at least, for now, she had this.

Y/n's dreams are not dreams.

They are something else.

Something worse.

A sensation, sharp and intrusive, coils around her mind like a whisper she can't quite hear. Cold fingers of static trace down her spine, slipping beneath her skin, clawing at her ribs, dragging her toward something she doesn't understand. The darkness behind her eyelids shifts, too heavy, too real, curling at the edges like ink spreading through water. Shapes flicker in the void, just out of reach, fragmented whispers scraping against the inside of her skull.

A voice, no, not a voice. A pull. It isn't gentle. It isn't kind. It demands.

She jolts awake with a sharp inhale, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Her skin prickles, every nerve on edge, charged with something she can't name.

Her room is dark, but something is wrong. The sensation doesn't fade. It lingers, pressing down against her like a weight, like a summons, like something clawing at the edge of her consciousness, refusing to let go. Her pulse pounds against her ribs. She glances at Jake. He's still asleep, curled on his side, breathing steady. Peaceful. Y/n swallows hard. She should wake him. She should. But she doesn't. Because the pull is still there, electric beneath her skin, humming through her veins, dragging her toward something beyond this room, beyond reason.

Y/n swings her legs over the edge of the bed. And she follows it.

The Academy is different at night. She had never noticed it before, not like this. The air is thick, charged with something she can't name. The grand hallways, so rigid and pristine under daylight, stretch endlessly into the dark, their towering stone pillars twisting into shadows.

Everything is too quiet.

Not just because the students are asleep, but because the Academy itself feels different. Like it's holding its breath. Like it knows.

Y/n moves soundlessly, her pulse steady, her breath shallow. She doesn't know why she's here, only that she has to be. The pull is stronger now. A silent, unrelenting pressure behind her ribs, something winding around her lungs, her spine, tugging at her veins like invisible strings.

She turns a corner, And stops. At the end of the hall, framed by two towering columns, is a door. A door she has never seen before. That shouldn't be possible. She knows this school. She's spent years memorizing its corridors, walking these halls, mapping every shortcut and hidden corner.

But this, This is wrong. Or maybe... Maybe it was always here. Waiting. The pull pulses, sharper now, pressing against her temples like a heartbeat inside her skull.

She steps closer. Her fingers twitch at her sides. She shouldn't be here. But she has to know. Y/n reaches for the handle—

"You shouldn't be here."

The voice slices through the silence like a blade. She freezes. A sharp chill crawls down her spine as she whirls around, Professor Aldric stands a few feet away.

He isn't angry. But his eyes are steady, sharp, cutting through the darkness like he sees something she doesn't.

She forces herself to breathe. Her pulse is steady. She smooths her expression.

"Professor."

Aldric doesn't move. His gaze flickers to the door behind her before settling back on her. The silence stretches. "You felt it, didn't you?"

She stiffens.

Aldric's voice is quieter this time, almost contemplative. He studies her, his head tilting slightly, like she is a puzzle he is trying to solve.

She exhales slowly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Aldric hums, but the sound is unreadable.

Y/n's fingers curl at her sides. She tilts her chin up, feigning confidence. "I was just walking."

Aldric doesn't blink. "And yet you ended up here."

She doesn't answer. The moment stretches between them, heavy, suffocating.

"Curiosity is dangerous in this Academy," Aldric murmurs.

She exhales sharply. "So I've been told."

Aldric's expression doesn't change, but something flickers behind his gaze, something old, something knowing.

A pause. Then— "I had a student like you once."

She stills.

Aldric glances at the door again. His posture is still, unnervingly calm, but the weight of his words settles deep into her bones.

"Restless," he continues. "Always looking for something they weren't meant to find."

A slow, creeping unease curls inside her. She swallows. "What happened to them?"

Aldric's silence is an answer. Then, finally "They stopped looking." Y/n's stomach twists.

Aldric exhales, like he has already said too much. "Go back to your dorm, Y/n."

She clenches her jaw. "Why?"

The air shifts. For the first time, Aldric's voice is quiet. Steady.

"Because the Academy isn't as safe as it used to be."

Something in she stills. Not because of what he said. But because of how he said it. Not a warning. A fact. The weight of it lingers between them. Aldric studies her for another moment, then steps back, inclining his head slightly.

"Good night."

Y/n hesitates for half a second, but there's nothing left to say. Nothing he will say. She exhales sharply, turns on her heel, and walks away. Her footsteps echo against the stone, steady but clipped. She doesn't stop. Doesn't glance back. She forces herself forward, past the columns, past the shadows, ignoring the way the air still feels too heavy around her. She won't get answers here. Not tonight. She disappears down the hallway, her silhouette swallowed by the dim torchlight.

Aldric didn't move. His gaze remained fixed on the empty space beside him, on the shadows pooled along the farthest corner of the hall. And when she is finally out of reach, Aldric exhales.

without turning, without raising his voice, he speaks into the darkness.

"You too, Jungwon."

The shadows shift. A figure steps forward. Jungwon stepped forward, expression unreadable, hands tucked casually into his pockets like he hadn't just been standing there, lurking. Watching.

Y/n was already gone. But the weight of her presence still clung to the air, thick and lingering. Jungwon met Aldric's gaze without hesitation. "I was bored."

Aldric merely observed him, his face impassive. "Strange," he mused. "I didn't take you for someone who enjoyed standing in the dark, listening to things that aren't meant for you."

Jungwon's expression remained unreadable. "Isn't that what you do?"

Aldric hummed, unimpressed. "I listen when necessary. The difference is, I don't hover."

The silence between them stretched, heavy and deliberate. Jungwon should leave. He should turn and walk away like none of this had ever happened. Like he hadn't been standing there, watching Y/n, following her every move.

But he didn't. Instead, he spoke.

"She's going to get herself killed."

Aldric didn't react. No flicker of surprise. No concern. Instead, he sighed, a quiet, almost thoughtful sound. "Perhaps," he admitted. "This is often the fate of those who ask the wrong questions. But that depends entirely on how much she's willing to know."

Jungwon's fingers curled into fists. That answer irritated him more than it should have. For a moment, his thoughts tangled into something sharp, something reckless.

But then he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to step back, to distance himself from whatever this was. He wasn't here to discuss her. He didn't care what Aldric chose to do about her. And yet, his voice came out lower, rougher than before.

"She's reckless."

Aldric merely glanced at him. "And yet, you're the one standing here."

Jungwon's expression didn't change, but something inside him twisted.

Aldric wasn't wrong. Y/n was the reckless one. Y/n was the one stepping into dangerous territory. But the problem wasn't just her. It was him, too. Because while he wasn't bound by celestial law, she was. He was the one trailing after her like a fool. And if anyone found out how often he had been watching her, how often he had been following her, Y/n would be the one to suffer for it. Not him.

She was the one bound by celestial law, the one whose loyalty would be questioned if the wrong people started noticing their paths crossing too often. Celestial protocol may have been new, but its purpose was clear. The law had been put in place to prevent another war from breaking out between angels and demons. There were rules. Boundaries. Lines that weren't meant to be crossed. And yet, he kept crossing them.

Jungwon exhaled sharply, fingers curling at his sides.

It wasn't that he cared if she got caught.

It wasn't that he cared if she was reckless.

So why the hell was he still here?

Jungwon scoffed, low and humorless. "Celestial laws are bullshit."

Aldric raised a brow, but he didn't argue. "They are absolute."

Jungwon huffed, shaking his head. "Nothing is absolute."

Aldric's eyes darkened slightly. "Then I suggest you be careful where your thoughts lead you, Jungwon."

Jungwon didn't reply. His thoughts had already led him too far.

Aldric studied him for another moment before finally stepping back, turning away. He disappeared down the corridor, robes whispering against the stone.

Jungwon didn't move. Y/n was reckless. Y/n was dangerous. But he was the one who kept looking for her. He was the one who couldn't seem to let it go. Jungwon exhaled sharply, forcing his fingers to unclench.

He should stop.

He would stop.

And yet,

Jungwon turned sharply on his heel, heading down the opposite hallway. He told himself he wasn't following her.

But deep down, he already knew,

He would never be far.

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[thisisourlovestory]

Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.8k

Notes: Happy New Year! Hope you enjoy this one. My phone deleted half of it so I had to rewrite it but that worked in my favour and I think it’s better than it was

Chapter 3

The next morning I was awoken by knocking at my door. Assuming it to be Lysander I ignored it and took my sweet time getting ready, taking a long shower under burning water, brushing my teeth vigorously, loosely clipping back the front strands of my hair and slipping on a pale blue dress from the wardrobe in the wall before making my way to the dining area. I followed the smell of freshly cooked bacon and pancakes, my mouth watering as I sat down and took a few pancakes, stacking them up, cutting a slab of butter that melted as soon as I dropped it on top, drizzling sticky sweet syrup over them and layering bacon on top. I grabbed a fork and dug into my towering pillar of food, the salty bacon contrasting with the sugary syrup. I polished it off in no time at all and reached for the piles of jewel like fruits, stacked in tiny ceramic bowls in the centre of the table. I had just bit into a slice of watermelon, pink juice dripping down the corner of my mouth, when Mags walked in with Lysander who flaunted a garish purple and gold striped suit and he began to speak as loudly as ever as I quickly wiped my chin.

“Good morning!” My head hit the table.

“Goodness Y/N, did you not get enough sleep last night?” He asked, looking at me with slight concern.

“I'm fine thank you for asking,” I answered, “Just woke up a bit too early.” I rubbed my head, smiling sheepishly and his gaze softened.

“That simply won't do!” He exclaimed, “We need you to be on top form for when you’re in the arena.”

“Lysander.” I called out softly, interrupting what was sure to be a long tirade. “I… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for my outburst yesterday. I don't know what I was thinking. I suppose, well I suppose I was just a little overwhelmed by all this. I hope you can forgive me. “ I twisted a strand of my hair in my fingers and he took the bait immediately. I could almost see what he was thinking. Such a kind girl, she must be terrified, very sweet of her to apologise. His eyes gained a look of sympathy as he raised a hand to his heart and walked over to me.

“It's quite alright dear, no need for apologies. I completely understand you must be feeling absolutely terrified of all this. You did such a kind thing volunteering for Miss Cresta, so selfless, dear and I’m sure she appreciates it very much.” I nodded, going back to my food, and he clapped. “Now that's all sorted out, we need a plan for you.” He looked me up and down, assessing me as Mags grinned into her bowl at the look on my face. “I'm thinking we play the innocent card, the fact you were so young when you won will help with that a lot. You are one of the youngest in the games this year after all. We simply must also use the fact that you are a true performer and ballet is such a beautiful art form indeed so,” he turned to Mags, “I propose we paint her as an angel.”

I choked on a piece of watermelon, the apprehension on my face giving way to horror. Mags patted me gently on the back and I straightened in my seat, sending a grateful smile her way as Lysander continued, lost in his own world.

“Of course only your stylist can decide this but I’m fairly certain I can put in a word and if they didn't already have the same idea after watching the reaping then I'll eat my hat.” I eyed the purple monstrosity on his head and imagined it being stuffed into his mouth, wondering if maybe that would be the thing that would finally shut him up. I wanted to scream at him, tell him that I was no angel and he was a monster for finding some kind of pleasure in this, deciding what part I should play as I die. Instead I just smiled slightly and lowered my head to stop him from seeing the tears in my eyes. At that second Finnick walked in and Lysander's attention was immediately drawn to him. I sat silently as he practically interrogated him, asking how he was feeling, if he thought he could win. The answers were short, not letting anything interesting slip but giving enough to satisfy Lysander and fool him into thinking he was basically his new best friend. I zoned out part way through Lysanders rant about what the Gamemakers would throw at us this year- as if we hadn't all been thinking about it since they were announced. Suddenly, I was brought back to reality by the sound of my name.

“Y/N, Y/N.” I blinked and my gaze shifted to Lysander.

“Sorry.” I muttered

“Quite alright dear, you must be tired if you didn't get enough sleep. We're going to watch the games you were both in, for reference.” My mind didn't register the words and I simply nodded before I realised what he had said and my eyes widened in shock.

We watched Finnicks first, since he won before me. From the reaping all the way through to the crowning ceremony. He was confident in the interviews, dressed in the most impeccable suit and tie, clearly designed to show off his beauty, laughing at Caesar Flickerman's comments and responding with his own witty quips, not just a pretty face at all. Then utterly deadly in the arena. For the first few days he had lain low, not much excitement but enough to keep sponsors interested. Then he got the trident, the most expensive gift ever seen, and it was over. District 4 was fishing after all, and it seemed Finnick Odair was born to wield the trident. He captured tribute after tribute in a net and killed them all, offering no mercy. And finally the last cannon went off announcing him the winner. Fourteen years old and he had won, the youngest victor, the most handsome victor, the Capitol darling. Finnick Odair. If he was that good back then, I had no doubt he would be extraordinary now. He had it all as well, the looks which first made the Capitol love him, he was intelligent, and undoubtedly one of the best fighters that would be going into the arena. Mags and I sat there speechless as Lysander congratulated Finnick endlessly.

“And how you used that trident, extraordinary! I don't believe you'll struggle in these games now that you've had ten years to practise.” I could only think of how young he'd been, how he'd been forced to grow up so quickly after, how he'd won- but what was the cost?

Then my games were switched on; I saw myself going through it all over again. The walk up to the stage after my name was called, all eyes on me. The chariot ride where they had dressed me up as a mermaid, all shimmering fabrics and a golden crown. The interview, where Caesar asked me questions about my life back home and I answered quietly, barely audible, playing the sweet little girl as I danced for them momentarily. The arena, my frightened face as the boy from 10 died in front of me, running and hiding. Then a cut to as I made my first kills, I saw the light leave their eyes as the blood left their bodies. Another cut, to the chase and confrontation with Arion, the second the knife left my hand I closed my eyes and the thud as it hit him echoed in my ears.

They showed the crowning ceremony last, I stood calmly on the dais with my hands clasped in front of my body. I had been made to wear a white dress that fell to my knees and had a red bow tied around it. The same red adorned the pins in my hair, shaped like roses, and the single gem hanging from a silver chain around my neck. The significance was not lost on me, young as I was. I had killed three people in the arena so I wore three pieces of red. One for each of them, the crimson colour their blood on my hands. President Snow walked up slowly and placed the golden laurels on my head. He looked down at me, a small smile on his face as I gazed up at him, he whispered something that only I could hear. Words that left me pale and confused, words that could have been good but in the circumstances only sounded like the promise of a life of pain. His mouth moved on the screen and I read his lips.

“The Capitol will love you.” He stepped away and proclaimed me their victor. And it struck me how I looked so tiny compared to him and everyone around me, as the Capitol roared with applause and my big eyes stared out over them, disbelieving and uncertain before the tape ended leaving the compartment in silence.

I shoved my seat back, the legs screeching on the floor, and stood up quickly. Everyone turned to face me as I stayed still for a second.

“Y/N.” Lysander began but I cut him off.

“No, I just, I need to, I can't.” My brain was jumbled, old memories being dragged to the surface unwillingly. So I turned and I ran.

I sprinted along the train, pushing doors open as I ran through the compartments. Avoxes jumped out of my way as I barreled past them, looking at me in curiosity. I came to the end of the train and held my hands in front of me to push through the doors. I crashed through them and fell into the railing. I gripped onto the cold metal as if it was the only thing keeping me in reality, the wind rushed past me and my hair floated in front of me, strands whipping in the cold air. I could barely see, tears blurring my vision and hair covering my face. I took a shuddering breath, letting the cold air flood my lungs, and I broke. I cried and cried and cried. Letting out everything that I had kept bottled up for seven years. I had cried before, that day on the cliffs, that was for the games, for the fact that it was happening all over again for so many people across Panem. But this. This was for me. For every pain I had endured since I won, the evenings spent dancing and singing under lights focused solely on me, the fear of making a mistake stopping me from enjoying it fully, the nights spent alone, unable to sleep because of the nightmares, the days spent wandering around like a lost soul, wondering if it would ever be better than what it was.

So I cried for myself, in one selfish moment I allowed myself to only care about myself. Tears dripped down my face, droplets falling on the railing for what felt like forever. Eventually my throat grew raw and my eyes seemed to run out of tears to cry. I dropped my head forwards into my hands and my eyes glazed over with the memories I had suppressed.

I was no longer on the train headed to the Capitol. I was in the arena. Perched on an icy tree branch, pressed against the tree trunk to keep from slipping off. Hidden by the frozen leaves in the white fluffy clothing they had given us to wear. A tribute ran underneath my hiding spot, running away from something, two others followed chasing him. I immediately recognised them as career tributes, this was all just a game of cat and mouse to them. And they caught him. I shoved a piece of cloth in my mouth to stop myself from letting out any noise that would give myself away and clapped my hands over my ears to block out the noise of his screaming in pain and crying out for help from someone as they ripped into him, their laughter echoing in the otherwise silent forest. A warning that they were on the hunt and if you valued your life you would get out of there as soon as possible.

I had stayed in that tree for the first few days until I was eventually forced to move when the gamemakers released mutts into the arena. Great big slobbering beasts that lumbered along harmlessly until someone tried to kill one. Then all hell had broken loose as they chased tributes up trees and then hurled themselves unrelentingly at them, bringing them down and mauling them beyond recognition. They brought about the deaths of five tributes before they just disappeared, presumably called back out after doing their job.

I snapped out of my daze as I felt someone standing next to me. My gaze cleared as I pushed the memories back into a locked box in my mind. I didn’t need to look to know who it was, the mark on my wrist burning and on instinct I pulled my sleeve down and took a small step to the side to lessen the sting. It eased immediately from the small distance between us and faded to a dull throbbing. Finnick said nothing at my movement and we just looked out over the passing countryside, rolling green fields, trees that touched the sky and vast lakes stretching beyond the horizon. We stayed like that, peaceful, just taking it all in until he finally broke the silence.

“You were so young.”

I smiled bitterly, resting my chin on my open palm propped up on the railing.

“We all were but we had no choice. They just want to watch their games. And they don’t care if innocent children die so they can have them.” I laughed slightly. “Then they get the one that lives.” I shook my head, my fingers tightening on the rail, the cold metal biting into my skin. “They get to kill us then they get to keep us.” I turned around, leaning backwards onto the railing and looked up, watching the clouds move slowly away in the blue sea of the sky. Then the Capitol came into view, towering buildings taking up the skyline, marring it with grey,

“I'm going to go back in,” Finnick said, following my line of vision, “You should as well.” With that he stepped back into the train, not sparing a second glance as I watched him walk through a set of doors and out of sight. I relaxed as he left and stayed in my position, head tilted skywards, eyes closed until I felt tiny drops of water on my face. I opened my eyes to see rain falling, a light drizzle but enough to dampen my clothes and hair, I laughed slightly and walked inside, the warmth hitting me in a blast. I hadn't realised how cold I'd been before but the heat warmed me and my clothes quickly dried off. I looked over my shoulder as I walked through the doors that slid open, the rain pattering on the windows lightly, a last glimpse of normality.

I quickly made my way through the train, hearing Lysander screeching at unfortunate avoxes to find me as if I was missing and he had no idea where to find me. I stepped into the compartment to see him looking frazzled, he immediately caught sight of me standing unsurely at the edge of the room and gave a dramatic sigh of relief.

“Not to worry everyone she's here.” The train jolted to a stop. “We have arrived.” Lysander practically squealed and eyed me.” Dear, you should just fluff out your hair a bit, and try to look happy for the cameras.” I nod my head once and plaster a smile on my face. He nodded in approval.

We made our way to the doors. Finnick and I stood either side of Lysander and Mags was just behind us. I can see people through the windows already, screaming and shouting with excitement.

“Now everyone, remember this is the first time they will see you so make sure to leave a good impression. That means smile and wave, blow a few kisses if you have to.” Lysander told us, focusing his words mostly on me. A bell rang and he quickly turned around to me, perfecting everything he could see wrong, the tiniest hair out of place, my sleeves at different lengths and pushing my cheeks into a smile. Facing forward just in time as the doors slid open and we stepped out into the masses.

Taglist:

@nekee-lilac02 @hinata7346 @bambikitten @the-lonely-abyss @mxacegrey @m-maxie-ie @not-aya @camatchoum @maw1dk @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @somdreamy @thehairington86 @millzluvrs @val-writesstuff @erindiggory @reader-bookling123 @elisa20beth @maxinehufflepuffprincess @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @mystargirl-interlude @ponkaniee @missunicorn @purplelavin @user123453226780536 @littleanubis21

[majesty-madness]

"Skin to Skin" - Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader (sfw)

Summary: There’s something about him that makes her think that perhaps he needs to know she’s real. 

Word Count: 2000+

Warnings: slight angst, nudity, cuddling, kissing, pillow talk, mentions of past trauma, fluff all around

a/n: not proofread. I had problems with writing this, almost like I couldn't "get mind in the game" so I apologize if it feels ooc or anything like that. I did try to keep it the way I had envisioned it but I don't know, maybe I didn't. Oh well, it's whatever I guess.

Btw Commissions are open for anyone whose interested.

Main Masterlist

As a member of 141, danger is one of the things she had become accustomed to and with that comes predictability. Yes every situation was different but somehow those different situations would end with the same conclusion so in that respect, Y/N supposes she may have accidentally grown complacent. 

Most missions were: research the target, then locate the target, infiltrate, and so on. It was second nature at this point, no need to even contemplate her actions as she would carry out her orders. 

However this time, the situation got a little dicey. 

It really wasn’t anyone's fault, in fact Y/N blamed herself for not noticing the guard that had managed to seek right into her blindspot and before she knew she was aggressively tussling with the man. No surprise he was stronger than her, so when he wrapped his arms around her waist in the middle of their fight and tossed her like a ragdoll, it was almost to be expected. What she didn’t account for was his speed for as soon as she picked herself up off the ground, he was already charging her. 

Reacting quickly, Y/N brought her legs up and pushed the man back with all her might right as the man closed the distance. 

He fell back with a thud on the concrete floor, uttering what Y/N assumed to be a curse in a language she didn’t understand. They’re fight continued for several more seconds, Y/N landing several blows to his face and she nearly dodging each attack, and in his growing frustration, the man got in close once more. Y/N didn’t see it but she felt it, the white hot searing pain resonating in her thigh. She let out a pain filled scream, echoing through the enemy compound. 

Ghost had been clearing another part of the building when he’d heard her causing his blood to run cold, the image of her lifeless body flashing in his mind. He rushed out of the room, pushing himself to sprint as fast as he was capable of. 

It took less than a minute for him to turn the corner to where she was, and his eyes were quick to adjust to what he was seeing; Y/N straddling the man, her knife dug deep into his throat. He could tell that she was breathing heavily, her torso expanding in and out as her lungs attempted to gain as much air as possible.  

“Sergeant.” Was all Ghost could think of to say. That seemed to grab Y/N’s attention anyhow because she whipped her head around to see his towering figure. Her eyes were manic from the adrenaline of fighting against someone twice her size. 

Ghost took a breath then took two giant steps forward, hands finding her shoulders to guide her away from the body. In the middle of pulling Y/N to her feet, she let out a strained whimper causing Ghost to freeze. 

“What is it?” He asked, voice hushed and gravelly low. 

She gestured to her right thigh, “My leg…” 

He glanced down, keeping an arm pressed to her back. Easily he was able to see the blood seeping from the wound; from his upright angle alone he saw the wound wasn’t too deep but it still needed medical attention. 

“Here, hold onto my shoulder; I’m gonna wrap this up.” Ghost didn’t give her a moment to respond as he already leaned down to tie a bandage around her bleeding leg. 

She let out a closed mouthed moan when Ghost tightened the bandage though otherwise was okay. He stood back up to his full height and helped Y/N out of the building. 

Luckily, the rest of the mission was completed without any more incidents. Y/N had initially been worried that her scuffle with the guard made the situation more precarious, however Price reassured that nobody else in the facility had been alarmed. After that they left; the team huddled up in their helicopter. 

Things seemed normal until they got back to the compound; Ghost had escorted Y/N to the medical bay to treat her injury but shortly after arriving, he curtly excused himself. Y/N was a bit surprised that he just left. She thought he might’ve stayed to hear how critical her injury may have been. It really wasn’t that bad, of course the initial stab was what hurt the most, other than that the almost burning ache is what remained.

From that day forward, Ghost had been acting strange. Stranger than normal. 

It was no secret that the soldier known as Ghost was an eccentric person to say the least, but this seemed different. For one Ghost kept his distance from Y/N, not ignoring her but definitely avoidant of certain interactions with her. One day she asked about this sudden change, seeing as how they were in a relationship. 

“What’s wrong?” She’d asked, sitting in front of him on her bed. 

It took a few minutes before he came up with the right words. “For just a moment I thought you…” He didn’t need to finish that sentence for her to know what he meant. 

I thought you were dead.

Y/N made sure to give him his space, let him process what happened and deal with the fear that he could very well have entered the room only to see her dead body. And this went on for days, weeks and eventually she started to wonder if he’d gotten lost in his head. 

Her leg was well healed now and nothing changed. She missed him. 

“Ghost?” Y/N said, hand barely tapping his shoulder for his attention. He turned, dark, expressive eyes visible from the underneath skull mask. “Can you meet me in my room later tonight? When you have the time, of course.” 

She watched his eyes dart away from her for a second, clearly thinking it over before he looked back to her, a subtle nod being his answer. 

“Thank you.” She gently whispered to him as if she were attempting to sooth him from an unseen turmoil. 

Around 9 that night Y/N heard a knock at her door, and knowing it was Ghost she called for him to come in. He was still decked out in his full tactical gear with his mask while Y/N had long taken off her vest and weapons, leaving her in her standard uniform pants and t-shirt. 

“Did you want to talk?” Ghost asked lowly as he closed the door behind him. 

She shook her head. “No, I just wanted to see you. And I thought maybe we could lay down for a while, seeing as how we won’t be up and at’em for a while.” 

He stood silent, again, contemplating the best decision when Y/N broke the quiet air. “If you want to, I’m not gonna force it on you. I thought maybe we could spend some time together is all.”

“That sounds nice.” Ghost replied, already beginning to take off his tactical gear and setting it off to the side. 

Y/N began to take off her boots, placing them neatly off to the side then stood at full height to pull back the blanket from the not so big bed. In the middle of doing so, Y/N paused, the fabric of the blanket crinkled in her palm as she stared at a random place on the bed. 

At that moment, she came up with an idea; an idea that might break the distance Ghost had been building between as of late. 

“Simon, can I ask you something?” She spoke, raising her eyes to look up from the bed. 

Now he had taken off all his gear including his mask, leaving him in the same uniform as Y/N not to mention the black like dust circling his eyes. She had to take a second to admire him as he was always wearing his mask. He didn't like to admit it nor would he ever but she thought he was absolutely handsome; a pillar of a man who had suffered in his life that still knew how to extend gentleness and kindness to others just as he’d done for her. 

She loved him so much. 

Ghost simply stared at her, promptly Y/N to continue on with her question. 

“Uh…this might sound a bit odd, but would you be okay with undressing before we lay down?” 

The moment the words left her mouth, Ghost’s muscles immediately tensed. 

Y/N knew what he was thinking so she made the quick decision to ease his concern. “I don’t mean anything sexual by it, please understand that.”

She paused, to give Ghost time to take in what she was saying. “I’ve noticed that you’ve kind of been lost in your head, distancing yourself, and I let you have your space since I don’t want to overwhelm you or pressure you to talk to me. But I miss you.” 

“I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Ghost started, however Y/N shook her head, taking several quick steps to him to gently grasp his ungloved hands in her smaller ones. 

“No, don’t apologize, let’s just lay down okay? Relax for a bit.” She suggested, gaining enough courage to smile. 

He gave her a semi smile, flashing so fast one would barely notice he even smiled in the first place. 

With that, Y/N stepped back almost to where she was standing previously and lifted her shirt over her head to toss to the floor. Then she unbuckled the belt wrapped around her waist, removed it from the pants loops and took her pants over quickly after that. She spared a glance to Ghost who had mirrored her actions to undress himself. He already took off his boots and shirt, and now worked on getting his belt off. Soon Y/N stripped down to only her underwear and crawled under the blanket, looking up at Ghost as he finished undressing. Much like Y/N, Ghost stripped down to everything except his boxers, the moment he did Y/N extended her arms out to him to join her. 

Ghost took a steadying breath before leaning down and slipped under Y/N’s blanket, instantly feeling her hands caress the skin of his shoulders as she brought him to lay against her chest. She adjusted herself until they had complete skin to skin contact, a comforting warmth transferring from one patch of skin to the other and soon a contented sigh leaving her lips. And when Ghost laid his head fully onto her chest, feeling her fingers massaging the base of his skull, her other hand tracing invisible patterns against his back, he too felt content. 

“How do you feel?” Y/N probed while continuing to tread her fingers through his short locks. 

“Good.” He simply answered, eyes staring off into nothing in particular. 

Y/N couldn’t help but to smile. “I’m glad. Though if you get uncomfortable, tell me and we can stop this.” 

She felt him nod. “Thank you, sweetheart, but I don’t think I’ll want to go anywhere any time soon.”

“I think we’re on the same page with that. Love feeling you so close.” She cooed, pressing herself as close as humanly possible. 

Ghost began to rub his hands along the skin of the side up to her shoulder, enjoying the softness. “Me too, I’m not…used to this.” 

Y/N pulled back enough to peer down at the entirety of his face. “I know, but if you want we could make this a regular thing?” 

“That sounds good to me.” 

Y/N leaned down to plant a soft kiss to his lips and he reciprocated in kind, nothing too fast or rough; it was perfect. Their lips moved in sync, burning from the heat of each other intertwining together in an intimate dance. When necessary, the separated; lips creating a wet smacking sound as they did so. 

The two stared into the other’s eyes, taking in every detail their face had to offer like they’d never see it again. 

“I was scared.” Ghost suddenly admitted, his voice hushed. 

Y/N nodded. “I know, and it’s okay. I’m here now, and hell will freeze over before I leave you.” 

This time, Ghost scoffed in amusement. “I don’t doubt that. You’re more stubborn than anyone else I know.”

“Oh yeah? Well I suppose I learn from the best.” She joked with a laugh.

Ghost dipped his face back to rest between Y/N’s chest and neck, taking a deep inhale of her sweet, natural scent. They remained in comfortable silence, listening quietly to the sound of the nightly crickets and each other’s hearts beating steadily. 

“I love you.” He uttered into the quiet room, noticing Y/N kiss the side of his temple. 

“I know, and I love you too.”

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER FIFTY SIX → GRINNING LIKE A DEVIL

summary: steve harrington x oc | on Ao3

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 3.2k || masterlist || ocs moodboard

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Sunshine’s heart beat so loud inside her chest, that she thought the creature lurking just on the other side of the counter could hear it. The Mind Flayer growled, stalking over the broken glass-covered floor as it tried to sniff them out. Sunshine hadn’t dared to look at the creature, yet, too scared of putting an image to a terrifying idea. She focused on the three kids lined up beside her, all paled and shaking slightly in fear. 

Mike slowly peaked around the edge of the counter for no longer than a second before he whispered, “It’s turned away. If we go now, we’ll make it.” 

“No now,” Max argued. “Not with El’s leg.” 

“We have to try.” Both he and Max turned to Sunshine, looking for a tie-breaking vote, but it was El who answered, wanting to speak for herself. 

“There’s another way to get out, through the GAP.” The store was the closest to them, a straight shot if they could get there without making much sound and alerting the Mind Flayer. 

Sunshine wiped her sweaty hands off on the skirt of her dress as she said, “Get ready.” She poked her head up from the counter to see their path. The monster was still turned away. Sunshine trusted Nancy and Jonathan to get the other kids out safely and she’d get her three out. They’d reconvene at Nancy’s car with the broken piece Jonathan had stolen from the car inside the mall, and they’d get out of town before the Mind Flayer caught them. 

On her signal, Mike and Max looped their arms through El’s to support her and her bad leg, and they all took off toward the GAP with Sunshine trailing a step behind them. They ran fast and quietly almost having it into the store without being spotted, but El’s foot slipped on a shard of glass and slipped. The trio stumbled loudly into the store, alerting the Mindflayer. It hissed just as the four of them ducked behind a clothing display. 

The Mind Flayer crashed through the entrance, knocking down mannequins and clothing racks in its wake. The group sat squished together, trembling, waiting to be caught. A tentacle-like limb snaked around the store, on the hunt. Sunshine waited for what felt like the inevitable, waiting to become the victim of a towering beast composed of melted flesh and bones of poor Hawkins's residents. She dug her fingernails into the skin on her knees and swallowed down a scream that was lodged in her throat. 

The monster's arm grabbed a hold of a mannequin and roared once more before it sent it flying in front of them. The mannequin wore the same outfit that El had on. Her eyes were wide in terror; the Mind Flayer was smart, smart enough to recognize the outfit El wore and attack anything that resembled it. 

Its movements sounded closer and closer. Sunshine sat up a little straighter thinking maybe if she was a little taller than the kids, the monster would only grab her, giving them enough time to make a break for it. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the slimy tentacle inched forward right beside where they were, but not spotted them yet. Then, something from back in the main part of the mall popped loudly, drawing the Mind Flayer’s attention away quickly. 

They knew they had a small window of time to escape before it came back for them. They quickly sprang to their feet and sprinted towards the exit. 

Sunshine’s entire world moved in a blur before her eyes as she ran behind the trio of kids down the service halls that led to the back exit of the mall. She was filled with a sickly sense of Deja vu from a couple of hours before when she ran the same path with Steve, Robin, Dustin, and Erica. 

The white lights over their heads flickered frantically in rhythm with their heartbeat. Sunshine hoped the three adults underneath Starcourt were making progress because she had no idea how much longer they all could keep narrowing escaping a fate that wanted all of them dead so badly. 

☀☀☀

As Steve swung Calum’s minivan into the mall parking lot, he noticed only two other cars there. Nancy’s was parked in front of the main entrance. He could vaguely make out her figure standing in front of the side of the car with something in her hand. Then, he heard the shots ring out; Nancy was holding a gun, which was never a good sign. She seemed to be aiming at the car facing her across the lot, which Steve also recognized as Billy Hargrove’s. His engine revved and before Steve fully realized what was happening, Billy stepped on the gas and began hurtling towards Nancy’s car, where Steve assumed everyone was packed inside. They were in Billy’s direct path. 

Little Byers had said that Billy was possessed by the freaky monster who had ahold of the kid last year, but Billy had gotten it even worse. If Hargrove had been a monster before, Steve couldn’t imagine what he was like actually possessed by one. 

Holding his breath, Steve slammed his foot down on the gas and prayed that the rusty minivan had enough power to close the distance between him and Billy before the latter crashed into Nancy’s car. His hands white-knuckled the steering wheel and in the passenger seat, Robin let out a small yelp as she squeezed her eyes closed. She didn’t object to his plan, not that he gave her much time too. 

An awful screeching sound of metal scrapping against metal hit Steve’s ears before he felt it. Tires burned against asphalt and glass shattered as the minivan collided with Billy’s car, sending the latter spinning out. Steve felt his whole body jerk sharply, painfully, to the side. His head screamed out in pain from the minor whiplash on top of his other injuries, but he swallowed it down and turned to Robin. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, breathless. 

She returned his gaze with unfocused eyes. “Ask me tomorrow.” She blinked and turned her head as something caught her attention out of the busted windshield. Steve turned his attention toward it too, noticing an odd shadow shift along the roof of the mall. They leaned forward in sync, peering upwards in the wild blinking lights of Starcourt. Towering above them, in grand horror unlike anything he had ever witnessed, was the Mind Flayer. 

Its body was grotesque with giant spider-like limbs that crawled close to the edge of the roof. Its mouth opened up in the center of its otherwise featureless face, and flashed spiraling rows of sharp, jagged teeth as it roared, coating the air in horror. The Demogorgon at Jonathan’s was scary and revolting. The army of Demo-Dogs in the junkyard and the tunnels were overwhelming and the subject of his nightmares still, but the Mind Flayer was something else entirely. 

When he was little, he thought a monster lived under his bed. He didn’t think he’d grow up to be faced with real ones, and yet, there he was. The Mind Flayer was scarier than anything a child could come up with. It was made even worse by the lumps and oozing red flesh constructed of real people Steve probably saw walking down the street on who greeted him at the grocery store. Mothers, fathers, children. Who knew all of the people the monster had consumed to create itself? 

A car horn blared to Steve’s left as Nancy pulled up beside the busted minivan. Steve didn’t fully realize he was moving until Robin was shoving him into the very back of Nancy’s car. Robin didn’t even have the door closed before the car sped off and hurried out of the parking lot. The Mind Flayer crawled down the front of the mall and scurred after them. 

Steve’s body was consumed by nausea; he’d been knocked around one too many times that night, and speeding down the road was not soothing his stomach. But he tried to shake it off, turning around to see the heads of everyone poking up from the back of their seats. He counted them, a habit he acquired after the tunnel incident last year. He counted them once, twice, three times. 

“Wait,” he said. “Where’s Sunshine? Where’s the rest of the kids?” Four, they were missing four. Steve was positive they were missing that many, even in his slightly disoriented state. They were missing three kids and Sunshine. 

No one answered him, but he saw the kids in the back seat exchange looks with each other. The silence and lack of answers surrounded him uncomfortably. “Nancy?” He raised his voice just slightly. “Where are they?” 

Nancy didn’t turn her head to look at him as she said, “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” He wanted to scream, but he didn’t. He also kind of wanted to cry, but he couldn’t do that. Instead, he refused to look at the back windshield where the Mind Flayer followed them and kept his focus on the missing four. “They were with you.” 

The air inside the car with thick; the summer humidity outweighed the bodies packed inside the car and their labored breaths. After a beat, Lucas broke the silence in a quiet voice. “We got split up.” 

Split up? That meant that Sunshine, El, Max, and Mike were left behind. Steve wanted to hurl. 

“They’re with Sunshine,” Jonathan said, his words were more pointed at Nancy, who looked to have tears streaking down her cheeks from what Steve caught in the rearview mirror. “They’ll be okay.” Would they? The mall was the center of all of their problems; the place was swarming with Russians who knew exactly what Sunshine looked like and about her abilities. It was where the Gate was open and where Billy remained in the parking lot. Steve doubted hitting Billy’s car was enough to kill him, especially with his monster possession. 

“It’s following us,” Will said, his neck twisted around to see the creature from the window. Steve finally turned to look at it too. The Mind Flayer crawled down the streets of Hawkins with its spider-like legs kicking up asphalt. He was sure that if it caught up to them, they’d be squished by one stomp. “So,” Will continued. “It doesn’t know that they’re still at the mall; it thinks they’re with us.” 

That didn’t make Steve feel a whole lot better. The group of kids and Sunshine were still stuck at that stupid fucking mall with no way out. He just hoped they could hold out a little bit longer. As long as they kept the Mind Flayer occupied, it wouldn’t be a threat to the group, but everything else inside the mall still was a threat. Steve hated that that responsibility was put on Sunshine’s shoulders. He hated that there was nothing he could do about it. 

☀☀☀

The fresh air didn’t taste as sweet as Sunshine exited the mall that time around. She felt stuck in a loop in which, no matter what she did, she ended up right back inside the mall. It refused to end. The four of them limped out the side exit, where Sunshine had been earlier trying to flee from the Russians, only to be chased back inside. And as if someone from above, whoever was controlling their lives, actually laughed at them because once they were just far enough out to believe they could make it to the front of the mall, a figure stalked right towards them. 

Under the glow of the lamp lights, Billy Hargrove locked his gaze on them, and Sunshine felt her blood rush to her head. She grabbed a hold of Max’s shoulder and pulled her to a stop, halting El and Mike since they all were connected by looped arms. Billy walked towards them at a normal pace, not too quickly or slowly, as if he knew he already had them right where he wanted. Thick, black veins covered his exposed arms and trailed up his neck, making him look for from human. Black blood was smeared across his white wife-beater top, and he glistened with sweat.

“Go! Back inside!” Sunshine shoved the kids toward the door they had just walked out of. They took off running as quickly as El’s bad leg allowed. Sunshine turned toward Billy and sprinted toward the gate that he had yet to pass through that separated the loading dock from the back parking lot. She slammed her fist down on the button that controlled the gate. As if started to close, she ran back to the trio using what little time they had spared themselves from whatever Billy and the Mind Flayer had in store for them. 

Once again, she raced through the back halls of Starcourt with sore legs and a depleting thread of adrenaline pumping through her veins. She kept her gaze split between the kids ahead of her and the empty hall behind her. 

She kept reminding herself of the promise she had silently made what felt like a lifetime ago after Will returned from the Upside Down and after Sunshine saw the many lost children of Hawkins Lab inside the party. She’d keep them safe; that was a promise she’d never break. She didn’t let the crashing wave of panic pull her under. 

The trio stumbled into one of the open rooms, letting El rest her leg for a second and allowing them all to catch their breath. Sunshine closed her eyes for just a moment, focusing on her breathing and slowing her aching heart. Time refused to slow down for her and before she could even peel her eyes back open and register what was happening, Max’s voice cut through the air, thick and heavy. 

“Billy, please. It’s Max. I’m your-” The only part of Max Sunshine saw was her leg, stepped halfway out of the doorframe for only a moment before she fell backward and crashed onto the floor. The fall was hard, purposeful, and caused Max’s bright eyes to shut and her limbs to go limp. 

Sunshine yelled out for the girl, rushing forward, but Billy stepped into the room and cut off her path to Max. Broad and towering, Billy looked monstrous with his sickly-colored skin under the flickering lights. Sunshine held her ground, separating him from El and Max. Through gritted teeth, she ignited her hands, letting the white light burn in her palms with a glittering fury. She threw her arm forward, striking Billy in the chest with a burst of light, but it was only strong enough for him to stumble slightly. He shook it off too quickly and launched himself at her with a low grunt and flare of his nostrils. 

She had to be careful, using her abilities inside the confines of the small room. El and Mike curled against the wall, holding onto each other in an attempt to become as small as possible. With a twist of her wrist, Sunshine struck him again with a small beam that sliced across the skin of his arm, but it hardly seemed to inflict any pain at all. He was too far gone; his jet-black irises told her that much. 

They danced around the room, Sunshine’s steps light and quick while he was loud and stiff. She tried to hit him in the places where it hurt, the eyes or any exposed flesh, but it wasn’t enough. If she wanted to take him down, she needed to be more aggressive, but then she ran the risk of hurting one of the kids in the process. 

Billy, however, had no remorse for any of them and as soon as Sunshine stepped too close, he grabbed a hold of her hair and pulled hard. Her scalp burned, but only for a moment before that pain was replaced by Billy using the momentum to slam her up against the wall. Pain exploded right where her head collided with the wall and a short scream tore past her lips. She lost her footing and landed on the ground with spotted vision. The figures of El and Mike blurred, and their voices became muddled and frantic. She watched as their figures moved. A mess of lanky limbs collided with the floor a couple of feet in front of her. Mike. 

Mike was knocked out, just like Max. Rage flared inside Sunshine’s chest. She blinked away the dizziness she could and struggled to her feet, against her body's wishes. Those were her kids who Billy was hurting. She couldn’t let him get away with it, no matter what or who possessed him.

She screamed something between a battle cry and utter frustration as she attacked him from behind. She slapped her burning hands against his bare shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin for good measure. Billy hissed, his body seizing up just slightly under her touch, but it only lasted a moment. He was strong and desperate to heed whatever orders the Mind Flayer instilled in his sick and twisted brain. He spun around to face her, and Sunshine went right for his face. She stung him in the eyes at the same time he went in for a punch. 

Her light hit him, searing his eyes as his fist struck her gut with an inhuman amount of strength. Crying out, Sunshine doubled over, and he recovered. Billy blinked wildly but there was no hesitation in his movements. His hand gripped her throat, fingers squeezing hard and cutting off the air to her lungs. She thrashed and tried to claw her way out, but dots grew darker in the corners of her vision. She felt herself on the verge of passing out. Before she could, though, Billy let go and let her body drop to the floor in a sputtering fit of coughs. 

Air slowly reentered her lugs, but she had no strength to pick herself up. Something wet pooled on the back of her head where she had hit the wall, and the urge to close her eyes was almost overwhelming. She forced her gaze open, staring unfocused as Billy stalked towards El, who tried to use her abilities to fight him off, but nothing happened. 

Billy knocked El out. Sunshine cried, her throat raw. She tried to stand but the room spun, and her limbs felt like jelly. All she could do was watch as Billy threw El’s body over his shoulder. He came for Sunshine next, grabbing ahold of her ankle. She tried to kick herself free, but his strength overpowered her. She felt useless, being dragged down the hall half-conscious. Her last resort after fighting proved to be pointless, was to yell. 

Sunshine yelled out every name she knew. Steve. Nancy. Hopper. Joyce. Dustin. Anyone. She needed anyone; she needed someone. They needed help. 

Tears poured from her eyes, but no one was there. 

Billy carried and dragged them down the corridors and into the main part of the mall, under the sky of shattered glass. The lights that dully blinked started to flash with more intensity.

He let go of her ankle first before he took El a little further away, out of Sunshine’s reach. Everything was quiet for a moment after that. Sunshine's blood drummed in her ears as she attempted to lift her head, even though it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Something rumbled in the distance; no, something roared in the distance, drawing closer. Closer. Closer…

Tagged. @sattlersquarry , @leptitlu , @two-sides-samecoin

[nekohime19]

Bimawen Design

I thought it'll be cool to share my inspiration for both Wukong and Mengai (Macaque) appearances in my Bimawen au. Because while they both mainly come from rhesus macaque I did also took some inspiration from other monkeys.

Wukong

I wanted Wukong to be more JTTW accurate so, like his JTTW counterpart, my Bimawen Wukong got forked ears that point to the sky, a thunder beak mouth (which means a mouth with upward fangs) and sullen cheeks. He's fur is light brown/blonde but it can have russet accents, even red when under the sunlight.

Here is a picture of what a thunder god face could look like. (You got the artist on the side).

He's four feet tall and is kinda skynny and lean.

For his body shape, it's very close to those of rhesus macaques. Except maybe his face wich is a lot more rounder.

Rhesus Macaque

His face is reddish and he got a short fuzzy tail like a rhesus macaque. His eyes are also golden/brown like on the picture, and he also got reddish accents on his eyes corners, like on the picture.

Wukong's head shape is in fact a lot more closer to squirrel monkeys than rhesus macaques.

Squirrel monkey

However, contrary to JTTW, my Bimawen Wukong has a very fuzzy and luxurious mane, almost like a lion. And that's because he's not Buddhist and thus doesn't have to be shaved.

Tamarin monkey

Wukong's mane is very much like a tamarin monkey's.

Here are some excerpts of Wukong's appearances in the story :

After a few minutes, the doors bursted open, violently slammed by a blonde-furred monkey dressed in red. The lavish round-neck robe looked ruffled, as if he slept with it, and his soft-winged futou was falling on one side of his head, unable to contain his knotted mane. His face was ball-like round and incredibly hairy, he had the beak of a thunder god and forked ears pointing towards the sky. His cheeks along with his body were sunken, almost as if someone dug into his very flesh. His fur was lush, abondant, so much that the macaque felt like he could drown in it.

He was barefooted too, monkeys didn't fit well with shoes after all, it was too constricting and it felt wrong at so many levels.

He found his sharp fangs appealing, they protruded from his lips like daggers, the luster of danger gliding upon them.

Truly, none could match this mighty bimawen in terms of beauty!

Look at his blonde fur wet with ruby-red accents under the sun's kindness!

Look at his forked ears fanning the side of his head like the soaring wings of a phoenix!

Look at his thundering fangs standing proudly against his lips!

He left his room with a joyous sway of hips, his short fuzzy tail, not unlike the one of a squirrel, twitching in delight.

There was care in Sun Wukong's sun-kissed eyes.

Mengai let his hand creep on his boss's back, slowly going up until it reached his shoulderblades. They were sharp, protruding from his back like two prideful hills.

Mengai

Mengai also comes from a rhesus macaque so he's body shape is very similar to Wukong's in this aspect.

Rhesus Macaque

But his limbs are longer and thinner. And he also got a long serpent-like tail. On this sense he's very reminiscent of a spider monkey, even he's color schemes is based on a spider monkey's (he's black, entirely black, like a raven).

Spider monkey

He's four feet tall like Wukong and a lil bit thinner too right now because he's still recovering from being starved, his cheeks are gonna be rounder and fuller than Wukong's once he'll recover.

His six ears are forked, like those of a rhesus macaque's, but they're longer and thinner too.

His fur however is very short and fuzzy, very reminiscent of a lemur.

Lemur

Here are some excerpts of Mengai's appearances in the story :

As a monkey he was less than four chi tall, everyone constantly towered above him no matter what he tried to do. Only children were of his height.

His gaze fell on the monkey half-hidden behind Guanyin's robe. He was small, no taller than four chi, and had a serpent-like tail that slithered at his feet. He was entirely black, from the tip of his toe to the edge of his snout, black as the night. He reminded the sage of a ruffled raven. He looked like a skeleton coddled in monkey flesh with the morning luster sliding in his fur, his ribcages pierced his sides, digging in his skin.

His new attendant arrived shortly after, clothed with more practical fabric, a shorter linen robe tied by a white slash.

In comparison (to Wukong), his fangs were little, no bigger than fimsly thorns. They didn't protrude from his lips like proud daggers, instead they hid behind his mouth like measles toothpicks. Mengai shook his head. It wasn't the time for bouts of envy.

He was lean, perhaps leaner than he ought to be. His limbs were overly long and thin, like the paws of a spider, and he had fuzzy fur, reminiscent of a young panda's coat. His build was more or less similar to Wukong's even if perhaps on a thinner side.

[hanahaki-disease]

I Asked, You Answered

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

Summary:

“Was he being manipulative? Maybe. Is this what Jason had told him to do when dealing with rich snobs? Yes, it was. Was it working?

“It was all going according to plan. “

To further enhance your reading experience, go and read “The other side of the Coin” from “Beyond the Farthest Reaches”

****************************************

Percy was prepared this summer when he came back to camp. His bag was thankfully not set ablaze by the laistrygonians in the gym, the metal ball only a foot away from his duffle and it was then that Percy realized all his luck for the summer had been used up before the summer even started. Already he’s had to deal with the fact that he almost got split in half by the blind sisters taxi, been given a cryptic set of numbers by said blind sisters, and almost set on fire by a mechanical bull terrorizing the camp and Tyson.

Oh, and Tyson was a baby cyclops and his half-brother.

Which, wow, that’s a lot to unpack and it’s only been one afternoon. But such is the life of a demigod.

He folded all the clothes he was able to pack into the drawers, pulling out the old musty ones that had been there for a year, and tossing them in the laundry basket to be washed at a much later date. The random shields and various weapons in the corner of his room should have been returned to the armory last year too, but then he got stung by a pit scorpion and it was time to go back to Gotham.

Speaking of Gotham—Percy dug to the bottom of the duffle, shuffling past rolled up socks and his Nightwing hoodie that he stole from Donna when he went to the Tower with Dick, and pulled out a plastic folder. It was an unassuming blue color with plastic clasps that kept it sealed tight, preventing any water damage. Inside were pictures of his family and friends back home. There was one of him and Dick going down the log flume at Six Flags for his birthday last year, one of Tim wearing a shitty Robin costume from when they were nine. A picture of Bruce, Jason, and Percy at his elementary graduation, big bright smiles on their faces as they smiled towards the camera.

There were some Gotham Gazette clippings too, the first article about Jason’s debut as Robin pinned right next to the Minotaur horn. One was a picture of Batman and Nightwing tangled up in some Joker cement silly-string that Robin and Batgirl had to free them from. He also had the one article about the Brentwood Academy Photography competition where Tim had won first place that year.

He pulled out the last picture in the folder, a copy of the one he had on his nightstand at home of him and Jason. When compiling all the pictures he wanted to take with him, he couldn’t leave this one behind. It was one of the best pictures of Jason he had, the rest already being hung up and framed along the various walls of the manor. Jason had gotten a Polaroid for his birthday one year from Dick, wanting to keep pictures of the things most important to him if anything were to happen, and it was Percy’s idea to take one of them together.

The Polaroid had been up in Jason’s room until his death, hung along the string on his bookshelf like the others. It had been the only time Percy had went into Jason’s room since. Not wanting the picture to get forgotten in the mausoleum dedicated to his brother.

“Hey, seaweed brain.” Annabeth leaned on the door frame, arms crossed and her curls pulled back into a ponytail. Her dagger was strapped around her waist, as was the extra she now carried because of the deteriorating border. It was mandatory now that everyone carry a weapon with them where ever they went. After the bull, they didn’t want to take chances. “What’re you doing?”

“Unpacking,” he answered and slid the picture in the empty frame on the beside table.

She came up next to him, reading the newspaper clippings, inspecting the pictures. It was easy to keep the rest of the camp in the dark about his adoptive family, they all knew him as Jackson and not Todd-Wayne. But Annabeth was smart, as all children of Athena were. She’d be able to look at the various pictures she had and the articles and piece it together where he went between summers.

If she realized anything, she didn’t say. Just nodding her head till her gaze found the one of him and Jason. The porcelain of the frame scrapped against the wood as she picked it up. It wasn’t a frame he would’ve picked himself, a regular black or wooden one would have sufficed, but this was the only one Cabin 3 had and he wasn’t going to push his luck by looking for more.

“Whose this?” She sat beside him.

“My brother, Jason,” he answered. “He…He died a year ago, I couldn’t leave without this picture.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “You look a lot like him. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, I know,” Percy kicked his duffle under his bed. He can sort the rest out later since the conch for dinner was going to ring anytime soon. “My teachers at school would call me by his name sometimes, as did my other brother and my adoptive father, but it hasn’t happened in a while.”

“Other brother? How many do you have?”

“Biologically or legally?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes, actually,” Percy unstuck the informal family portrait from the wall, and showed her the first of the two pictures in his hand. “The older man in the suit is our butler, but he’s more like a grandfather, his name is Alfred. Next to him is my adoptive dad and Richard, but he likes to be called Dick. And this guy next to me in this picture is Tim—” He held up a photo of the two of them from when they spent the memorial day weekend at Tim’s house, doing whatever they wanted. “He’s like my best friend.”

Percy watched as Annabeth placed the frame back on the table, careful of the priceless picture within, and took the other pictures from him. “Jason is my only biological brother, same mom and I’m assuming same dad since we look too much alike to have different dads. Tim was adopted by my adoptive dad a few months ago after his mom passed and his dad gave up custody to stay with his new wife. Dick, though, I think he’s still technically a ward, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was given the adoption papers soon. Things have been going pretty okay with my adoptive dad and him lately.”

“Your adoptive dad is Bruce Wayne?” She asked after taking in all that in, her mouth dropping in shock when he nodded. “Why didn’t’ you say anything! You’re Wayne kid, what?!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell anyone,” Percy said. ‘I don’t people being all nice and trying to kiss my ass because my actual last name is ‘Wayne,” Percy stuck the pictures back on the wall. “I wanted people to be my friend because they like me, not because I have a trust fund, not that it did anything, by actual dad is one of the big three.”

He flopped backwards on the mattress, narrowly missing the wall and grunting after remembering how firm the mattress was. “And besides, I am not a rich kid. I grew up on the streets before I got adopted, we had a crate and everything.”

“A crate, really? Did Bruce Wayne just walk down an alley and find you and your brother in a crate and decide to bring you home like lost strays?” She joked.

“Yes, actually, that’s almost exactly how it happened.”

“What?”

“The only part you missed was that my brother tried to steal his tires and that’s how he got his attention by accident.”

“Huh?!”

—

Percy collapsed on the warm sand bank, out of breath and thankful to have survived another trip in the mortal world without adult supervision. Grover wasn’t fairing any better beside him. He was practically making out with the sand from how he was kissing it, glad to have returned to land. (Percy kinda wanted to stay out at sea for a while more but that was probably just the son of Poseidon powers messing with his head.)

Clarisse shook the sand and as much of the ocean water out of the fleece, the heavy material shifting to look more like a letterman than the shiny gold blanket they saw on the island. “Do you think we can make it to camp on time?”

“It’ll take too long if we all go, it’s better if you go alone,” Annabeth said.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” The daughter of Ares sassed. “I’ll go by myself with the beacon that is the golden fleece and attract all of the monsters along the east coast along the way. For a daughter of Athena, that wasn’t very smart of you.”

“Hey! I was just giving you a suggestion!” she retorted. “And we need to get the fleece back to camp soon otherwise the tree will die.”

“Unless any of us has a private helicopter readily available, it’s going to take us a while, wise girl!”

Percy shot up from where he lay. An idea swimming around in his head much like the jellyfish that was trying to cuddle up to him in the shallow water. He ran past Annabeth and Clarisse’s argument, trying to find the way past the cabanas and beach side shops. Behind him, he heard Annabeth and Clarisse shout for him, confusion easily lacing their voices.

Palmera city was a big place, parts of it belonged to the average citizens and others belonged to the city’s wealthy elites. That side of town was further south than they were, bordering the keys they were trying to take, but it was still a good sprint and a bus ride from where they were along the beach side. They tried to bombard him with questions, Clarisse shifting gears the second they got off the first bus, but if he answered them then he’d forget the name of the bank.

He made a promise to himself that’d never pull out money from his account while on a quest, he wanted to be able to do it by himself with only what he had and whatever he was able to scrape by. But this was too important. He just wishes he’s able to get out of the city before Bruce and them arrive. They’ll be notified that Percy had accessed his account as soon as he opens it. No doubt Dick will be told and he’ll zeta tube to Palmera with Batman on his heels, joining forced with Ted Kord to find the missing Wayne.

And as much as he loves that Dick will be ready and waiting to find him make sure he’s okay, and wanting to bring him home. Percy still has the rest of the summer to stay at camp. If he leaves now, that’s almost a month and a half of training that he might need for when they inevitably fight Kronos. Not to mention that Bruce will be demanding Percy to tell him everything, and he kinda doesn’t want to do that with the others with him.

“Okay, guys,” Percy says, leading them behind the dumpster in the alley across from the bank. It was a pretty sandstone building, terracotta roofs and big open windows into the lobby that reminded Percy of the Wayne Enterprises building. “Quick, how much do you think a flight from Palmera to New York costs, same day travel?”

“A grand, depending on airlines and available seats, why?” Annabeth says.

“I’m going to go in that bank, get the money for a ticket, and ship Clarisse back to camp with the fleece.” He flinched back when they began protesting. “I thought you said we needed to get the fleece back to camp pronto?”

“Not if that means you being a thief and stealing from a bank!” Clarisse whisper shouted.

“I’m not stealing from the bank, I have an account. I’ll pull the money from there, we buy the ticket and Clarisse saves the day,” Percy countered. “Trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing, and if I do it right, then we have to book it after we get Clarisse to the airport.”

“You promise we wont get in trouble for this?” Annabeth asks.

“I promise,” Percy said and cleaned himself off as much as he could before crossing the road. He had never been in the bank by himself, only going with Alfred or Bruce if they were doing errands. Normally he would be sitting at the waiting area while they conversed about something with an agent or a teller, he didn’t really know how it worked, but it shouldn’t be too hard, right? Right?

It was kinda hard.

The security guard was giving him a hard time before he had even made it past the door. And sure, he gets it, alright. He doesn’t exactly look like the type of kid to be getting their monthly allowance on their gold plated card, but he was able to open the door because his fingerprint allowed him access. It’d be pretty embarrassing if he made all those claims to the others only to be stumped by a door.

“Hi, I’d like to make a withdraw from my account please?” Percy gave the teller his best Wayne™ smile.

“Of course, may I have the account name and date of birth?” She asked.

“Perseus Todd-Wayne,” he placed his finger on the scanner watching in the reflection of her glasses his account pull up and notify Bruce where he was. The timer was ticking, he had maybe two hours max to get the money, tickets, and leave the city. “And I was wondering if you were able to help me purchase some airline tickets while I’m here? I missed my flight to New York with my brother and I dropped my phone in the ocean, so I can’t call him.”

“Oh, yes sir, let me go grab an agent to help you with that,” She smiled at him. “You may go and wait in the chairs and a representative will be able to help you shortly.”

“Is there anyway to have the process go a little quicker? I don’t want to scare my dad when the plane lands and I’m not on there.” Percy folds his arms over his chest, bowing his head a little a making his eyes water. He saw the teller’s expression change to shock at his theatrics. “After my brother passed, it really shook the family and I try not to make him worry too much.” Percy could feel the tear wipe away the remaining bits of sand on his cheeks and he cried. “Please, ma’am, I just want to go home to my dad.”

Was he being manipulative? Maybe. Is this what Jason had told him to do when dealing with rich snobs? Yes, it was. Was it working?

“I understand, Mr Wayne. I’ll do whatever you need to help you get home, leave it to me.” The teller steeled her expressions and began to pull up the American airlines website to browse through the availibilities.

It was all going according to plan.

Half hour later and his eyes red from “tears of relief and gratitude,” Percy walked out of the bank with a printed sheet with the ticket information and eight hundred dollars. The look of shock they had when he told them what happened faded as the car for Clarisse pulled up. He handed her four hundred for food and to trade for drachmas to call camp before turning back to Grover and Annabeth.

“‘Not a rich kid’ my ass,” Annabeth crossed her arms before walking back to the bus stop.

****************************************

We needed a little bit of a breather from the angst, and while there’s a wee little bit in the beginning, this was mainly a light hearted installment.

Also, stay tuned for the next update! We’re gonna have a lil visit with Jason :)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[sweetiebean00]

Of Dueling Debates

This is a lil fluffy continuation of Of Nifflers and Magic, just a bit of Ominis roasting his best buddy with MC lol

Celia dug her teeth into her bottom lip, fighting to keep the laughter from bubbling out of her chest. A snicker escaped when she chanced a glance at Sebastian's face, his cheeks reddened as he leaned back on his hands and sulked from another of Ominis' sharp remarks. Hiding her face in one of the tombs gathered about them, she bit her lip harder at the look of betrayal Sebastian sent her way. She didn't know how long Sebastian was trying to argue his reasoning, to explain the logic behind teaching her transfiguration magic through dueling. 

"In my defense-" Sebastian tried again, speaking loudly over Ominis' dry commentary. "It worked didn't it?"

"If by worked, you mean you worked yourself into being transfigured twice..." Ominis raised an unamused brow, his voice thick with sarcasm as Celia snickered. "Then yes, it certainly worked... to prove you should never teach anyone again."

Of all the ways to teach something, Celia had to agree with Ominis. It was not one of Sebastian's greater ideas, although she had hoped he would have a better idea when it came to trying to drown himself in her potions. Godric's heart, she almost forgot. She still had to brew some wiggenweld, and at the very least see if she can salvage the ones Sebastian swam in.

"Excuse you!" Sebastian cried indignantly. "I'm an excellent teacher!"

"At curses, maybe."

Celia snorted, stepping through the mess of parchment and books. She had intended to study before Sebastian had found her on the way up the Astronomy tower, their impromptu study session interrupted when he saw how utterly useless she was with transfiguration magic. Still, she had to wonder. He watched her fail at turning a goblet into an animal, yet decided the best idea was to duel her into a corner where she turned him into an animal.

"Actually," Celia spoke up, flicking her wand to clear out the potions inside the cauldron. It's not that she didn't trust Sebastian with her potions, more that she didn't trust where he had been. Besides, he had been covered in fur and she really didn't need to gag on a health potion when she used it. "It was more like, five times?"

Refilling the pot, she let the water simmer. Grinding the materials together like Professor Sharp reiterated on the daily. An even, smooth motion. No irregularities. She loved making potions, the easy rhythm. The requirement of enough attention to not butcher the potion, but not too much to be able to think as she followed the recipe step by step. She could almost imagine Sebastian teasing her for still using the recipe, she just preferred accuracy over memory. Better safe than sorry, Sicilian always said. 

"What."

Celia jumped, the sharp tone nearly sending her elbow into the bottle of horklump juice. With the amount of health potions she went through on a daily basis, she couldn't afford to waste even a drop of wiggenweld. Especially with her stash having been gone through in the last week, between the poachers, ashwinders, bandits, and spiders. She needed to make the most of everything she had.

"If you're counting the first time -when he was turned into a chicken, the times I tried turning him back before and after I got you?" As she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder. Letting the cauldron simmer and tugging her braid into a bun, as Sebastian shook his head furiously. "Then it was closer to five times, maybe six?"

Sebastian grimaced, sending Ominis a sheepish grin as his hands raised in defense against his best friend's scowl. Ominis huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She shook her head, it wasn't like it was a secret. She had admitted to trying to turn him back on her own before she sought out the help of Ominis. Although, now that she's thinking about it...

"Does the time he was turned into a barrel count?" 

Celia’s question was answered with silence. With a frown, she looked to find Sebastian sending her another look of absolute betrayal. Ominis had his face in his hand, if it weren't for the near silence she was sure she wouldn't have been able to tell he was muttering under his breath. Sebastian huffed, running a hand through his curls as she turned back to her cauldron. Holding her breath as she added a pinch of dittany.

"You know what, Sebastian?" 

Ominis broke the silence, and Celia found herself glancing from the corner of her eye as she waited for the snarky comment she knew was coming. 

"You are right, you were successful. Celia, please, be a dear and turn him back into a barrel - I am in some desperate need of peace and quiet."

Celia snorted, shaking the bottle of horklump juice as Sebastian's whine cut through the room. She had just enough dittany and horklump juice for one last batch, maybe a handful of vials if she could stretch it but the potency wouldn't be as strong as a concentrated brew. Adding the drops, she would just have to go gather more when she had the time. She could do with the minimum. She'd just... prefer having more, especially since Ranrok’s loyalists are becoming more of a thorn in her side. She would have had more, had a certain someone not tried to drown himself in them.

"Ya know Ominis," She flashed a sharp smile over her shoulder, a sick sense of delight warming her chest at the way Sebastian paled from where he had frozen mid-argument with Ominis. "You did promise me proper transfiguration lessons, and turning him into a barrel could provide ample practice! Maybe then he'll learn to leave my potions alone."

Sebastian's cry of protest was drowned out by the sound of Ominis laughing. It was cool, as clear and crisp as his speaking tone. And yet... there was a warmth to it that was missing when he spoke in class. It was like stepping out on a hot summer day to feel the cool relief of rain, not the sharp jarring cold that sent you coiling back. But the softer kind, the one you longed for and could smell in the air. She smiled, chancing a glance at the blonde. His head was tipped back, eyes squeezed shut as he laughed from deep inside his belly. 

Her cheeks burned, no one had the right to look like that. Completely unfair to her and the other normal people in a world of magic. The hair on the back of her neck stood and Ceila looked to meet Sebastian’s eyes. He smirked, brows wiggling as he glanced between her and Ominis knowingly. The heat in her cheeks increased and she jerked her attention back to the potion she was supposed to be stirring in a clean and even motion. 

Thankfully the night Ominis had confronted her outside the Undercroft had Sebastian sworn to the utmost secrecy. Not that it’s stopped him, Poppy, and Natty from planning when they can. He still didn’t let her live it down, reminding her of the time he had taken off through the entire castle in search of the sweet Hufflepuff who had just received a threat from someone that left many shaking in their shoes just from a sharp look in their direction. Only he didn’t find her scared, oh no, why would she be scared? No, he just happened to find her cursing Ominis’ “beautiful stupid face!” as she casted confringo after confringo at the dummy the room had set in front of her. 

Releasing a sigh, as she carefully poured the potion into as many of the vials as she could squeeze. She was never more thankful the blonde was blind and couldn't see her interest. Poppy and Natty still hadn't stopped teasing, hadn't stopped trying to "help" by lumping her with the blonde as a partner in the classes they all shared. Sebastian interfering made it so much worse. 

Tucking her potions away, Celia paled. Eyes widening as she took in the sight of the boys gathered about the floor with their school work scattered near and far. Tugging the wand from the bun she had haphazardly thrown it into, she flicked it until a couch was spouting beneath the both of them. Tables collecting their parchment and books and a rug stretched across the center tiles beneath it all.

"Oh my Merlin! I'm so sorry-!" With another flick of her wand, the mess of potions was cleared away before she was shoving it back into her bun. "Forgive me, I didn't even think to-!"

"You know conjuration?!" Celia nodded, ducking her head as Sebastian laughed. "That's amazing! Can you teach me? I want to-"

"Please, there's no need for an apology, dove." Ominis kicked Sebastian beneath the table, earning a pained grunt as Celia dug her teeth into her lip to keep from smiling or Merlin forbid, snickering with the way Sebastian was rubbing at his shin with a pout. "It's not like you intended for us to overstay your welcome after his grand idea of teaching."

"Thought we went over this," Sebastian grumbled. “I'm an excellent teacher, Ominis.”

“Your opinion is not fact, Sebastian.” 

Celia smiled, her heart doing a funny little dance in her chest at the smirk that graced Ominis' lips as Sebastian huffed and crossed his arms. She shook her head at his antics, using her wand to conjure an overly large ottoman. With a huff, Celia flung herself into the soft fabric. Bouncing lightly as she hummed.

 "Yes, because pouting will further your point Sebastian."

The laugh that escaped her chest was bright and full, overpowering any other quips and comebacks they exchanged as she cackled into the ottoman until her stomach hurt.

[keffirinne]

Please do post the rest of what you wrote for please not him!

I think you wrapped up the story in a really nice way, so you could even post these as a separate thick, like a companion piece or separate one shot. But please do post them! I want to read everything you’ve written for him.

Hi anon!

Sorry it took me so long to reply, wanted to wrap it up in a finished, short oneshot for you!

So happy you're still interested in my Roman's fics :3

It takes some pressure off me when I have the whole piece completed and can just post something whenever I feel like it, like this.

I mean, I can do it all the time, but my project management skills turn on, when I have unfinished stuff, waiting to be ended xD

Maybe not everything I have in my drafts I find suitable for posting, definitely not in the form I have it there right now, but your comment really motivetes me to go back to these ideas, rethink and rewrite them.

So here you have it!

Bad dream

Roman Sionis x Reader

#Reader's traumatic experiences from the past #Roman's shitty attempts to comfort the reader #he has no empathy so it is a golden star for him anyway #based on true story when I had a bad dream and started screaming in the middle of the night, waking up myself and my boyfriend (now fiancée). He reacted way better than Roman did

The musty smell of mold settled on your clothes, eating into the fabric. The walls of the cramped room with torn, faded wallpaper were like a prison, surrounding you on all sides, unabling the escape. 

In your throat you felt a bitter, iron-like taste of terror.

You were suffocating.

Your lungs constricted in burning pain from lack of oxygen and every desperate attempt to take a breath ended in nothing. You were opening your mouth wide open till your jaw hurt but it was as if there was no air at all.

And you needed air to scream. 

You needed to make a sound to cry out for help. This thought like a slithery, cold worm crawled up your back, making you realize that no one knew where you were. And no one would come here to help you.

And there he was, coming right at you. His face blur, yet you knew he had this filthy smirk on his face. His approaching figure, like a walking nightmare that you couldn't withstand.

Again, in a hopeless attempt to save yourself, you opened your mouth with all your strength, but no sound came in.

He was only a few steps away from you. Curled up on the floor, you hid in a corner of the room, dug your nails into the rotten wood leaving red marks on the floor.

If only you could scream, call for someone to stop this. To stop him.

You knew what was going to happen, you saw it too many times before, yet every time you wanted to believe that maybe, now, it would be different. And despite it, you were never prepared for the inevitable culmination. 

Every time it felt like the first time.

Your tormentor was towering over you, doing nothing about your vulnerability. You knew that on one hand he had this disgusting salamander tattoo. A design that will be forever remembered. As he was strangling you, the amphibian stared straight into your eyes without any act of mercy. Cold, rough hands were clamping down on your neck, and all you could feel was that burning pain and fear. The body that still wanted to fight was being forced to give up.

Suddenly you heard someone calling your name. The voice was quiet, like coming from afar. It was so indistinct that at first you weren't sure if it didn't just was in your head. But the longer you began to focus on it and listen into it, the image of your tormentor began to blur. The death grip on your neck eased and the room began to disappear. The voice was getting closer. It was calling you. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop screaming, woman!"

You woke up still screaming when someone strongly tugged on your shoulder. 

Your whole body was covered with sweat and the heart was pounding like it was about to pop out of your chest.

It was still dark, but you weren’t any longer in that room, your tormentor was gone. You bluntly looked around to recognise that it was Roman's bedroom. The memory from a few years ago was still alive in your subconscious, unlike the man who caused you so much harm. In the shapes in the darkness, you recognized the silhouette of Roman sitting next to you with an expression of angry concern on his face. He was clenching his fingers tightly on your shoulder, staring at your apparently confused face. 

It was just a dream.

The images, as real as the bed you were lying in and the window through which the moonlight was now casting, laying in long, white stripes on the floor. 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." you hid your face in your hands as the wave of embarrassment started to take over the overpowering feeling of terror from which your heart was still pounding. 

"Fucking finally." Roman grunted and let go of your arm.

He rubbed his face with his hand and leaned against the headboard. He was looking sleepy and tired, which was understandable when he had just woken up in such a violent way in the middle of the night. Crossing arms on his chest, waited for a good explanation why you decided to interrupt his eight hour beauty sleep. 

"You probably think I'm nut." you started, trying to calm down your heartbeat.

"What the hell happened? You just started screaming like a total kook."

"I had a bad dream. A memory actually. Sorry."

Your breathing slowly began to calm down, absorbing the reality that surrounded you. The traumatic experiences from the past began to retreat, hiding in that  corner of your mind where it was probably destined to stay forever.

"I thought someone was murdering you or something." he said reproachfully. 

He wasn't far from the truth. 

"I know, it felt very real. I'm sorry."

"You said sorry already three times."

Not knowing what to answer, you lay down on the pillow. To reclaim the composure you started studying the furniture in front of the bed. It was a trick to focus on a few objects that you learned to calm yourself down. Roman wasn’t saying anything, you thought that he got offended, like he often did for no reason or just went back to sleep and you were embarrassed enough to not speak up first. So when you heard his voice again, not so angry as before, it surprised you. 

"What was the dream about?"

There was something extremely intimate about this question and somehow reassuring. Yet the last thing you wanted now is him to feel pity for you. 

“Old memory. The not-so-good ones.”

He muttered in response as if he understood what you meant by that, but he didn’t insist on more details.

“And FYI, I don't usually act like this.” you added in an attempt to deflect the topic.

“You don't usually scream in the middle of the night as if you were fighting for your life? Good to know.” his sarcasm was back.

Roman settled down on the pillow next to you.

“Next time you want to wake me up with your mouth, there is a better way.”

Not sure if this was his attempt to defuse the situation or was he actually asking for a blowjob, which was also highly likely, you appreciated the humor.

“Very funny.”

Covering yourself tighter with the sheets you lay yourself down to sleep. You closed your eyes, but after a while you opened them again. Staring at the ceiling you started to contemplate the situation. It's not like you expected any sort of compassion from Roman, it actually surprised you that he didn’t kick you off his bed. You turned on your side, so that you were now looking at his face in profile. His eyes were closed and his chest was rising steadily under the thin silk.

“Roman?” you asked quietly.

He grunted without opening his eyes.

“Good night.”

In response, he muttered something that sounded similar to "good night." 

You closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep.

@thegreatwicked @daenerys-skywalker @supernatural-lover @hereticpriest @creativelyquestioninglife

In case you want/don't want to be tagged, let me know! No pressure ☀️

[captain-of-silvenar]

A brain thought that grew too big, and turned into a new project.

Enjoy some Maormer fanfic!

---

Was it unlawful and cruel to go running for the shoreline after a massive storm churned up several lost and sunken ships in hopes of finding leftover treasures or supplies to enhance one's own ship?

Nylarril didn't think so, and so did a majority of the others living on Pyandonea.

For months now the sea was in a state of unrest with storms regularly falling over the island. It was the summer months when such storms were meant to happen. Scouting and raid operations were at a halt until there were calmer waters. Only those ordered by King Orgnum himself venture out and with no less than three storm mages per ship to grant them safe passage out of the misty veil.

Until then, Nylarril was home and was going scavenging. 

It was going to be awhile before he was called to action and he was hoping to find some decent tools leftover on the ships. If not, he could find some old weapons to turn over to the smith to remake them into new blades. And if it really was a worthless endeavor to search around the wreckages, he could at least find dinner.

There was no one around his area of the shoreline, at least to his knowledge. He did wake up pretty early after the storm had passed over the island. It was a blessing none of the trees had crashed down on his home and only blew leaves onto his path. A minor inconvenience, so long as he didn’t slip on any of them.

Nylarril was waist deep in the belly of a ship, cracked open like a shucked oyster. He could see the different levels and what was left of the cargo floating pitifully around him. Nothing survived their stay in the sea as plenty of them had been eaten by the fish or boring clams chewed the wood into splinters.

He did find the armory of one ship and started collecting the best looking pieces onto a floating crate for ease of carrying.

‘At least today wasn’t a total waste,’ he thought as he piled more miscellaneous pieces into the crate. ‘I can probably convince the smith to make me a new sword out of this. If any of the metal is good.’

With loot in tow, and maybe a few pieces of gold he found in some random corners, he started to wade his way back to the shore. He momentarily got lost inbetween the towering shells of the ships around him and found himself deeper into the ship graveyard. It was there that he heard a noise.

There was a persistent splashing sound somewhere inside the ship’s hull. It could be any number of things that could’ve been caught up in the wreckage. Maybe it was a bit of debris that was hanging in a weird way to keep splashing. Maybe it was a creature wrapped up in some rope trapped. Either way, it was making noise and that could mean something worthwhile to see.

With a new goal in mind Nylarril waded toward the noise. Rope around his waist to keep his floating crate nearby, it took him longer than he thought to find the source of the noise. The closer he got to the splashing the stranger it sounded. It sounded less like a piece of debris being pushed and pulled by the waves and definitely like something was caught and thrashing around.

It wasn’t long until he ducked under a fallen beam and turned the corner when he finally laid eyes on the cause of the sound.

“Mother Sea preserve me!”

Trapped, wrapped up in a tangle of netting and ropes, was a mermaid.

Serpentine in shape, trapped half in and out of the water, Nylarril could see the glittering silver of its tail splashing in the water as it thrashed around trying to get out. Its arms were pinned to their body and it twisted this way and that way to try and loosen the ropes but only serving to tighten them more. It had gotten to a point where one of the nets must’ve dug into flesh as a steady trickle of blood dripped into the water around it.

His exclamation instantly caught its attention and Nylarril was caught frozen by the eyes that gazed into his own.

Like two pieces of onyx set into a silvery face, glittering from the reflections of the water. They squinted and were accompanied by a snarled mouth lined with razor sharp teeth. This mermaid meant harm in every way possible despite being trapped.

This could be a benefit to him.

There was very little to no information about mermaids, neither here in Pyandonea or in Summerset. Were he to capture this mermaid and bring it to a Captain or even a Commodore this could be a great boon to him. On the other hand… it was also told in myths that to try and use a mermaid for selfish reasons would only bring ruin to a person's name. 

Choices, choices. 

Of which were about to be severely limited as the longer he stood there like a dumb bluegill with his mouth open the more aggravated the mermaid became. So much so that Nylarril noticed the water orbs starting to rise up and were about to skewer him.

“Wait, wait, wait!” he exclaimed while also dispelling the orbs with a wave of his hand. Without magic to keep them up, the orbs splashed harmlessly back into the sea. Much to the surprise of the mermaid it seemed by the shocked expression on their face. It stopped it’s thrashing just long enough for him to raise his hands and speak again.

“I’m not going to harm you,” he blurted out. “I can… I can cut you down… If you let me.”

Great job, offering to help the thing when not a moment ago he was thinking of passing it off to a Captain. 

But also he didn’t want to get stabbed to death with water.

Nylarril wasn’t exactly sure if it even understood Pyandonea but it wasn’t thrashing around anymore. It just kept… staring at him with those giant eyes. Blood kept trickling down some netting and dropping into the water, tainting it red. If there was ever a time to approach it was right now.

He untied himself from his crate, pushing it against a wall so it didn’t drift away. Hands up and slowly walking forward he approached the mermaid. As he approached he started to get a better look at it.

They were silvery before, but even closer up he could see the brilliance in their scales. The little bit of direct sunlight piercing past the clouds bounced off their scales in a kaleidoscope of colors. Nylarril’s knowledge of mermaids was sparse and few, but some of the readings and myths he knew mostly described mermaids as perfectly half fish and half humanoid.

This mermaid certainly was not, with the scales completely covering them from head to wherever their tail ended. They were more akin to lamia he’s seen on Tamriel, part women part snake beings. There was a long dorsal fin he could see poking out and tearing through a piece of a sail, possibly traveled the length of their tail.

Once he was close enough, Nylarril risked getting his dagger out. Slowly it came out of his sheath and the mermaids eyes were locked onto it instantly. There was a moment where he saw their tail twitch and causing a surprising amount of water to shift around him. Just how long was this thing?

But it wasn’t thrashing, and no shift of magic in the water made him think he was about to get skewered. So he carefully started to cut them free.

First starting well away from their body, pulling away the excess sails that were keeping it bound. Once those were away he could see the netting that were digging under their scales and causing them to bleed. Along their chest were familiar ridges of gills where the net was actually digging into flesh. And fairly deep with how much it was bleeding, and the pink of the inner gills were starting to become exposed.

“This is going to hurt,” he explained, as if the thing could understand him. Perhaps so, as it did nothing when his blade got closer to it. Maybe a slight flinch when the blade peeled away the first layers of netting, but nothing threatening anymore. It had to hurt eventually though, as he began to pick the netting and start to dig it out from the flesh. He heard a low rumble through their body and glanced to see it grimacing but looking away from the sight.

More netting he dug out of the flesh, a few small scales falling into the water below, until he finally tugged the last of the twine out of it.

“No more netting in there,” he announced. How strange that he was rather calm next to a practically mythical being. It probably had to do with seeing it trapped and bleeding that assuaged some of the glamour of it all. Not all things from Mother Sea were impervious after all.

There were only a few bundles of netting left keeping them hanging above the water and he solved it with a quick swipe of his blade.

Several things happened all at once then.

No longer bound and free to move, the mermaid shoved him backwards and into the water. Underwater, Nylarril was able to see the true length of this mermaid as it shifted around him. The length of two fishing boats stern to aft, it was a massive amount of body that was swirling around him and out of this ship graveyard. As the mermaid left he could see other parts of it’s body wrapped in sails and netting. And just like that, they were gone.

Nylarril got his feet under him and stood back up, wiping water out off his face to look at the empty area around him. All that was left was some blood lingering in the water, and glittering scales in the sand. He crouched down to pick one of them up. No bigger than one of his thumbnails, but it reflected sunlight like a mirror. Without this scale in his hand one could almost imagine that the mermaid was never here at all.

“I need a drink,” he finally said after a long pause. Nylarril collected his floating crate and retied himself to it and found his way out of the ship graveyard. When he reached the shore did he find others dragging their own loot out onto the beach. A few of them waved at him and called out,

“Found anything interesting out there?”

He thought about the glittering scale he stashed in his pouch. For a moment he thought about saying what he saw. Of onyx eyes and snarling teeth, and blood dripping from a mythical creature. And how it looked at him with wide eyes and kept still as he cut it free.

“No,” he lied. “Nothing interesting at all.”