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bueckers · 9 months ago

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UNFINISHED BUSINESS ━━━ paige bueckers

i don’t wanna fight, but you got the wrong vibes. let me get you right, it’s how i apologize. ✶

synopsis: she broke it off, but has since had a hard time leaving her alone… especially when having to see her in person.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem oc

warnings: smut with plot, p eating ( p is literally EATING ), fingering, thigh riding, and slight angst.

notes: this is ridiculously long. in honor of her fit here, enjoy.. i loved writing this almost as much as i love the song lol. lmk if i should make a part two or maybe a series!

Nervous, excited, and borderline bald from tugging at my hair—these were all the things I had felt the moment I stepped into the WNBA 2024 All-Star Game.

I would be seeing Paige tonight. Paige would be seeing me tonight. Paige knew I knew she would be seeing me tonight, and I knew Paige knew she would be seeing me tonight.

When Paige and I first started hooking up, it was never supposed to be anything serious. She was sidelined with a torn ACL, and I knew she was in a dark place, struggling with everything that came with being forced off the court. I think that’s why it started, honestly. She needed an escape, something to make her forget for a little while, and I was there.

Paige and I have known of each other for years, though. We both came up in the basketball world at the same time, our names being tossed around in the same circles since high school. We’d cross paths at AAU tournaments and national showcases, always on different teams but always aware of each other.

Back then, our support for each other was more from a distance, and it wasn’t until college that things started to shift. We crossed paths more often, whether it was at games, media events. The rivalry between our schools added a new layer to our interactions, but by then, we had leveled up from distant competitors to something more like casual friends.

Those moments were what led us to where we eventually ended up. The more we talked, the more we realized how much we actually had in common—our experiences, our struggles, the pressure to perform, and the constant scrutiny. It felt natural, easy, to let our guard down with each other, which is why when her injury happened and everything else in her life felt like it was falling apart, I wasn’t surprised when we fell into it.

We had an agreement. Not one that was ever talked about soberly, but the way it happened just fell into place so perfectly that we didn’t need to. We’d meet up when it was needed, no commitments, no expectations. Just two people finding comfort in each other, filling a void that we couldn’t fill on our own. It was convenient, effortless, and most importantly, it worked for the both of us. I guess I figured if I kept things casual, I wouldn’t get caught up in something messy. I didn’t want to be the one to complicate her life even more.

We’d cross paths after games, during off-season, or whenever our schedules aligned, slipping into each other’s lives for a few hours at a time. She knew how to keep me at arm’s length, just close enough to keep me coming back but far enough to never let me in too deep. She knew exactly how to make me feel needed without ever giving too much of herself away. It was maddening, really—how she could be so vulnerable one minute, showing me sides of herself that no one else got to see, and then switch off just as quickly.

The more we hooked up, the more I started to realize I was getting too close. I could see it in the way she’d look at me sometimes, like she knew I was starting to care too much. And the worst part was, she didn’t seem to mind pushing me right to that edge. She’d say something that made my heart race, or she’d touch me in a way that felt like it meant something, only to pull back and remind me of our status. She was always in control, always the one with the upper hand, and I hated how easily I let her have it.

And then it was all done. She cut things off with a cold finality that I still can’t even believe. No explanation, no soft letdown—just a sudden, brutal end. It was like she knew exactly when I’d reached that point and she didn’t hesitate to remind me that it was never supposed to mean anything at all.

“I’m gonna go grab some snacks, alright? Try to look a little more happy for the jumbotron,” JuJu teases, getting up from her seat. I gasped, barely having any time to process her insult as she scooted between me to get to the stadium stairs.

“Very funny,” I muttered, watching her walk away.

Alone now, I focused on the game, doing an extremely good job at hiding the gnawing in my chest. I’d say I have a good poker face, but Paige would agree to disagree. My phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. It was her and she’d finally found you. She was on the other side of the arena, clearly getting a kick out of having you in her view.

you mad at me or just deep in thought?

I rolled my eyes back to the deep depths of hell. Another text from her.

you look good tonight

you too. how’s the game?

As soon as I hit send, I regret it. I should have ignored her. I should have said something snarky.

Her reply comes almost immediately.

could be better. thought about coming over

what stopped you?

You watched her text bubble practically stutter, making you quirk an eyebrow.

juju. i didn’t wanna make it awkward.

lol. okay.

actually, scratch that. leave w me.

I shifted in my seat, my hands suddenly clutching my phone a little tighter.

paige, no.

why not?

I shut off my phone just in time for JuJu’s return, watching as she squeezed through mounds of people to get back to me. She handed me a cherry slurpee, which would however be gone in ten minutes.

“Thanks, sugar,” you teased her, wrapping your lips around the straw and taking a nice, long sip. She shook her head at me as she focused on the game again, nachos in hand. Ping.

Tell her don’t get too comfortable 😂

I could even feel her eyes boring into me from the other side. I could picture the stupid smirk or gummy smile she’d have. I turned my ringer off and silenced Paige’s notifications before slipping my phone into my back pocket and reverting my attention back to the game. It’s almost over.

Fast forward to the final buzzer, and Juju and I made our way down to the court, weaving through the crowd of fans and players. I always loved the energy in a room of women’s basketball players and fans— there were always a million things going on at once. As we reached the court, we spotted Caitlin, who was already deep in conversation with a couple of other players.

“Great game, Cait,” I said, pulling her into a light hug. “Guess nobody busts your butt as good as SC, huh?” I pulled back first, resting my hands on my hips. I could say I’ve known Caitlin as long as I have Paige, but Cait doesn’t know me the way Paige does.

Caitlin laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, Miss Championship. but don’t get too cocky now.”

Juju laughed alongside me, adding a quick comment about how USC would give her a run for her money next time. The conversation flowed easily, a mix of post-game analysis and friendly banter. I scanned the court for a brief moment, knowing exactly who I was looking for.

Sure enough, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Flau’jae and Paige making their way over. I braced myself, knowing the cameras would be all over this reunion, and the media would have a field day with it. Paige looked as confident as ever, her stride always one that grabbed attention.

“Hey, y’all,” Paige said, her voice smooth, effortless. She exchanged hugs and high-fives with everyone, her presence commanding attention as always. When she reached me, she didn’t hesitate to pull me into a hug, her hand resting on my hip before snaking around to my lower back.

And then I felt it—her hand slipping lower, fingers grazing the fabric of my mini skirt. I could hear the smirk in her voice as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Good to see you.” Just close enough to keep me coming back.

I pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes. There was that smirk. My heart was pounding, a mix of frustration and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge. “You too,” I managed, keeping my tone as neutral as possible, pulling back with a tight-lipped grin that looked friendly enough to anyone who didn’t know what was going on. Which was everyone.

The group continued chatting, oblivious, obviously. You’d found out the one thing you hated about being around Paige was the overwhelming current of being the only ones in the room who knew how each other was feeling. Paige, ever the actor, kept up her usual easygoing demeanor, but I could feel her gaze on me, like she was waiting for something. I tried to focus on the conversation, but it was impossible with her so close, the warmth of her hand still lingering on my skin.

When the small talk finally wound down, and the others started drifting away, Paige moved closer, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned in again, her voice low, almost a whisper. “C’mon. Meet me,” she coaxed, her breath warm against my ear. Her fingers brushed lightly against my side, tracing a path.

I hesitated, the resolve I’d built up over the past hour crumbling under the weight of her presence. She was testing me, pushing every button she knew she could. And damn it, it was working.

I finally nodded, barely audible. “Okay.”

It was all she needed. A single, one-word confirmation that I wanted her as bad as she does. She took my phone out of my pocket for me, placing it my hand as she said her goodbyes to everyone else, leaving me there. I suppose it was smarter for her to do that anyway.

Shortly after Paige’s departure, I made my way out as well. JuJu wasn’t a tough barrier to get past. I told her to finish up her conversations, and that I’d see her back at the hotel. I wasn’t quite show how long my excuse would suffice, but I hoped she’d find her way to the bar or something after.

I don’t know why I listened. Watched my fingers click on her contact and give the driver her hotel’s address. It was like I was compelled from the moment she’d touched me, and to be honest, I don’t think I’d be surprised if that was the case.

The Uber ride felt interminable, each passing moment only heightening the anticipation and anxiety. I could barely focus on the city lights flashing by outside, my mind consumed with the impending confrontation and whatever would follow.

Finally, I was able to make my way to her room, feeling the cool air of the hallway against my skin as I knocked on the door. When Paige answered, her smile was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and she pulled me inside with a warm, yet testing glint in her eye.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, Paige’s demeanor shifted. Before I could voice any protest, her lips were on mine, kissing me with an urgency that made my heart race. I barely had time to process the sudden change before she deepened the kiss, her hands roaming possessively over my back.

I tried to pull away, my mind still reeling from the fact that I was even here, but her grip tightened, pulling me closer. “Paige,” I murmured against her lips, trying to catch my breath. “We need to talk—” but as much as I tried to voice it, I knew that isn’t what we both really planned to do.

She silenced me with another intense kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair, guiding my head to tilt for better access. Her touch was relentless, her body pressing against mine with all the need in her body. “I don’t wanna fight,” she whispered between kisses, her breath hot and heavy against my skin. “Jus’ wanna be close to you.” She breathed in my scent, and I melted.

The words were almost lost in the heated moment, but I could feel the sincerity. She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her gaze smoldering with an intensity that made me rethink actually standing on business. She waited, trying to see if I was really against this. I licked my lips, glancing at hers.

I didn’t stand a chance.

Her lips found mine again, and the world narrowed to the press of our bodies. Our kisses were feverish and desperate, each touch holding some type of meaning. Paige’s hands roamed over my skin like there were so many options in a candy store and she couldn’t pick just one. In this case, one spot to focus on. Her mouth trailed down my collarbone, leaving a path of pinkish marks.

Our bodies were pressed together and refusing to let go. Paige guided me towards the bed, her hands never leaving my body, her lips continuing their assault on my skin. When she finally lowered me onto the bed, I was needy and breathless and finally feeling a little more realistic.

“P, I’m still mad,” I tried to insist, though my voice wavered as I watched her begin to undress. She unzipped her Nike vest slowly, the sound of the fabric sliding down her body making my pulse quicken. It fell to the floor, and she ripped off her shirt with a sudden, breathless intensity, revealing her sports bra. The sight of her, partially unclothed and vulnerable in front of me again left me speechless.

“I know,” she murmurs, her head slightly tilted as she looked at me all-knowingly. “And ima’ make it up to you, I promise. Just let me get you right.” Her fingers trailed up my bare legs, eliciting a small gasp from my lips. She tugged at the hem of my skirt, pulling the fabric down and grabbing my panties in the process. I watched her do it, in utter disbelief that this was how I was spending my night.

Her fingers graze teasingly against my kneecaps, sending shivers through my body, before she gently but firmly peels my legs apart. I look down at her. “You’re just trying to distract me,” I say, but there’s no heat behind the words.

Paige smirks, a knowing look in her eyes as she falls to her knees, her hands sliding over my thighs. “Maybe,” she admits, her voice dropping into a low, sultry tone as she tucks her lip between her teeth. “But you can’t say you don’t want this too.”

She’s right, and we both know it. The way she’s touching me, the way her eyes are locked onto mine with that look. The same one that knows she’s getting her way tonight. My worries seem so distant now, nothing more than a whisper of irritation in the back of my mind, easily drowned out by the way Paige’s hands are moving.

I begin to say something, but she easily cuts me off by diving into me with no warning, immediately humming against my cunt in satisfaction. Her eyebrows were furrowed as her tongue made some deliberate strokes, seemingly in disbelief of the way I tasted. She looks up at me as she delves in, a sight beautiful enough for the Louvre but way too sinful.

She says something I can’t hear, but I do catch a, “Can’t leave you alone, ever. Fuck.”

“Yeah?” I muster out, my breath a careless whisper.

Paige smiles against me, loving the cocky tone in my voice as she responds with a fast nod, the movement making me gasp. “Yeah.”

From there, every moan and gasp from me seems to fuel her desire, making her work even harder to drive me wild. Her hands grip my hips firmly, keeping me in place as her mouth and tongue continue their relentless assault. In the haze of ecstasy, all I can focus on is the feeling of her between my legs, making good on her promise to get me right, leaving me utterly consumed by the pleasure she’s giving.

I come, loud enough that the neighbors might know Paige’s name, but she keeps going. It becomes too much, enough for me to whine and pull away, scooting a little bit higher on the bed. She isn’t going for it, though, and immediately brings me back to her mouth, wrapping my legs in her thick arms.

“Where you tryna’ go, princess?” she teases. The sensation of her mouth and fingers on me is so intoxicating that I can barely respond before she pulls back entirely, rising to her feet. She begins to peel off her pants, her movements slow, leaving me breathless and frustrated.

“Seriously?” I complain.

“Chill,” she responds with a husky chuckle, towering over me in the sexiest way explainable. It’s like she contemplates something in her head for a moment, leaving me dripping wet and needy before her.

Finally, Paige steps closer, her hands sliding down to her sports bra. With a teasing glance, she pulls it off, revealing her bare chest. My eyes widen as I take in her form, unable to tear my gaze away. She then sits back down, positioning herself comfortably on the edge of the bed. “Want you to get on my thigh, baby, m’kay?” And there was no room for argument.

I crawl toward her, a mixture of urgency and anticipation in my movements. Once I’m seated on her thigh, I start to ride it slowly, the friction sending waves of pleasure through me. I truly can’t believe we haven’t done this before. The way she flexes, the way I can feel her muscle.. it’s all too much.

I roll my head back, needing more. My hands find Paige’s boxers, slipping into them with ease as she watches, her eyes moving more than her actual head. My fingers find their way to her core, exploring.

Paige’s breath hitches, her fingers gripping my hip as she watches me intently. “You like that, don’t you?” she breathes, her voice filled with a mixture of desire and all things Paige. “You’ve got me exactly where you want me.”

I stare at her. My body and arm moving repeatedly, my hair a bit puffy at this rate, and a panting mess. Paige raises her thumb to my plump and parted lips, slipping it in. I moan out, forced to suck around it as I squeeze my eyes shut.

Paige is in a trance, completely focused on the warmth around her thumb and how your small fingers disappear into her. “So, so, so good. Love seeing you above me, baby. So pretty.” I couldn’t understand how she could say things like these, and happen to not mean them, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Mfmfmm, I’m gonna come. Again.”

Paige’s response is a series of breathy moans, her hands gripping my hips tightly as she keeps me pressed down, every thrust and touch pushing us both closer to the edge.

As she finally shudders, her release crashes over her like a tidal wave, her body trembling violently. The sensation of her coming around my fingers makes my own climax come shortly after. I cry out, my own pleasure peaking as I grind against her, my fingers thrusting in and out.

Our combined releases feel explosive, a storm of heat and passion that has us both gasping and moaning. I feel her tremors against my fingers as I continue to move, riding out the last waves of ecstasy before finally collapsing against her, both of us spent and tangled together in a sated, sweaty mess.

I think I’ll regret this in the morning. But right now? I’ve never been happier.

#bueckers’ works 🍒#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #lgbtq #Spotify

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lyjen · 17 days ago

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Rage | Eddie Diaz

Summary: After a hectic morning, Eddie and (Y/n) are on their way to the firehouse to start their shift. But the drive doesn’t go as planned when Eddie completely misjudges the situation on the freeway and they end up in a car accident.

Trigger warnings: Car accident, blood and graphic injury description, medical trauma, panic attack / anxiety, drunk driving, bit of violence.

Request: @megafandomsxassemble

Request status: OPEN ✨

9-1-1 Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Eddie stood in the kitchen, pouring the dark liquid into two to-go cups. The morning sun peeked in through the blinds, casting soft strips of light across the counter. One hand held a cup steady, while the other reached blindly for a lid.

“Chris! Let’s go, buddy!” Eddie called out, his voice echoing down the hall as he snapped the second lid on the other mug. He didn’t even have to check the clock to know they were running late. At this point he was used to them being late.

From somewhere deeper in the house, (Y/n)’s voice answered, laced with frustration. “I can’t find my other shoe!” Eddie glanced up, amused. He could already picture her, half-dressed, hair still tousled from sleep, scrambling through the house like it was a scavenger hunt.

She came around the corner into the kitchen, hopping slightly as she wore only one sneaker and zipped up her LAFD hoodie. Her hair was wild and soft, and she used one hand to gather it into a quick bun. It wasn’t her usual clean, firehouse-ready one, but the messy kind she did when time was not on her side.

“Lost it again?” Eddie asked, sipping his coffee with a smirk as he leaned his lower back against the kitchen counter.

“I swear I saw it lying right here last night,” (Y/n) muttered, eyes scanning the floor, then opening the pantry like the shoe might’ve magically climbed onto a shelf.

Eddie watched her with a lazy smile. Her sleepy frustration was oddly cute, and he loved this little chaotic piece of their mornings more than he’d ever admit out loud.

Just then, the familiar thud of crutches echoed down the hall. Chris appeared at the edge of the dining room, steady as always, pushing the shoe forward from underneath one of the dining room chairs “You mean this one?” Chris asked.

(Y/n)’s head popped around the doorframe, and her eyes locked onto the missing sneaker lying on the floor in front of Chris’ crutches. Relief washed over her face. “Chris! You’re a lifesaver.” she said, sounding like the shoe like it was her long-lost soulmate.

She rushed over and took it, dropping down to one knee and started to put the long lost shoe on. Chris raised a brow, curious. “Why were you looking for your shoe in the kitchen?” he asked.

(Y/n) froze mid-lace.

She blinked. Good question. A very good question.

Eddie, still in the kitchen, perked up immediately, like he knew this was going to be good. (Y/n) blinked, suddenly very aware that her searching area made no sense. At least, for him.

“Uhh…” she stalled, her voice faltering as her gaze slowly lifted toward Eddie, who was now watching her over the rim of his coffee cup as he leaned against the doorframe from the kitchen, clearly amused. Then she looked back at Chris, and tried to think fast.

“You know… things happen. Sometimes shoes… travel.” she said as she turned to Eddie for help once more. He offered none. Not at first. Just raised his eyebrows and took another sip.

Chris gave her a look. “And you thought your shoe would be behind the fridge?” he asked, trying to make sense of it. “I don’t know, Chris,” she said, tying her laces faster. “It’s early, my brain’s still warming up.”

Eddie pushed himself off the door frame, sipping his coffee slowly, very amused. “I’m dying to hear this logic, honestly.” Eddie then said. (Y/n) shot him a narrow-eyed look. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like being on time?”

“Nope. Watching this unfold is the highlight of my morning,” he said, handing her the second coffee cup as she stood up.

She snatched it playfully, brushing her fingers against his. “Thank you. For the coffee and your unwavering support.” she said.

“Always,” he said, leaning in for a quick kiss on her temple. Then he turned towards his son, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, bud.” he continued.

Chris smirked, shaking his head. “You guys are weird.” And sighed like a kid who had already seen too much adult nonsense for a Monday morning.

“We know,” they both answered in unison. “Let’s just go before I lose something else, like my dignity.” she whispered softly at Eddie.

“Too late,” Eddie muttered under his breath, but the playful glint in his eye gave him away.

With Chris by the door, (Y/n) finally fully dressed, and coffee in hand and duffle bags on the other, the three of them finally tumbled out of the house.

Eddie eased the car into the disabled parking space near the front of the school. He shifted the car into park, glanced at the clock on the dashboard, and sighed. Barely on time. Not bad, considering the morning shoe crisis.

He popped open his door and stepped out of the driver’s side, the spring air still carrying a hint of coolness. Without missing a beat, he walked around to the backseat and opened it, reaching in to pull out Chris’s crutches.

Inside the car, Chris was already moving like clockwork. He unbuckled his seatbelt with a click, swung his backpack over his shoulder as he put his arm through the other loop and pushed open the door where Eddie stood waiting with his usual, patient smile.

“Here you go, buddy.” Eddie handed him the crutches gently as Chris stepped out of the car. Chris took them without looking up “Thanks.” he said, and slipped his arms through the plastic.

Eddie closed the door behind Chris, the solid thunk of it echoing in the small morning bustle of the parking lot. The noise of students, parents, and teachers swirled around them. Voices calling out, backpacks rustling, cars pulling up and away.

(Y/n) rolled down her window from the passenger seat, watching the moment unfold with a soft smile.

Eddie crouched in front of Chris, one of his hands resting on Chris’ shoulder, and the other one on his knee like he always did when he needed his son to really listen.

“You remembered your math homework, right?” Eddie asked as he tried to make eye contact with him. Chris let out an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Dad.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Not stuffed in the bottom of your bag? Not forgotten on your desk? Not being used as a bookmark in your comic book?” he asked. Chris’ eyes connected with his dad’s. “Daaaad,” Chris groaned, rolling his eyes. “I got it, okay?”

(Y/n) had to stifle a laugh from her seat. Eddie smirked but softened as he reached out and let go of Chris’ shoulder.“I know, I know,” he said, ruffling Chris’s hair. “I’m just doing my job. The annoying dad part.” Eddie continued.

Chris gave him a tired look that said: you’re doing it very well. Eddie leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of Chris’ head. “I love you, okay?”

“Dad!” Chris hissed in embarrassment, eyes darting toward a group of kids walking by. “You’re embarrassing me in front of people!” he mumbled as a smirk appeared on Eddie’s face. “Good. It’s in the contract,” he grinned, his eyes soft. “Embarrass you now, pay for therapy later.”

Chris groaned and rolled his eyes as he turned and started toward the school entrance. “Have a good day!” Eddie called after him, “Oh and don’t trade your snacks!” he added.

“Daaad!” Chris yelled back, not turning around. And then he was gone, just another kid with a backpack vanishing into the group of students.

(Y/n) laughed from inside the car, shaking her head. “You really live to torment that kid.” she said as she looked to the side, watching Eddie getting in the car.

Eddie slipped back into the driver’s seat, his smile lingering. “Gotta enjoy it while I can. In a few years he'll still be embarrassed, but with a deeper voice and probably facial hair.”

“He’ll still be rolling his eyes at your jokes.” she said as she smiled and took a sip from her coffee.

“Absolutely,” Eddie said, starting the car. “Oh—by the way, I told him Tía Rosa’s picking him up today. She said she’d take him for ice cream if he finishes his homework”

“Did you remind him about that?” She asked as she let the back of her head fall against the headrest and looked at Eddie. “Only six times,” Eddie deadpanned. (Y/n) chuckled as Eddie put the car in reverse.

Eddie pulled away, his fingers tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel. “I always feel like we forgot something.” (Y/n) smiled, as she glanced at Eddie. “You packed his lunch, embarrassed him… That’s everything.” she said and placed her hand onto his, that was resting on the armrest in between the passenger and driver. Eddie smiled as he felt her thumb softly tracing over his hand, his eyes locked on the road. “Yeah. I guess that is everything.”

The freeway stretched out in front of them, long and open beneath a soft blue sky. Morning sunlight spilled across the dashboard, painting golden streaks over Eddie’s forearms as he drove. (Y/n) sat beside him, her coffee now half-empty, hair still slightly messy, but that early morning panic had finally faded.

Eddie’s hand rested on the steering wheel, fingers tapping a lazy beat. He glanced over at (Y/n), who was finishing her coffee, hoodie sleeves rolled up, legs curled beneath her in the passenger seat.

Eddie glanced over at her with a small smirk. He couldn’t help it. “So… the kitchen, huh?”

(Y/n) let out a sigh, already rolling her eyes at the sentence. “You’re really not gonna let that go?” She asked. Eddie chuckled, looking at her for a quick second before focusing back on the road. “You froze like Chris caught you committing a federal crime. No comeback, no lie, just panic.”

“I was caught off guard!” she said as she tried not to smile when she thought back at the moment of this morning. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You really had nothing. Not even a fake excuse.”

“I really thought my shoe was in the kitchen,” she mumbled as she took a sip of her coffee. “Well, yeah, because that’s where you launched it. Right after you climbed up on the counter.” he said, while an agreeing look took over his face.

Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me? I did not climb anything.” she shot back at him. “You totally did,” he teased. “And I blacked out after. I mean, we had just gotten off a 24-hour shift, and then you… you were just standing there. Hoodie, messy hair, tired face. I lost it.” Eddie admitted as he glanced back at her.

“You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” she accused him. Eddie laughed, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. “You were just as bad. You kept brushing up against me at work, touching my arm and looking at me like that.” he said.

“I handed you a clipboard, Eddie.” (Y/n) said as her eyebrows furrowed at his words. “And I pinned you against the truck,” he grinned.

“That was a two-second moment!” She said. “Hmm.. for you maybe. It felt like hours to me. Torture.” he said, glancing back at (Y/n). She shook her head, smiling, cheeks a little warmer than a second ago now.

“Oh, and don’t think I forgot about the bathroom,” (Y/n) said, glancing at Eddie with a teasing smirk. Eddie’s brows lifted, already sensing where this was going. “What bathroom?” he asked, trying to act innocent and not knowing.

“That was all you,” she added, sipping from her coffee with a mocking look on her face, like she’d just presented a final piece of evidence. Eddie let out a half-laugh, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You kissed me first!” he said.

“Because you pulled me in there!” Her eyes widened like she couldn’t believe they were actually arguing about this, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips said otherwise. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, both from laughter and from the memory.

Eddie shook his head as he drove, a grin spread across his face. “Because you were looking at me like you were gonna kiss me in front of Bobby!” he said. She scoffed, shifting in her seat, turning toward him. “I—what?! No I wasn’t!” she stumbled.

“Yes you were,” he said, glancing quickly at her. There was a fire in his eyes now. Not angry kind, just playful and maybe a little smug. “You gave me that look. The firehouse hallway look.” he said then. (Y/n) blinked, then narrowed her eyes, leaning in just slightly. “What look is that?” she asks, confused as she placed the coffee back into the cup holder.

“The one that says: ‘I’d climb you like a ladder if Buck wasn’t two feet away.’”

Her jaw dropped and she immediately burst out laughing, one hand flying to cover her face. Her hoodie sleeve slipped slightly down her wrist as she leaned against the door, trying to pull herself together. “You are so dramatic” she managed through her laughter.

“I’m passionate,” Eddie said proudly, placing a dramatic hand over his heart like he was quoting Shakespeare, with his eyes twinkling. “You’re impossible,” she replied, cheeks still flushed as she wiped a tear of laughter away. Her bun had started to come loose from all the movement, stray hairs framing her face.

“And I was going insane,” Eddie added, his voice serious. “I couldn’t touch you for twenty-four hours except in secret. Do you know what that does to a man?” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.

“You bit my lip, remember?” he added, looking to his right. “That was because someone walked in!” she tried to defend herself, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “I was bleeding,” Eddie said, holding up his finger as if to prove the severity of the wound, but there was barely even a wound there.

“You survived.”

Eddie smiled and reached over, resting his hand gently on her thigh. His thumb rubbed slow circles. His voice softened. “I’d do it all over again, though.” (Y/n) glanced over, her smile quieter now. “Yeah?”

“Every shift. Every morning. You’re worth it.” he told her as he took a second to look straight into her eyes.

They sat in that soft silence for a moment. It felt nice. It was almost like a calm before the storm. But then Eddie’s eyes flicked to the road ahead, and that feeling started to slip.

A black car in front of them was swerving across lanes, it was going way too fast and moving way too broad. Eddie frowned, “What the hell is this guy doing?”

(Y/n) sat up straighter. “He’s all over the road. Is he drunk?” she said as she frowned at the image. The warm hand of Eddie let go of (Y/n)’s thigh as he leaned forward and his hands were tightening on the wheel. “Has to be. He’s going, what… ninety? Maybe more.”

The sedan veered again, hard, and nearly clipped the car next to it. Horns blared. It recovered only to accelerate, erratically, like the driver had no idea what they were doing or didn’t care. “I’m not staying behind him,” Eddie muttered, switching lanes. “I’m gonna pass.”

“Just be careful,” she said quietly. “I’ve got it.”

Eddie turned on the turn signal and switched lanes as he stepped on the gas. He tried to pass the black car. But just as they pulled up beside it, the car didn’t make a small swerve like he had before. No, this time he made a much larger one.

No signal. No warning. Just pure, reckless speed. And it slammed directly into their passenger side.

It all happened so fast. The sound was deafening.

The sound of shattered glass, screeching metal and tires, airbags burst, white clouds filling the air as screams filled the small, tight space.

The truck tipped, then flipped. Once. Twice. Suddenly it felt like they were in some kind of fairground attraction they didn’t sign up for.

They were weightless and heavy all at once. Flung and yanked. Eddie’s head hit the headrest hard, his vision blurring. (Y/n)’s body was thrown to the side, her head snapping back against the window before the seatbelt caught her.

They landed hard on the passenger’s side, and back onto four wheels again. The car slowly came to a stop, and for a moment there was silence. Silence or a breath, and a heartbeat.

But then a second car, unable to stop in time, plowed into them from the side. The force sent their (already) destroyed car crashing into the guardrail, before it finally came to a stop. The truck flipped one more time and landed upside down.

Smoke was coming from the hood, and a soft hiss of leaking fluids sounded in the car. The distant honk of other cars skidding to a halt on the freeway they were just on.

Inside the vehicle, the world was upside down. Blood trickled from Eddie’s brow. His ears were ringing. He gasped for air, body aching in ways he hadn’t yet registered and groaned at the pain. He blinked hard as he tried to get a clearer vision, but he was still disoriented.

Then his heart dropped. “(Y/n)…?” he choked out, turning his head, even though every muscle in his body protested.

She wasn’t moving.

His eyes locked onto her. Her head hung in an awkward angle against the seatbelt. Her face was pale, blood dripping from her temple. “Hey,” Eddie’s voice cracked. “Come on, baby, wake up.” he continued as he tried to reach for her, while ignoring the pain he felt in his body.

(Y/n) was pinned in her seat. The metal had crumpled into her side, her hoodie was partly soaked in blood. He didn’t know how deep the metal rod was. He didn’t want to know. But it was enough to make his vision blur.

“No no no no no,” he whispered. “Please, open your eyes.” he begged, his voice was raw and trembling. “You’ve gotta stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” he cried. But she didn’t answer, Eddie felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs all over again when she didn’t answer, or even gave any sign of life.

He knew he shouldn’t move. He knew staying still was the safest thing after a crash like that. His training screamed at him to wait for help. But that voice, the smart, calm, firefighter one, was nowhere to be found at this moment.

All he could hear was her breathing faltering and that silence between her breaths was louder than any alarm he’d ever heard.

Eddie gritted his teeth and fought with his own seatbelt while the blood was rushing to his head. The seatbelt finally gave way, dropping him hard onto the ceiling, (which was now the floor) of the ruined car. His ribs ached in protest, but he didn't stop. He groaned as he pressed a hand onto the painful spot, and he dragged himself toward the shattered driver’s side.

He pushed glass out of his way with raw hands. He didn’t care if glass would cut into his hand, it had already cut his knees, but he didn’t feel a single piece of glass in his skin. The adrenaline was rushing through his veins.

He had to get to her. He had to help her. He couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.

He crawled through the window on the driver’s side, glass cutting into his palms and his legs which were barely working. The morning temperature hit his skin like a slap, but he barely felt it. His entire body was focused on one thing, and that was his girl.

The air reeked of burning rubber and leaking gasoline. People were shouting nearby, tires screeching in the distance, but it all sounded muffled. It was almost like he was underwater.

Eddie pushed himself onto his feet, but almost lost his balance. But his hands quickly grabbed the car to keep him on two feet. He walked as fast as he could around the car.

When he reached the passenger side, he could barely recognize the door. It was caved in completely. But he could see her face through the shattered glass, pale and bloody and still not moving.

Eddie's hands were trembling, without a single thought he braced himself against the door and tried to pull it back, muscles screaming with effort. “Come on!” he grunted, chest heaving. “Just- open- damn it- open!” he cried desperately.

Nothing gave.

He stepped back, his breath stuttering while he blinked through the sting in his eyes. He had to get help. He needed his team here. Now.

He fumbled for his phone, almost dropping it with how slick his fingers were. Blood, sweat, oil, he didn’t even know. His hands were still shaking, panic setting in. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, but somehow he managed to hit Buck’s name in the contact list.

Eddie pressed the phone to his ear, pacing in small, frantic circles like he could outrun the panic crawling up his spine. “Come on, come on, pick up, please.” he whispered.

First ring. Second ring. Third ring.

He was sure the next thing he was going to hear was the voicemail of Buck. But then he heard his best friend's voice through the phone. “Eddie?” he spoke on the other side of the line, his voice loud compared with the sirens on the background.

Silence.

“Eddie? Hey, can you hear me?”

Still nothing.

Just static, and something… shallow. Breathing. Shaky. Ragged. Like someone was gasping through tears, like someone was trying not to fall apart. Buck’s stomach dropped.

“Eddie? Talk to me, man. What’s going on?” He knew Eddie was on the other side of the phone. This wasn’t just some butt dial. But the sounds through the phone.. He just knew something wasn’t right.

More silence. A soft thud. A crackle of air. The faintest sound of someone moving and still no words.

Eddie didn’t know what was happening. He wanted to say so much, but simply couldn’t get the words out.

“Eddie?”

There was a pause… and then, finally, a single, broken word finally came out of his mouth. “…Buck.” The sound of it�� raw and strained.

“Jesus. What happened? Are you okay? Where are you? Is Chris okay?” Buck asked.

A beat of hesitation.

“Not Chris,” Eddie finally managed to bring out, his voice catching in his throat. “It’s- (Y/n).” The name barely made it out. “We were driving. She…” He choked again.

The words were there, but they just wouldn’t come out. His chest felt too tight, like the panic was caving in from all sides, pressing down until nothing made sense except the urge to do something.

“She’s not moving. Buck, I can’t get the door open. There’s- there’s metal through her side, I think- I think it went all the way through-” he rattled.

“Okay, hey,” Buck cut in, trying to keep his voice steady even though his own heart had started to pound. “You’re doing great. We’re already en route. Bobby said it was a multi-car pileup- are you on the 405?” Buck then asked.

“Yes- yeah,” Eddie stammered, breath catching again as he glanced back at her. “She’s bleeding. A lot. And I- I can’t get her out. I tried. The door’s stuck. She’s not- she hasn’t opened her eyes.” Eddie continued as he ran a hand through his hair.

His voice cracked, and for a second, Buck could hear the weight of everything Eddie was holding back. The fear, the helplessness, the sheer horror of watching the person he loved bleed out in front of him. And the worst part? He couldn’t fix it. Not without the right tools.

“You don’t have to get her out,” Buck said firmly. “You know that, Eddie. We’ve got the jaws. We’ll get her. You just stay with her. Don’t move her. Keep talking to her. Keep her grounded, okay?”

“I can’t lose her.” Eddie’s voice broke entirely now, soft cries sounding through the phone. “Buck, I can’t—she’s all banged up and it’s bad, and she hasn’t said a word-”

“You’re not gonna lose her,” Buck said, instantly cutting off Eddie, his voice direct. “You hear me? You are not losing her. We are minutes out. I just need you to hang on.” Eddie nodded, he needed to keep hope. His jaw clenched as he wiped at his face, smearing blood and tears alike.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Buck said again, steady. They hung up before they could share another word. Eddie swallowed hard and crouched lower to the shattered window, brushing a shaking hand over (Y/n)’s cheek.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You stay with me. Just stay with me.”

Eddie was still crouched at her side, the glass from the passenger side window that had shattered cutting into his knees, his hands covered in blood, sweat and oil. His fingers brushed her cheek again. “Hey... hey, (Y/n) help is on the way..” he whispered, voice shaking. “You’re doing so good. Just keep breathing, okay?”

For the first time she gave some sign of life. (Y/n) let out a weak groan as her lashes slightly stick against the blood on her skin. Her body was limp but trembling. The twisted metal of the car door pressed in cruelly against her torso, and that goddamn jagged piece of steel impaled through her side made Eddie feel like he couldn’t breathe.

His lungs pulled in air, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t reach his chest.

Then the sirens hit the scene, rushing toward them like a wave. But Eddie didn’t feel any relief. His mind was stuck in static. Everything was noise except her.

“Almost there,” he murmured as another groan left (Y/n)’s lips.

The flashing lights painted his face red and blue as the truck of the 118 came to a stop nearby. He heard Buck’s voice calling out to him but Eddie didn’t respond. He couldn’t pull himself away from her.

“Eddie!” Buck ran to his side. “Hey—Eddie, are you okay?” Buck asked as he saw the status of Eddie. His best friend looked like he came straight from the battlefield. Parts of his body were covered in blood and sweat.

But Eddie didn’t answer his words. Couldn’t. Eddie’s jaw clenched as he stared down at her. His hands were shaking so badly now he had to clench them into fists just to stop.

“She’s- she’s not responding like before,” he finally stumbled. “She was... I don’t know if it hit an organ- there’s too much blood.” he choked out the sentences. Buck placed a steady hand on Eddie’s shoulder, grounding him. “Hen’s going to check her, Chim is already getting the stabilization.We’ve got it.” But Eddie couldn’t move, it was like his legs were cemented down to this part of the 705.

It wasn’t until Bobby stepped forward and gently said, “We need to get her out, Eddie. Let them work,” that made him back off. He rose stiffly, his limbs roaring in pain. But he didn’t feel any of it. Not really. His eyes flicked toward the wreckage down the road, and that’s when he saw it.

The other car.

The man inside was still behind the wheel, upright. Still breathing. Not a single drop of blood on him.

Something twisted in Eddie’s gut and it made his blood boil. That was him. The guy who hit them. The guy who almost killed them. The guy who almost killed her.

His breathing quickened, and his fists clenched. Bobby noticed the shift in Eddie’s posture instantly as he guided him a bit back so Bobby’s team could do their job. “Hey,” Bobby said carefully. “Eddie, don’t. I know what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t,” Eddie said, voice low and still shaking. “You don’t know.” he added. “I do,” Bobby stepped between him and the wreck. “But now is not the time.” he continued, trying to help Eddie take his mind off whatever he was planning on doing.

“He was drunk.” Eddie’s voice cracked. “He hit her side. He aimed for her, Bobby. He- he almost…” Eddie stopped, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

“I know,” Bobby said gently. “But let the cops handle it. Let the system do what it’s supposed to do.” his captain advised.

But that wasn’t good enough. Not for Eddie. Not when he could still hear her gasping for air in the background. Not when her blood was drying on his palms.

Bobby turned to give an order to Chim, just for a moment. One small silly second. And that’s all it took. “Eddie!” Bobby called, alarmed, but it was too late.

Eddie broke into a walk straight toward the black car, determined. He didn’t think. Didn’t plan. “Eddie!” Bobby called, alarmed, but it was too late. Eddie was already there. He ripped the car door open and grabbed the man by his jacket, yanking him out of the car.

“You almost killed her!” Eddie roared, his voice cracking. He slammed the man into the side of his car. The man stammered, but Eddie didn’t hear him. His vision tunneled, fists tightening.

“You ran us off the road like her life meant nothing! Like we meant nothing!” He shoved the guy again, harder this time.

The drunk man started to mumble something, maybe an apology, maybe just nonsense. But Eddie’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“If she dies,” he snarled, eyes burning with something feral, “if she doesn’t wake up… I swear to God…” he gasped. “Eddie!” Buck’s voice rang through the tension, closer now.

“-I’ll make sure you never forget what you did.” The man groaned, reeking of alcohol. Eddie raised a fist. Muscles tight, the urge burning in his veins like gasoline ready to ignite.

Buck’s voice hit him like a wave. He was running full speed, eyes wide and panicked. “Eddie, stop!” Buck sounded. But Eddie didn’t stop. Buck lunged and wrapped both arms around his friend, pulling him back with everything he had. “Don’t do this!” Buck shouted as he let go of Eddie when he started to wrestle himself out of Buck’s grip. Buck stood between Eddie and the drunk driver, trying to keep his best friend away from the man. “You lay a hand on him, and you’re the one in cuffs!” he continued as he came closer to Eddie.

Eddie’s eyes were wild, there was a fire within his eyes. “She could die! He did this! He was drinking-” he choked out the words, stumbling over each one of them. “I know, I know,” Buck said, voice cracking. “But you don’t get to make it right by losing yourself, Eddie.”

Eddie went still, chest heaving, hands trembling at his sides.

“She needs you, Eddie.” Buck said softer now. “She needs you there. Not behind bars. There. Holding her hand. You think she wants to wake up and not see you?” Buck continued.

Eddie’s throat burned. He looked back toward the ambulance where Hen was still working on (Y/n), her hand twitching slightly like she was reaching for someone who wasn’t there. The fight drained out of him all at once.

He looked over Buck’s shoulder for a second. “You’re lucky he’s here.” he hissed at the man, disgust curling his lip. And with those words, he walked away from the man.

The waiting room was too quiet. Not the kind of silence that brought peace. Eddie’s hands were trembling. He had his elbows on his knees, head bowed forward, eyes fixed on the floor tiles like they held answers he craved for so badly. But they didn’t. Nothing did.

Blood had dried on his knuckles, tracing over cuts that still had some slivers of glass in it. His palms were raw, his knees bruised and scraped. There was blood caked on his pants, his arms, and somewhere under all of it, a dull, throbbing pain in his ribs from where the seatbelt had clenched around him. But none of that mattered.

A gentle voice broke through the silence of the waiting room. “Eddie.” But he didn’t look up. “Hey,” the voice said again, softer now. A second later, a cool plastic bottle of water was pressed lightly into his hand. “Here. Just… take a sip, alright?” Buck’s voice sounded.

Eddie blinked slowly, like the water had just appeared out of nowhere. He looked down at it, then his fingers curled around it. But he didn’t drink the water. He just held it in his hand, letting condensation spread across the small cuts in his hand.

Buck sat down beside him, not saying anything for a moment.

“You need to get checked out,” he finally broke the silence. “You’re still bleeding.” he added as he looked at his broken, best friend. “I’m fine.” Eddie said, not even looking at him. His voice was low, almost toneless.

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay not to be. But she wouldn't want to see you like this.” Buck said. Making Eddie’s grip tighten on the bottle. He swallowed hard against whatever emotion was creeping up his chest.

“I keep seeing her… the way her eyes rolled back, the blood… I didn’t know if—” He finally said, his voice cracked, and he stopped talking.

Buck leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, mirroring Eddie’s posture. “You were in the crash too, man,” Buck said quietly as he kept his eyes locked on the side profile of Eddie. “You’ve got glass in your hands and probably your knees. You’re still bleeding from your eyebrow, and I’m pretty sure your ribs are messed up.”

Eddie didn’t respond, just stared at the water bottle like it was the only thing holding him together.

“She wouldn’t want you sitting here, hurting. Torturing yourself. You know that, right?” Buck continued. “She wants you okay. She wants to wake up and see you okay.”

Eddie exhaled, a sound that was half a sigh, half a choked breath. He brought the water to his lips with a shaky hand and took one slow sip. “Let the nurses take a look at you,” Buck said gently. “Just a quick check. Get stitched up. Sit down somewhere where they can actually help you, not just... watch you fall apart in a waiting room.” Buck advised him.

Eddie hesitated. Then nodded. Not for himself, but because she would want him to.

Buck stood with him, steadying him as he swayed slightly on his feet, and walked him down the hallway toward an exam room. Eddie didn’t ask questions. Didn’t protest this time. But the whole way down the hall, while he had the water bottle still clutched in his hand. He kept looking over his shoulder… waiting for someone, anyone to come out of those double doors.

The moment one of the nurses came into the room where Eddie was being treated, and told him (Y/n) was out of surgery, he was up and already speed walking through the hallway. He just needed to see her.

Eddie opened the door to the hospital room, and stepped inside. The room was still dim, the blinds drawn to keep the harsh sunlight out. The steady beep of the heart monitor and the hum of the IV were the only sounds aside from the soft conversations of nurses outside the door.

When he stepped into her room, everything else fell away.

His eyes locked onto her. Her nose cannula was gently in place. There were IV lines, bandages, bruises, and her left arm was immobilized, but her chest was rising. Steady.

Eddie’s steps were slow, cautious, like approaching a dream he was terrified might disappear if he touched it. He reached her bedside, eyes locked on her face, pale, a little swollen, but hers.

Her eyes blinked open slowly, heavy from meds but not as foggy as before. She squinted up at him, throat dry as hell when she croaked “Eddie?” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

But his whole body sank beside her, one hand carefully finding hers, mindful of her IVs and bruises. “Yeah, baby. I’m here.” he whispered, brushing his thumb over the skin, letting her know he was there.

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re okay?” He let out a breath, part laugh, part sob. “You’re asking me?” he said as he placed his other hand on top of her head.

“You were bleeding,” she whispered, eyes already drooping again. Eddie brushed her hair back gently, thumb grazing her temple. “I’m fine,” he said softly. “A few scratches. Nothing like you.”

She tried to smile, but it hurt, and her face tightened. Eddie kissed her knuckles instead. “You look like hell.” She said then, the look in her eyes was more clear and present now.

Eddie snorted through a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Yeah? You should see the other guy.” he answered as a smile was projected onto his face.

“I did. They wheeled him past, but I’m pretty sure he threw up on a nurse.” she said. “That’s fair,” Eddie muttered, letting his hand drag down his face for a second, exhausted. “I almost did too. Right before I saw all that blood, the metal rod went through my side and thought my soul was leaving my body.” she admitted.

Eddie was smiling now. He was tired, relieved, and entirely too in love. “You know,” he said, gently brushing her hand with his thumb, “You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice thick. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to get hit by a car.” she mumbled, words slurred with the meds.

He let out a broken laugh, eyes brimming now. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He bowed his head toward their joined hands, pressing her fingers to his lips like a prayer.

She turned her head slightly, eyes softer now. “You okay?” she asked when she looked him in the eyes for a moment.

He let out a trembling sigh, but eventually nodded. “I am now.” he said softly. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “But I mean it. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

#911 #911 fox #911 abc #911 imagine #imagine #eddie diaz x y/n #eddie diaz x you #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddiediaz #eddie diaz

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xxsyluslittlecrowxx · 11 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 — 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐝

[ 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 ]

𝐚/𝐧 : To the anon who infected me with this brainrot — thank you. You gave me the excuse I didn’t know I needed to spiral into unhinged Sylus/Zayne territory and honestly? I regret nothing.

I know this won’t be everyone’s cup of venom, and guess what? I don’t care. I had the most fucking fun writing this. The tension? The filth? The power-play in a hospital of all places? I blacked out and woke up with a smirk and open wounds.

This is indulgent, messy, and exactly how I wanted it to be.

To the rest of you who get it — welcome to the descent. 🖤

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : When Sylus stumbles into the hospital, bloodied and half-feral, the last person he expects to find waiting is Zayne—calm, cold, and far too composed. But beneath the antiseptic lights and tension-laced stitching, something unspoken begins to crack. A rivalry forged in fire gives way to something darker, deeper… needier. And when the night finally stills, their restraint does not.

Enemies don’t always stay enemies—especially when desire tastes like blood and victory comes in moans.

𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐰 : blood and injury, a brief hospital setting, explicit sexual content between two male characters (Sylus x Zayne, SnowCrow), rough sex, biting, mild dominance dynamics, and themes of emotional repression. NSFW

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 : angel - slowed // velours

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧 : [ Press Here! ]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒.

It breathes in pain, exhales panic. The walls tremble with the weight of suffering—hallways pulsate with noise, machines bleating like dying animals, voices clashing like metal on metal. Somewhere, someone is sobbing. The sound slices through sterile air with the precision of shattered glass.

Sylus moves through it untouched.

Blood paints him—slick, warm, insistent. It clings to his leather like it belongs there, seeping through to the muscle beneath, fusing with him. His boots strike the polished floor in steady, wet percussion, leaving behind a trail he doesn’t bother concealing.

He doesn’t slow.

He doesn’t speak.

A nurse sees him first—her eyes widen, mouth parting around a gasp or a warning or a question, none of which matter. She steps into his path, clipboard clutched like a shield against the storm she senses too late.

He crashes through her like wind through brittle glass.

Another makes the mistake of reaching for him near the triage desk. He shoulders her aside without pause, a statue in motion, merciless and monolithic.

Their voices follow, desperate and distant.

“Sir, wait—”

“You’re bleeding—!”

“Security—!”

He keeps going.

Pain gnaws at his ribs—sharp, insistent—but it’s a whisper compared to the mission that devours him from the inside out.

Ahead, the elevator blinks. Its numbers crawl down at a glacial pace.

Too slow.

Too fucking slow.

He doesn’t think—he veers, pivoting toward the stairwell like a creature redirected by instinct alone. His blood-slick hand slams against the door’s push bar, and it groans open under his weight.

Then he runs.

Boots drum down the concrete steps like war, each impact sending fire lancing through his side. He doesn’t falter. He can’t. Not now.

Adrenaline screams beneath his skin. Rage—hotter, purer—follows in its wake.

The landings blur. Floors melt into one another—white lights, grey walls, the stench of disinfectant and dread. None of it registers. None of it matters.

Administrative wing. End of the hall. Last door on the right.

The thought pulls him forward like gravity—dark, absolute, inescapable. Something waits for him at the end of this path. Something inevitable.

He bursts through the stairwell door, shoulder first. The executive floor yawns open—pristine, glistening, wrong. Too quiet. Too clean. An illusion of order wrapped over rot.

His blood hits the tiles like scripture.

A secretary half-rises from her desk. Her face distorts—horror, confusion, fear. She opens her mouth.

Sylus looks at her.

She sits back down.

Good.

His wound screams now, louder with every breath, but he silences it. He has to.

He doesn’t stop until he’s at the end of the corridor, until the carved wood of the office door stands before him like a final trial.

Until he’s close enough to feel it—that heartbeat pulsing steady and slow on the other side, like a metronome, like a dare.

Zayne.

Sylus presses a blood-wet palm flat against the door.

He doesn’t knock.

He never does.

The door gives under his palm, swinging open with a low, reluctant groan.

The air inside is different. Cleaner. Colder.

Sylus crosses the threshold without hesitation, dragging streaks of crimson across the sterile floor. Behind him, the heavy door thuds shut, sealing the world out like the lid of a tomb.

Zayne is already standing. No coat. No gloves. Sleeves rolled back, throat bare, the razor line of his jaw catching the light like a blade.

For a stretched, brutal moment, neither man speaks.

Sylus feels it—the weight of that gaze, glacial and unblinking, raking over every torn, blood-slick edge of him. He meets it head-on, jaw locked, a silent refusal to flinch.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t waver. No frown. No widening of the eyes. Only calculation. Only that familiar, lethal patience that strips a man down to the bone.

The silence between them crackles, louder than the chaos Sylus left bleeding behind him.

He takes another step forward, deliberate, blood dripping from his fingertips to splatter on the immaculate tile. The room presses against him—too bright, too clean—as if the walls themselves are trying to scrub the violence from his skin.

He lets them try. He does not yield.

Zayne leans back against the edge of his desk, arms folding loosely across his chest, posture crafted with casual disinterest.

A lie.

Sylus sees it—the slight clench of his jaw, the betraying flicker of a pulse at his throat.

It would be easier if one of them spoke. If they named the thing that strangled the air between them, heavy and hungry and vicious.

Neither does.

Sylus tilts his head in a lazy, almost mocking angle. Blood slides down his wrist, tracing over his knuckles before kissing the floor.

Zayne’s eyes follow the movement, clinical, sharp.

Still, he says nothing.

Still, he doesn't move.

They stay there—locked in the kind of quiet only men like them can survive—made of defiance, of pride, of something darker and uglier festering beneath the surface. Both unwilling to yield. Both already bleeding from it.

The metallic tang of blood thickens at the back of Sylus’s throat. He smiles anyway—a slow, jagged thing, all teeth and no mercy.

Zayne’s lips part slightly, the ghost of a word forming, then dying.

Instead, he straightens to his full height, uncrossing his arms with a patience that could kill a man.

He turns to the tray of surgical tools laid out with clinical precision. His movements are steady, practiced, cold.

Another lie.

Sylus watches every motion—the way Zayne’s fingers curl, precise and impersonal—though Sylus knows there is nothing impersonal about this.

Not tonight.

Zayne lifts a pair of sterile scissors from the tray, the metal flashing wickedly under the overhead lights.

When his voice finally cuts through the thick silence, it slices clean to the bone.

“Take the jacket off.”

No question. No hesitation. No kindness.

Just command—sharp and undeniable.

Sylus’s grin widens, slow and feral, sharp enough to bleed.

This was going to be fun.

He shrugs the jacket off one shoulder.

Not quickly. Not efficiently.

Deliberately. With precision masquerading as compliance. Each motion a provocation sheathed in silk.

The leather clings for a moment—blood acting as glue—then peels away with a soft, viscous sound. The lining is stained deep red, like meat flayed from bone. Beneath, the muscle gleams where blood has smeared and dried, slick over the sharp terrain of his bicep, the curve of his ribs.

He keeps his eyes locked on Zayne.

Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t wince.

Lets the silence stretch between them like barbed wire, taut and trembling.

The other sleeve slips free with slow defiance, dragging across tense forearms until the ruined jacket hangs from his fingers—dripping, warm, still humming with violence.

He drops it.

It lands at his feet with a wet slap, blood blooming beneath it like something obscene and living.

Zayne doesn’t look down.

He’s too busy watching Sylus.

Not merely watching—studying, the way a marksman watches for the exact breath before a body breaks. His arms hang loose now, no longer folded. His fingers twitch once, subtly, betraying restraint. As though they ache to move. As though they’re waiting for permission neither of them will give.

Sylus draws in a slow breath through his nose.

Lets the moment breathe with him.

The silence of the hospital folds in—clinical, cold, pretending not to notice the electricity crawling up its walls.

Then Sylus reaches for the hem of his shirt. Torn. Soaked. Clinging like a lover that doesn’t know when to let go.

He grips the fabric with both hands and pulls. Inch by inch, it peels upward, exposing flesh mapped with bruises, scrapes, half-healed chaos. The cut along his side snags the cloth, forces a sharp hiss through his teeth.

Still, he keeps going. Still, he doesn’t look away.

The shirt comes off in one final rip—discarded without ceremony, a blood-soaked flag of war flung at Zayne’s feet.

Now bare to the waist, Sylus stands still.

Wounded. Unbothered. Unapologetic.

There’s blood dried in the hollow of his throat. Sweat slicks the small of his back. Scars catch the light like secrets.

He is beautiful in his ruin. Defiant in his vulnerability.

Zayne says nothing.

But the tension in his jaw speaks volumes.

He steps forward. Slowly. Deliberately. Scissors in one gloved hand—controlled, precise, surgical. Not trembling. Not urgent. But not untouched, either.

Sylus sees it.

In the flicker of his gaze. In the mouth drawn too tight. In the way Zayne’s eyes pause just a second too long over the curve of a rib, the ghost of a scar.

Zayne lifts the blade.

Holds it near Sylus’s skin.

Doesn’t touch. Not yet.

When he speaks, the word lands low, rough-edged, soaked in command.

“Sit.”

Just one word. One drop of control dropped into a room full of gasoline.

Sylus doesn’t obey. Not immediately.

He smiles first—wider now. All teeth, all understanding. The kind of smile that threatens and invites in the same breath.

Then, slowly, like he's offering charity to a starving man, he lowers himself into the chair.

Not obedient. Not submissive. Just choosing, for now, to allow.

Zayne moves without speaking.

He sets the scissors aside with methodical care, the faint clink of metal barely audible over the hum of fluorescent lights, too bright, too sterile. The tray beside him is a battlefield of precision: gauze, antiseptic, needle, thread—all clean, all sharp, all lies.

Nothing about this feels clean.

He tears open a swab, soaks it in antiseptic. The smell strikes first—chemical, brutal, a memory of every failure written into the bloodstream.

Sylus doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t brace. Just spreads his knees a fraction wider and leans back, silent, waiting.

Zayne steps between his legs.

No permission asked. None needed.

The first press of soaked cotton lands just beneath Sylus’s collarbone.

It burns.

Not from the wound.

From the hand that holds it—steady, clinical, too careful by half.

Zayne doesn’t look at him. His gaze stays fixed, surgical. Or pretends to be. As if Sylus is nothing but meat and blood and damage to be stitched back together. As if this isn't a different kind of dissection.

The swab moves in slow, precise circles, tracing bruises like they mean something. Like he’s reading a map only he understands.

The room thickens with it.

Not pain. Not blood. Something worse.

The lack of it—no slips, no gasps, no mistakes.

Zayne is too careful. Zayne, who isn't supposed to care.

And yet— —the fingers in the gloves tremble, just once, just enough, the smallest rebellion against the mask he wears.

Sylus notices. Of course he notices.

Zayne switches to a fresh swab, the next drag of alcohol biting down Sylus’s ribs. The motion forces proximity—his face close enough that Sylus can feel the ghost of breath over his skin, accidental or not.

Sylus tilts his head, lazy, predatory. Watches from beneath half-lidded eyes.

Zayne doesn’t react.

Or tries not to.

Another swab. Another pass. Each one slower than the last.

There’s a gash along Sylus’s side—shallow, ugly, insistent. Zayne presses gauze to it, firm, unkind. His other hand braces Sylus’s hip, gloved fingers pressing down too tightly, gripping too long.

Sylus breathes through his nose. Endures it.

No wince. No break.

When Zayne pulls away, Sylus shifts.

Barely.

But it’s enough—enough that the inside of his thigh drags against Zayne’s leg.

Contact. Friction. Intention.

Zayne freezes.

Just for a breath.

Then he moves—careful, controlled—reaching for the needle already threaded, already waiting.

His voice, when it finally cracks the silence, is quieter now. Not softer.

“Hold still.”

No please. No kindness. Just another command, brittle at the edges.

Sylus’s lips part. His tongue flicks against the inside of his cheek— —not a smile. Not this time.

Only the ghost of something darker, meaner, hungrier.

He doesn't move.

But the stillness is a lie.

Because they both know—

—hands always start shaking eventually.

The needle bites into flesh.

Sharp. Clean. Unapologetic.

Sylus doesn’t flinch.

No hiss, no grunt—only the steady, deliberate rise and fall of his chest, breath anchored low like a weight dropped into deep water.

Zayne’s hand moves with mechanical precision—push, pull, knot, cut—the rhythm of a man carving distance into something already too close.

Each stitch is perfect. Small. Precise. Surgically cruel.

But perfection never holds.

By the fourth puncture, the tremor starts.

Subtle at first—a tightening around Zayne’s fingers, a twitch at the wrist.

The needle hovers a fraction too long against torn skin, hesitation bleeding into the room.

Sylus feels it.

Feels everything.

His gaze drops—not to the wound, not to the blood—but to Zayne’s mouth. The clenched line of his jaw. The muscles in his throat working against the weight of restraint.

The next stitch sinks deeper than necessary.

Not an accident.

A message.

Sylus exhales, slow and deep, the breath ghosting against Zayne’s forearm where it cages him close. The contact is incidental. Harmless.

Weaponized.

Zayne’s fingers tighten on the needle, the thread drawn taut enough to hum with tension.

Sylus shifts, deliberate—muscle flexing beneath gloved hands, a sinuous reminder of everything Zayne is touching, everything he’s trying so hard to treat like just another body broken open by violence.

The next stitch drags.

Not smooth. Not clean.

Zayne makes a sound—small, unguarded, almost a breath—but Sylus catches it. Tastes it. Tucks it away like a trophy.

He tilts his head, lets his voice spill out low and poisoned, a blade wrapped in silk.

"You're losing your touch."

The words slip into the room like smoke through cracks, seeping into marrow.

Zayne doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

The thread pulls harder. The needle punctures deeper. His hand presses firmer against Sylus’s side, pinning him under the thin excuse of stability.

But they both know better.

It isn’t the wound Zayne’s trying to steady.

It’s himself.

Sylus’s mouth curves—not into a grin, not this time—but into something colder.

Hungrier.

Challenge, sharpened to a lethal edge.

When Zayne leans in to set the next stitch, Sylus moves—barely—a calculated tilt of the head that brushes their faces together.

Skin against skin. A whisper of violence. A prayer of desecration.

Zayne freezes.

The needle hangs suspended, half-threaded.

For a single, suspended heartbeat, the room holds its breath with them.

Sylus inhales the sharp, chemical tang of antiseptic, but underneath it, something richer coils—salt, blood, heat, the feral stench of fury barely contained.

Zayne pulls back.

Sharp. Controlled.

Barely.

The suture snaps tight under a brutal final tug, knotting the last line of blood shut with a surgeon’s precision and a fighter’s violence.

Finished.

At least on the surface.

The needle drops into the tray with a clatter, metallic and final, too loud for the suffocating quiet.

Zayne peels one of off his gloves next, slow, methodical, his fingers flexing like a man reminding himself of every inch of skin he hasn't yet surrendered.

Yet.

Sylus leans back in the chair, shirtless, bloodied, smiling the way only men who have already won do.

And maybe he has.

Because Zayne’s hands are no longer steady.

And Sylus—

—Sylus isn’t done pushing.

Sylus watches everything.

The way Zayne breathes through his nose. The way his spine locks rigid. The way restraint leaks out of him molecule by molecule, a slow, irreversible hemorrhage no amount of professionalism can suture shut.

Good.

Sylus shifts—barely—but the sound of his boot scraping the floor splits the quiet like a crack in porcelain.

A warning. A dare.

Then, with blood-slicked fingers, he lifts a hand and wraps it around Zayne’s wrist.

Not tight. Not rough.

Just enough to feel the hammering pulse beneath fragile skin.

For one suspended second, Zayne doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even breathe.

Sylus tilts his head, the movement lazy, almost cruel, and lets his voice slip free in a low murmur.

“You’re shaking.”

Not a question. An accusation. An invitation.

Zayne’s jaw ticks hard enough to crack bone.

Still, he says nothing.

Coward.

Sylus tightens his grip, just slightly, thumb brushing the frantic beat fluttering against tendons and bone. The betrayal Zayne can’t hide. The confession he can’t choke down.

Sylus leans in—not touching, not bridging the chasm fully—but close enough that his words could bleed straight into Zayne’s bloodstream.

“It’s not the blood that’s getting to you, is it Doctor?”

He watches the swallow hitch Zayne’s throat. Watches the sharp flare of his nostrils. Watches him break, molecule by molecule.

Zayne’s free hand curls into a tighter fist, knuckles whitening under the strain.

Sylus smiles, slow and deliberate.

Predator wearing the skin of patience.

“You want to ruin something, don’t you?”

A whisper. A blade drawn slow across a throat. A mockery crafted over years of bruised silences and things left unsaid.

“Me.” “Yourself.”

Both truths rot between them, sweet and sickening.

Zayne wrenches his wrist free.

Not violently. Not with rage.

With the kind of restraint that bleeds—measured, agonizing, a choice that costs something vital and irreplaceable.

He takes a step back.

Breathing harder now, like the air itself is razors.

Sylus stays seated.

Legs spread, blood drying in ugly constellations across his ribs, wearing destruction like a throne.

Looking, in that moment, like the only goddamn thing in the whole clinical, fluorescent world worth burning for.

And Zayne— Zayne looks at him like he knows it.

They hang there, suspended on the wire of everything they cannot say. Everything that would kill them if spoken.

Sylus tilts his chin up, delivering the final blow in a voice carved from iron and temptation.

"Tell me no."

A beat.

A breath.

"Go on."

Daring him.

Daring him to pretend there’s still a world where either of them can walk away untouched.

Zayne doesn’t answer.

Because there’s no point lying anymore.

Zayne moves.

Fast. Final.

His hand clamps around Sylus’s throat, fingers biting into battered skin, palm pinning him to the chair like a verdict handed down without trial.

The force is controlled—barely. Enough to catch Sylus’s breath, not enough to leave bruises.

Not yet.

Sylus doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t lift a hand. Doesn’t so much as flinch.

He only looks up.

Eyes molten, merciless. Mouth curved in a ghost of a smirk—something too ancient, too ruthless, to be called human.

A dare. A promise. A loaded gun cocked and waiting.

Zayne’s grip tightens, knuckles flashing white under the strain.

His body crowds into Sylus’s space, pressing him back against the hard frame of the chair, pinning him there like a specimen under glass. Every muscle in him vibrates with the effort it takes not to crush, not to consume, not to end this the way every instinct is screaming for.

Sylus tilts his chin higher into the hold, offering up his throat like a king surrendering a crown he never intended to relinquish.

The world beyond the office dies. No footsteps. No voices. No alarms.

Only breathing—strained, brutal—and the cold, relentless tremor crawling up Zayne’s arms.

He leans closer.

Until their foreheads almost touch. Until he can taste defiance thick on Sylus’s skin, salt and heat and inevitability.

Still, Sylus does not blink. Does not speak. Does not yield.

His pulse thrums steady against Zayne’s palm—a taunt, a siren's call, a noose tightening in reverse.

The bastard is enjoying this.

And Zayne—

Zayne is coming undone one heartbeat at a time.

His other hand fists in the back of Sylus’s hair, yanking his head back farther, exposing the ruin of his throat to brutal scrutiny.

A sound rips out of Zayne—low, raw, almost a snarl—the ghost of something feral clawing its way up from the place where he keeps his control buried.

His chest drags rough and ragged against Sylus’s bare skin, a friction that feels more like a confession than any words could ever be.

Sylus lets him.

Lets him see it all—the open wounds, the bruises, the smudged fingerprints of other wars.

None of it mattered.

None of it touched him like this. Only Zayne. Only now.

The chair groans under the strain, Sylus’s shoulders digging into the plastic, his legs spread wide, shameless, relaxed in a way that weaponizes the posture into something obscene.

The look he gives Zayne—half-lidded, mocking, starving—says everything he refuses to utter aloud.

Is this it? Is this all you’ve got?

Zayne’s fingers tighten, riding the bleeding edge between domination and destruction.

And Sylus—

Sylus just smiles.

Wider. Crueler. Knowing.

Because he knows. He’s always known.

Zayne will fall first.

And Sylus will make sure it hurts when he does.

Zayne snaps.

Not with fists. Not with shattered glass.

Something colder. Sharper. Surgical.

His hand tightens once—bruising, warning—before he drives Sylus back against the chair with a jerk hard enough to rattle the frame.

The impact slams through Sylus’s spine—a brutal reminder of leverage, of how easily control could shift hands if he let it.

He doesn’t.

He only laughs.

Low. Dangerous. A sound scraped from the bottom of a broken chest.

Zayne’s palm stays locked at his throat, the other hand twisting tighter into his hair, dragging his head back, leaving his mouth half-parted, his body arched under the pressure.

"Say it," Zayne grits out, voice worn down to something ragged and feral.

His breath scorches across Sylus’s skin, hot and seething, pulled from a mouth stretched too tight to be anything but furious.

Sylus’s lips part— Not in surrender.

In provocation.

"Say what, doc?"

Mockery, pure and venomous, poured straight into the wound.

Zayne’s fingers twitch, his control fraying at the seams.

Sylus feels it—the tremor of rage trembling through every corded muscle straining not to break him apart.

But he doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t yield.

He leans into it—spine grinding harder against the chair, the violence fed into his bones like communion.

Zayne yanks his head back another inch, brutal, stretching the cords of his neck taut, making breath itself a conscious, costly thing.

"Say what you came here for," Zayne snarls. "Say why you dragged your half-dead ass through my hospital."

Sylus’s heart beats slow and steady against the hand trying—and failing—to master it.

He could lie. Could pretend it was proximity, necessity, survival.

But they are too deep now. Too ruined for anything less than the truth.

Sylus drags his tongue across the inside of his cheek, tasting the iron of blood and something meaner lodged between his teeth.

His gaze never leaves Zayne’s.

Not once.

"Came to see if you'd finally break."

A heartbeat. A breath.

Then a whisper, soft and devastating—

"Guess I didn’t have to try that hard."

The words crack the air between them.

Zayne’s snarl is silent, carved into the brutal line of his jaw, the burning fury in his eyes, the death grip bruising Sylus’s throat.

The chair groans under the strain, the screws biting into the frame like they, too, are barely holding together.

Sylus lets it happen.

Lets the pressure bleed through him.

Lets the bruises form.

Lets the moment devour the last scraps of reason between them.

Zayne’s face is so close Sylus can see the fine tremors tracing his mouth.

Can feel every brutal inhale clawing past the wreckage of self-control.

One push from ruin. One word from collapse.

Zayne leans in, mouth brushing dangerously close to Sylus’s ear.

The breath that strikes Sylus’s skin is a furnace blast—hot, wrecked, soaked in promises that should never leave the mind, let alone the mouth.

“One more word,” Zayne rasps, voice broken beyond repair, “and I’ll make you beg.”

Not a threat. A vow.

Sylus’s pulse kicks hard, hammering against the fingers bruising his collarbone.

He could break it here. Now.

One word, one push, and Zayne would shatter.

Instead, he chooses cruelty dressed in silk.

Sylus tilts his head—just enough—until his lips ghost the shell of Zayne’s ear, the barest scrape of contact, the kind that makes breathing a forgotten concept.

His whisper threads velvet and venom into a single, devastating breath.

"Good boy."

Two words.

Soft enough to wound. Sharp enough to destroy.

The reaction is instant.

Zayne jerks back, fury slashing across his features, hands locking down like vices—

—and Sylus moves faster.

His own hand lashes up, seizing the back of Zayne’s neck, fingers threading into the sweat-damp short hair, yanking him down with brutal, merciless force.

No warning. No hesitation. No mercy.

Their mouths crash together in a collision of teeth and violence.

The impact shudders through both of them— violent, graceless, inevitable.

Not a kiss. Not anything so civilized.

An assault. A confession. A dragging out of need from the wreckage they’ve both been pretending didn’t exist.

Zayne fists the meat of Sylus’s side, dragging him higher into the brutal contact, answering violence with violence, hunger with hunger, breathing into the hollow of Sylus’s mouth like he could drown them both before he’d ever let go.

Neither gives ground. Neither yields.

This isn’t surrender.

This is war.

And they’ve both already lost.

Zayne deepens the kiss with a brutal drag of teeth, biting Sylus’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Sylus answers with a vicious sound ripped from the depths of his chest—half-laughter, half-snarl, pure violence dressed in heat.

Their hands grapple for dominance—Zayne shoving, Sylus pulling—until there’s no clear boundary left between them. Only heat, only violence, only the shared ruin of blood and sweat slicking every frantic clash of mouths.

Sylus arches under the onslaught, body snapping taut against Zayne’s weight, every nerve lit up like a battlefield.

This isn’t gentle.

It isn’t careful.

It never could be.

Zayne seizes a fistful of Sylus’s hair, wrenching his head to the side, dragging his mouth along the sharp line of his jaw, teeth scraping a brutal path toward the vulnerable skin just beneath his ear.

He bites there— savage. Claiming. Final.

Sylus gasps against him—a broken, guttural sound—hips canting up in a sharp, desperate grind that leaves no room for pretense.

Zayne answers by slamming him harder against the chair, one hand locking around Sylus’s hip, fingers digging into bruised flesh like he means to leave fingerprints stitched into bone.

The chair groans under their fury, its frame shrieking with every shove, every desperate collision of bodies driven by something far older and darker than want.

Sylus retaliates—nails raking down Zayne’s back through the thin barrier of his shirt—not enough to tear, but enough to mark. Enough to brand.

Zayne's mouth crushes back to Sylus’s—devouring, punishing— a raw collision of teeth and tongue that tastes of blood, rage, and something black and bottomless neither of them dare name.

Their breathing shatters, breaking apart in harsh, ragged gasps, filling the room with the sound of collapse.

Zayne braces one knee between Sylus’s legs, forcing him open wider, grounding him in place, crushing any last delusion of escape between bruised thighs and battered pride.

Sylus takes it.

Takes all of it.

And smiles against Zayne’s mouth like he planned this ruin from the very start.

The kiss twists crueler, angrier—every drag of Zayne’s mouth a curse, every clash of teeth a confession they cannot bury deep enough to silence.

When Zayne finally tears away, ripping the kiss apart with a savage snap of teeth, a thin string of blood smears between them—Sylus’s lip torn open, the red glistening like a war-banner across his mouth.

They freeze there.

Locked. Breathing hard. Hands still fisted in ruined clothes and broken skin.

There’s nothing left to pretend.

Not anymore.

Zayne’s hand remains clamped around Sylus’s throat, thumb dragging a slow, possessive stroke across the bruised column of his neck—half reverence, half claim.

Sylus swallows against the pressure—slow, deliberate—his gaze gleaming with something filthy and victorious.

Sylus lifts a hand.

Slow enough to taunt.

Not to shove Zayne away. Not to fight.

To command.

His fingers brush along the sharp edge of Zayne’s jaw—featherlight, a mockery of tenderness.

He feels it—the tension thrumming beneath skin, the tremor buried deep in muscle and bone.

Good.

Without a word, Sylus presses down.

Down. Guiding. Demanding.

Zayne resists—for half a breath. One strained heartbeat of pride.

Then he sinks to his knees like gravity itself answers to Sylus alone.

The sight is obscene.

Zayne kneeling there— shoulders rigid, fists curled against the cold floor like he could anchor himself against inevitability.

Sylus tilts his head, studying him like something expensive he’s deciding whether to ruin.

Then he spreads his legs wider.

The chair creaks under the slow, deliberate shift of weight, leather whining against blood-slicked skin.

Sylus’s fingers tangle in Zayne’s hair, dragging short strands through his grip with deliberate cruelty.

"Open me up," Sylus says, voice low, wrecked, soaked in sin.

Not a plea.

A command. A sentence.

Zayne looks up through his lashes—eyes blackened with rage, wreckage, worship—and Sylus watches the war rage behind them.

Pride. Fury. Reverence.

All bleeding into something far too raw to name.

Slowly, Zayne’s hands rise.

Unsteady.

Unbuttoning. Unzipping. Dragging down the ruined waistband just enough to bare sharp hipbones and the thick, hard line of Sylus straining against bruised, bloodied skin.

Sylus hums low in his throat—a dark vibration rippling across the fresh bruises blooming along his neck.

His thumb brushes Zayne’s cheekbone—almost tender, almost cruel.

"That's it," he murmurs, a threadbare mercy stitched into the violence.

"Be a good boy for me."

Zayne’s breath stutters against his thigh—hot, broken, wrecked.

Sylus tightens his grip in his hair, tilting his face up, forcing him to hold his gaze.

"You're going to open that pretty mouth," Sylus breathes, thumb stroking the corner of Zayne’s lips, "and take everything I give you."

Zayne doesn’t move.

Doesn’t flinch.

He just breathes—shallow, frantic—caught between defiance and the desperate inevitability of submission.

Sylus smiles then.

Slow. Poisonous.

The kind of smile that promises two things: Ruin. And mercy.

Both.

"You want it," he whispers, voice scraping the last vestiges of restraint from the air, "same way you wanted to break me."

He spreads his legs wider—an invitation, a command, a final noose.

Another silent dare.

Another sentence written into skin.

Zayne’s hands clench against Sylus’s thighs—white-knuckled, trembling—but he doesn’t pull away.

Not anymore.

He’s already kneeling. Already gone.

Already home.

And Sylus—

Sylus plans to make sure he never forgets it.

Sylus shifts in the chair, spreading wider, dragging Zayne closer with nothing but the lazy pull of fingers curled deeper into his hair.

Zayne’s breath stutters against Sylus’s exposed skin—hot, uneven, wrecked.

Sylus watches.

Watches the way pride collapses under the gravity of need. Watches the flicker in Zayne’s lashes, the tremble in his fists clenched against Sylus’s thighs like lifelines.

"Go on," Sylus murmurs— a velvet-draped blade. "Be good for me."

The command slices the thick silence clean open.

Zayne obeys.

He leans in.

His mouth brushes the sensitive crease of Sylus’s hip with a reverence that borders on the sacrilegious. His tongue follows—tracing bruised flesh, tasting blood, sweat, salt.

Ruin.

Sylus’s head falls back, a low, broken exhale ripped straight from his chest. His grip tightens in Zayne’s hair—enough to remind him of the leash wound invisible around his throat.

"Fuck—look at you," Sylus hisses, glancing down, gaze locking on Zayne’s wrecked, dark eyes. "On your knees for me."

Zayne answers with nothing but a needy, fractured sound vibrating into Sylus’s skin, his mouth trailing lower, lips drawing a path with aching deliberation.

When his lips close around the head of Sylus’s cock, Sylus’s whole body shudders—not from pain. From the effort it takes not to come apart.

Heat envelopes him—wet, tight, devastating.

His knuckles whiten in Zayne’s hair, anchoring him to the moment, the sensation, the worship.

Zayne moves slow at first—languid, deliberate—mouth dragging inch by inch, pupils blown wide with something filthy and fragile.

Sylus can’t look away.

The sight of him—beautiful, broken, hungry—chokes the air from the room.

He rolls his hips forward, shallow but commanding, deeper into the slick heat of Zayne’s mouth.

Zayne takes it.

Stretches. Chokes. Endures.

His hands bruise into Sylus’s thighs, clutching tight enough to leave marks, enough to say I won’t let go until you make me.

Every gag, every wet, obscene sound fans the fire into something relentless.

Sylus brushes a thumb over the hollow of Zayne’s cheek— feeling the stretch. The effort. The surrender.

"That’s it," he breathes, voice dragging like velvet through gravel, hips rolling harder. "Good fucking boy."

Zayne moans around him, the sound reverberating up Sylus’s spine like a prayer that ends in collapse.

Sylus thrusts deeper—punishing, reverent—his other hand cupping Zayne’s jaw, forcing it wider, forcing him to take it all.

Zayne’s eyes glass over, tears beading in the corners as his throat struggles around each brutal thrust.

Sylus knows he’s cruel.

Knows he should stop.

But he won’t.

He can’t.

Not when Zayne kneels like this.

Not when he offers himself up like something sacred. Something holy and ruined and his.

Sylus fucks harder, the chair rattling beneath them, the frame groaning like it, too, is near collapse.

His climax hits like a blade.

Sudden. Inevitable. Merciless.

He grips Zayne’s jaw, forces his gaze upward.

Look. Look at who’s breaking you.

Their eyes lock.

And Sylus snaps.

He comes down Zayne’s throat with a hoarse, wrecked sound, hips stuttering, fingers gripping so tight Zayne’s scalp screams in protest.

Zayne takes all of it.

Swallows it—messy, greedy, grateful.

Only when Sylus pulls back, breath ragged, does he release the hold on Zayne’s hair.

Zayne stays there. Kneeling. Mouth wrecked. Throat working around the aftertaste of surrender.

Sylus watches him—still sprawled in the chair, still bleeding, still owning every inch of the man knelt before him.

"Good fucking boy," he mutters again, thumb dragging across Zayne’s ruined mouth.

Zayne leans into the touch like he was made for it.

And maybe—

Maybe he was.

Zayne lifts his hand, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist.

The smear of red left behind looks deliberate. Almost elegant. Like art rendered in aftermath.

He doesn’t look at Sylus when he speaks, voice husky but controlled.

“You’ve made your point.”

Then he rises.

Pushes off the floor with a composure too careful to be real.

His knees crack as he straightens—the sound loud in the thick, ruined silence.

He smooths the wrinkles from his slacks like a man trying to stitch himself back into dignity.

Sylus says nothing.

Doesn’t move. Just watches.

Zayne’s hands brush dust—blood, sweat, the last fragments of pride—from his thighs with surgical precision. Like he can erase what just happened if he’s careful enough. Like it didn’t touch something vital.

He turns without waiting for a response. Walks to his desk.

Measured. Unhurried.

His spine is too straight. Every step bleeding tension he pretends isn’t there.

He reaches for something—paperwork, a folder, maybe just the illusion of barrier.

But behind him—

The chair creaks.

Soft. Subtle. Predatory.

Sylus rises.

Fluid as breath. Quiet as regret.

Zayne doesn’t notice.

Not until Sylus is there. Close. Too close.

Heat bleeds between them as Sylus presses in—chest to back, hips aligned, breath ghosting over the curve of Zayne’s neck.

Not touching with force. Touching with intention.

Zayne goes rigid. Hands hovering above the desk. Spine pulled taut like a bowstring ready to break.

Sylus leans in.

His mouth brushes the shell of Zayne’s ear, his voice a whisper made of ash and ruin.

“We’re not done.”

The words burn into skin like a brand.

A pause. A beat.

Then Sylus’s hand slides forward.

Slow. Precise.

Fingers settling at Zayne’s hip. Thumb stroking the waistband of his slacks. Grip flexing just enough to promise—

Not mercy. Not escape. More.

Zayne doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak.

But his breathing stutters—the only betrayal in a silence stitched from control.

Sylus smiles against his neck.

“Not even close.”

Sylus lets the silence stretch. Tight. Taut. Intentional.

Then he dips lower.

His lips graze the shell of Zayne’s ear, tongue flicking out once—just enough to taste the salt pooled there.

“You want me to stop,” he murmurs, voice spun from silk and shadow. “Say the word.”

He already knows Zayne won’t.

His hand moves with that same cruel patience he’s always carried—sliding down the flat plane of Zayne’s abdomen, past the crisp edge of his shirt, to the belt that holds everything together.

One tug.

The buckle gives with a sharp, metallic click—a sound that slices through the sterile hush of the office like a verdict.

Zayne’s head tips back. Slow. Deliberate.

It lands heavy against Sylus’s shoulder.

His eyes close. His breath stutters—too shallow, too fast for a man who prides himself on composure.

Sylus presses a single kiss to the hinge of his jaw. Just once. Like punctuation. Like a signature.

Then his hands are moving again— palming the heat beneath Zayne’s slacks. Hard. Hot. Barely restrained.

“Fuck,” Sylus breathes, voice rough with approval. “You're already aching for it, aren’t you?”

His thumb drags along the shape of Zayne’s cock through the fabric—slow strokes, precise pressure. Just enough. Never more.

Zayne grips the edge of the desk in both hands—knuckles bone-white, head still tipped back, mouth open like he’s halfway between a moan and a prayer.

Sylus unzips him—knuckles grazing skin, dragging the fabric down just enough to free him.

Zayne’s cock springs free—flushed, straining, glistening under the fluorescent lights like something profane made sacred.

Sylus wraps a hand around the base—tight, possessive—and begins to stroke.

Slow. Intentional. Designed to ruin.

Zayne makes a sound—guttural, wordless—hips twitching helplessly against the rhythm.

Sylus chuckles. Low. Wicked. Quiet as a curse.

The sound vibrates into Zayne’s spine.

“That’s it,” he murmurs at his ear. “Let me feel how close you are.”

Zayne gasps when Sylus’s thumb rolls over the head—slick and merciless. His fingers dig into the desk now, carving truth into woodgrain.

Sylus works him—long, firm pulls from base to tip, each stroke calibrated just shy of too much.

His other arm winds around Zayne’s waist, anchoring them together—no space, no escape.

Every twitch. Every curse. Every stuttering breath—

Sylus feels it all.

Zayne’s body jolts with each pass of his hand, the sound of slick skin obscene in the quiet, building toward something furious and unstoppable.

“Say it,” Sylus breathes, lips dragging down the curve of Zayne’s throat. “Say whose hands make you fall apart like this.”

Zayne tries— tries to swallow it, to grit his teeth against the truth clawing up his throat.

Fails.

His voice breaks open.

“Sylus—”

One word. Not a plea. Not a command.

A confession.

Sylus strokes faster now—unforgiving, punishing. His grip slick, tight, brutal in its focus. Zayne’s thighs tremble, hips chasing every drag of that hand, breath disintegrating into short, frantic gasps.

But just when the edge rises— just when the heat crests and tips toward the fall—

Sylus stops.

Freezes.

Fingers locked around the base, tight, merciless.

Zayne chokes on a groan, his forehead crashing to the desk, breath ragged, arms trembling under the weight of restraint and denial.

Sylus kisses his ear. Soft. Final. A sentence more than a touch.

“Not yet.”

Sylus steps back—just enough.

Just enough to make Zayne groan—low, wrecked, frustration breaking through his composure like wildfire through brittle bones.

Zayne’s hips twitch where he’s bent over the desk, cock flushed and dripping, thighs trembling from the brutal ache of denial.

Sylus palms the curve of his ass—both hands now—

squeezing hard enough to bruise before dragging him back, tilting his hips, arranging him not for convenience—

but for claim.

How he wants. How he’s earned.

Zayne doesn’t resist.

He just presses his cheek to the wood, breath fogging the surface, hands splayed wide—surrender made flesh.

Sylus drags his cock along the cleft of Zayne’s ass— slow, heavy— smearing the mess of earlier teasing along sweat-slicked skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with smoke and steel. “Ready to be fucked open and begging for it.”

Zayne huffs a broken breath, a whimper curling into something that might be a laugh.

“So fucking full of yourself.”

Sylus grins—sharp, unrepentant—coating himself in the slick still leaking from Zayne’s last unfinished fall.

“And you're still bent over this desk with your cock dripping,” he growls, lining up behind him. “So who’s winning, doc?”

Zayne opens his mouth— but whatever he meant to say dies the second Sylus pushes in.

Not a thrust. A claim.

Slow. Relentless.

Zayne’s mouth parts in a silent gasp, one hand clawing the desk, the other bracing his weight as Sylus sinks in deeper—

inch by inch, control by control, breath by breath.

“Shit—fuck,” Zayne groans, hips jerking back, a collision of plea and instinct. “God—just move.”

Sylus does.

Not fast. Not hard.

Just deep.

A single, devastating pull out—then back in.

A rhythm of purpose. Of punishment. Of possession.

Zayne shudders with it, spine arching, every stroke dragging over the spot that makes him see stars behind his clenched eyes.

Sylus leans in, chest to back, mouth right at his ear.

“You feel that?” “That stretch? That ache?”

His teeth scrape along the edge of Zayne’s jaw.

“That’s mine.”

Zayne’s fingers claw at the desk, knuckles pale, the sound of skin on skin rising around them—wet, sharp, relentless.

“Say it,” Sylus growls, hips snapping forward. “Say who ruins you like this.”

Zayne shudders.

His voice breaks.

“You—fuck, Sylus—you do.”

Sylus licks a slow line up the back of his throat, then bites—not to draw blood.

To mark.

“Good boy.”

And the praise—

hits harder than any thrust.

Zayne moans, louder now, legs trembling beneath him, his whole body stretched thin by the weight of every second he’s not allowed to fall apart.

Sylus keeps him there— on the edge, at the altar, in the fire.

Drawing it out.

Making him feel every inch he’s not yet allowed to have.

“You’ll take what I give you,” Sylus whispers into sweat-drenched skin, “And you’ll thank me for every second I keep you wanting.”

Zayne’s head drops.

Another choked noise tears free—raw, pleading—as Sylus grinds deep again, every movement slow, devastating, possessive.

Zayne’s voice is gone.

Wrecked.

“Please—fuck, Sylus—let me—let me come—”

Sylus doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t yield.

Not yet.

He buries himself to the hilt, heat flooding between them, breath spilling against Zayne’s neck.

And then—

“Not until I say.”

Zayne groans—low, wrecked— as Sylus grinds in deep and holds there, the stillness sharp, brutal, a pressure that makes sweat bead at the back of his neck.

He shifts—hips twitching, seeking friction, any rhythm at all— desperate.

Sylus gives him nothing.

Just leans in. Breath curling over the back of Zayne’s neck like smoke.

“So greedy,” he murmurs, voice slow, sharp. “Where’d that control of yours go?”

Zayne hisses, knuckles white where they clutch the edge of the desk. His cock—flushed, leaking, untouched—throbs helplessly.

Sylus watches it.

Watches the way hunger pulses through him—blinding, base, intoxicating.

Still buried to the hilt, he pulls back just enough to make Zayne whine—then slams back in. One brutal thrust. One full-body shiver.

“Say you want it.”

Zayne gasps, the words tumbling from his mouth in pieces.

“I want it—fuck, Sylus, please—”

Sylus grins.

Feral. Cruel. Victorious.

And then—finally—he gives in.

His hand wraps around Zayne’s cock—hot, slick, punishing—stroking him in perfect, merciless rhythm to the roll of his hips.

Zayne arches off the desk with a strangled moan, caught in the no man’s land between retreat and collapse.

Sylus fucks into him deeper, harder—every thrust timed with the savage drag of his fist, wringing Zayne toward the edge in tidal waves.

“You feel that?” Sylus growls against his neck. “That’s me. No one else. Only me.”

Zayne nods blindly—eyes shut, lips parted, the truth already wrung from his bones.

“God—Sylus—I’m close—I can’t—”

Sylus curls around him—one arm banding across his chest, the other still stroking— and pulls him upright in a single, brutal motion.

Off the desk. Into his arms. Never breaking pace. Never letting go.

Zayne’s head falls back against Sylus’s shoulder, mouth open, gasping like he can’t draw breath without him.

Sylus bites down at his throat—hard—then kisses the mark like an apology.

His hand works faster now. Slick. Brutal. Beautiful. Every pass a promise, every thrust a possession.

Zayne jerks in his arms—hips chasing the rhythm, legs barely holding—ruined.

"Let go," Sylus breathes, voice raw. "Come for me."

Zayne’s body goes taut—bowstring tight—and then he breaks.

“Sylus—fuck—!”

He comes hard, spilling across Sylus’s hand, trembling, breath caught in a chest that no longer knows how to steady itself.

Sylus doesn’t stop.

Keeps driving into him, faster now, chasing his own end with violent, desperate thrusts.

The room fills with the sound of slick skin, shattered breath, and the heat of something far too big to name.

Zayne slumps in his arms—boneless, trembling, wrecked. Head buried in the curve of Sylus’s neck. Lips brushing skin with every gasping inhale.

And that— that— is what undoes him.

Sylus drives in one final time, groaning into Zayne’s hair as he comes, hips stuttering, hands clenching Zayne’s waist like he could carve permanence into bone.

It tears through him—raw, blinding.

And all he can feel is this:

Zayne. Broken. Breathing. His.

They stay like that. Locked. Burning. Every nerve thrumming with what they didn’t say.

Sweat. Come. Silence.

Zayne’s lips part—just enough to let one word fall out.

“Fuck.”

Sylus kisses the side of his throat.

Low. Final. Irrevocable.

“You’re mine.”

— © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐛𝐲 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰

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grahstumhurts · 24 days ago

Text

𝙍𝙪𝙜𝙗𝙮 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙧! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙆𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙚𝙮𝙚

𝖧𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌

ᴷᵃᵗˢᵉʸᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʳᵘᵍᵇʸ ᵖˡᵃʸᵉʳ ᵖᵃʳᵗⁿᵉʳ.

CW : Mentions of injuries, Suicide mentions

I decided not to include Yoonchae because these half-shots kinda have darker under tones and i dont exactly feel comfortable writing for her with a darker light.

ᴍᴀɴᴏɴ - ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ (ʜᴏᴏᴋᴇʀ) - ᴴᵉʳᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐᵃⁿ ᴮʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖⁱˣⁱᵉˢ

The first time Manon had ever watched a rugby game had been when Megan took Katseye to Hong Kong to visit her family. Hookers have the largest impact on the scrum, They have to guide the ball out of the scrum and out to the scrum half. This has to be perfected as one wrong move and the ball will be stolen by the other hooker or will be kicked out too hard. This perfectionism is what drew Manon to you as she watched you on the Pitch, Your props pushing the other team back as much as they could as your leg nudged the ball out of the scrum for your teammate to pick up. Your attention to detail isn't only on the pitch but in lots of other aspects of your life, Manon admires your organized schedules. In her usual life, Her room stays messy until she finds the motivation to clean it. With being a hooker comes lots of hip flexibility which she is glad to help with, Stretching and a post practice routine is how you’ve maintained the flexibility to hold your own on the pitch. Though being smaller than Manon, Your muscles are quite a lot larger than hers, Especially in your legs. She loves watching your games, cheering you on at the side lines as you make tackles. She worries a lot about injuries, Physical and mental ones, Pushing you to go to physical therapy and talking therapy when you need it. The one time you don't listen to her and skip your physical therapy appointment, The next game you dislocate your shoulder. One moment you're running, pushing back defenders with a stiff arm, The next you're on the ground with the wind knocked out of you as your shoulder burns with pain. Your writhing on the ground as the referee stops the game to assess you. As you're being taken off the pitch. Manon runs down from the stands, holding your hand as they guide you into the medical room. During your recovery period, You two would just cruise around in Manon’s car, Singing any song that came on in your shared playlist. The contrast between the old rock style music and Manon’s more modern pop music makes the playlist more diverse as the two of you influence each other.

ꜱᴏᴘʜɪᴀ - ʙᴀᴄᴋ (ꜱᴄʀᴜᴍ ʜᴀʟꜰ) - ᶜʳᵘⁱˢᵉ ᵇʸ ᶠˡᵒʳᵈⁱᵃ ᴳᵉᵒʳᵍⁱᵃ ᴸⁱⁿᵉ

You had grown up as a country kid, Raised in the rural areas doing farm work and playing American Football. Only when you found rugby did you feel like you really belonged in sports, Being the more masculine kind of person only really made you stand out more when you got into high school. Your true passion was always rugby. As a scrum half, you control the ball going into the scrum, which means that you need to be quick on your feet to receive it. Your agility keeps Sophia mesmerized while she watches your games, you navigate the defense with ease. With your play style of unselfish playing, passing off to your teammates whenever the opportunity is open, It's uncommon that you score a try. But whenever you do, Sophia is always there to celebrate after the matter. She’s always there to help you with your pregame and post game routine, Her “Mother-ly” status in Katseye makes it easy for her to fall into the routine of helping you cook food. In return, you make sure to buy her flowers whenever coming home from a game and that she knows that every try you score is for her. On game days, She would always text you “good luck” with a heart emoji. This game had been quite a normal one, when a scrum occurred. You rolled the ball through your teammates legs and picked it up, tossing it to your teammate who were already aligned for your team's attack. The scrum broke off as your Fly half runs up into the defense, passing it back down to you who was running at pace. You quickly pivot, your foot planted for a side step to quickly change directions as you felt a pop in your knee. You immediately felt a searing pain as you collapsed onto the pitch. After you were taken to the hospital by the team medics, You were ambushed by a petrified Sophia who had heard from your teammates that you were at the hospital. After finding out that you had torn your ACL, Sophia promised the doctors she would take care of you. You two spend your time together cooking, going to the beach, and hanging out with the other members. You can't take showers without your country music playlist in the background, as much as Sophia pretends to abhor your music taste she can't deny that slow dancing to Chris Stapleton and Luke Combs is something she misses while she's away during Katseye’s comebacks.

ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟᴀ - ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ (ᴘʀᴏᴘ) - ᴶᵃᵖᵃⁿᵉˢᵉ ᴰᵉⁿⁱᵐ ᵇʸ ᴰᵃⁿⁱᵉˡ ᶜᵃᵉˢᵃʳ

Your larger frame intimidated Dani at first. Once she saw past the facade she realized you were more of a gentle giant. Props are the main source of power in a scrum and are majorly important in securing the ball during it. You pour a lot of your energy and anger into rugby as its your way of “destressing” in a way, The physicality of the sport to you is what drew you into it. From the moment you played your first match you knew you were made to play rugby, Especially growing up in a rugby household. Your family watched the 7s yearly back home in LA, so it felt right when you joined the USA 7s team and made your debut in LA where Dani first met you. She was enamored by your soft spoken “gentlewoman” attitude, Her more extraverted self felt drawn to your down to earth personality. Dani definitely tries to tackle you any chance she gets when you're standing near the couch in the Katseye house. The other members sigh as you two play fight, They have to pull you two off each other when it goes on for at least two minutes. Your on pitch demeanor in contrast to your off-pitch personality is like watching two different people in the same body. On pitch you lead by example, making the tough tackles that bring down the offense, clearing space for your backs to gain momentum, and following the plays of your scrum half. Off pitch, you're a tired teddy bear, Cuddling with Dani any free moment. Whining and pouting when you have to move, You're her muscle when she needs to move some furniture or when she's out and about to scare some pushy guy off. Only when you come home from a tough match, to see her already sitting on your apartment's couch. She watches you limp to the bedroom and hop into the shower. She doesn't prod, or push. She lets you cool off in the shower, allowing you to come to her when the time is right. When you’ve cooled off, you collapse into her arms. A mess of limbs and curls wrapped around you as you vent about your match. What had occurred was when you were pushing through the scrum, your quad started to burn as you broke out and off your hooker. You tried to brush it off, running head first into the offense. Trying to clear off some players for your team. Your coach had noticed the slight limp in your run and immediately pulled you off, Your pitch side medic told you that you had acquired a muscle strain in your hip flexor. Dani consoled you, scratching your scalp in all the right places, Kissing your forehead when you paused sentences. Showing she cared, without saying anything. The next morning she had already texted Sophia to ask for advice on what to do, and had made up her mind that she was going to take you to your physio appointment. She held your hand as you were poked with needles and wires, Instruments and stretches you were made to take home. She set up a checklist on your phone that linked to her phone as well to make sure you were doing your necessary treatments and exercises. She didn't need to say anything to you, but she took care of you. You two bond over your shared taste in RnB, You two laze in bed when both of you have a day off. Just listening to your shared playlists. Back hugs while she cooks you two brunch is what makes these off days special for her.

ʟᴀʀᴀ- ʙᴀᴄᴋ (ᴡɪɴɢᴇʀ) - ² ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ ᴮʸ ᵀᵃᵗᵉ ᴹᶜʳᵃᵉ

Score the most tries, is what you’ve been told throughout your professional career. You’ve held trophies of being the tournament MVP, But nothing could still fill that void in your heart. You longed for something deeper than tries and conversions. That something was Lara Raj, She came into your life when you least expected it. While you were in recovery from a Suicide attempt, She marched straight into your life and brought color back into a once gray field. The love for the sport you’d been playing most of your life had come back as Lara spread the different shades of Crimson red, Coral orange, Cobalt blue, Periwinkle purple, Sage green, back into your life. You two had met through an unexpected mutual, Her high school friend had coincidentally been also your college friend. From the moment you two locked eyes you hit it off, You're as obsessed with her as she is with you, The amount of admiration the both of you have for each other can be felt in the spaces you share. Her side of the shared bedroom in the Katseye is filled with photos of you two, faces flushed, Cheek kisses, Lipstick stains. Your hoodies intermix in her regular rotation of pajamas. Your apartment holds her favorite flowers in vases she specifically bought for you, Her hair ties on the nightstand next to the bed you two share. Matching phone lockscreens, all the couple stuff that makes people automatically know how much she means to you. You listen to her music when she needs a second ear, play the drums when she just “Needs” the acoustic drum sounds. She sits on your lap as she writes lyrics in her book, while you scroll lazily on your phone. But on pitch, your cleats have an engraved L.R in a heart on the side. She knows every try you score and convert is for her, In a way that is unique to the both of you. The field is your second home in a way, You sprint through the defense using all the energy you can to make it through on your feet. The ball safely tucked under your arm as you weave through defenders that you push off strongly to reach the try line. You dive onto the ground as the line is pushed behind your feet, The ball roughly jammed into the pitch as another 5 points is awarded for your efforts. But you know when you walk off that pitch and into the tunnel, a bigger reward awaits you with her arms open, Her hair smelling of cinnamon and coconut.

ᴍᴇɢᴀɴ - ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ (ᴘʀᴏᴘ) - ˢᵘᵐᵐᵉʳ ᴮʸ ᴷᵉˢʰⁱ

You grew up in the coastal city of Hong Kong, Yours and Megan's parents had actually been friends in college before your parents decided to move back to Hong Kong to have kids. You had been enamored by the beauty of rugby from a young age, its ruthless physicality and brute strength. When you had the opportunity to join the Hong Kong 7s team, you immediately accepted. Megan at the time had just debuted with Katseye, Her press conferences and performances had taken over her life. By the time the 2025 7s season rolled around you had been promoted to a starter. Katseye’s activities had died off and the members went their separate ways for a break, Megan had gone home to Hawaii. Your parents had invited her and her family to come to Hong Kong to watch you play, something they could not pass up since your parents and her parents had only seen each other once since they had moved. The way you hustled on the pitch, A smile permanently plastered on your face, had a warming feeling for Megan. She had seen clips, Heard her parents talk about your amazing skills, But to see them in person. That was different. It was as if she could feel the excitement and happiness for the sport you loved off your body as you sprinted up and down. A reunion dinner for both families, The Skiendiel's and L/n’s, had been long overdue. You and Megan’s personalities matched each other, Bouncing off lame brain rot jokes like a ping pong game. The Katseye members refer to your relationship as a Golden retriever and an Orange cat. You two clicked like two Lego pieces, as if you were made for each other in a sweet, comforting, kind of way. She tries to teach you how to dance, watching you flail your limbs trying to copy her instructions. While you try to teach her how to spin pass a rugby ball, Unsuccessful but it was worth a try. She's the rock in your life, Keeping you grounded when you float off into imaginary land. On the pitch, your largeness had earned you the position of Prop. You harness your brute strength each time a scrum is called, Pushing against the shoulders of the opposing team. Scrums had to be your favorite moments each game, Making jokes with your other teammates and even sometimes the other team. Your goofiness is known worldwide on and off the field, You pour your heart into what you love and that was what drew her to you. Your personality on the pitch and off the pitch had been a siren song of sorts to her. When your already short season had been cut even shorter due to a serious knee dislocation, it had taken a large toll on you. After your surgery, you had already decided on visiting Megan in the US. She had come to the airport, in her disguise, waiting patiently. Sign in hand as you were wheeled to the exit by staff. The weeks you two spent together let your relationship flourish, She drove you to your appointments, While you cooked her dishes from home to reminisce. The Kats were grateful she had someone who could “Match her freak”, In the sense that you two complement each other in every way.

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enwoso · 1 year ago

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sexier in black | lucy bronze

*something that’s been in my drafts for a few weeks, sorry for the lack of fics but i am writing little bits in between studying but exams are nearly over so should be able to get more done soon<3*

navigation

“black or pink?” you questioned holding up a black satin dress where the straps crossed over the front and in the other some a matching light pink suit. lucy looked up from her phone as she lying on the hotel bed. looking back and forth between the two outfits several times.

you were leaning towards the black dress, it being a while since you had worn a dress or even had the excuse to dress up fancy. so what better excuse than lucy and the lionesses going to an award show. although you weren’t nominated for anything due to spending half the season out with an injury - you still wanted to be there to support lucy and the other girls.

you and lucy went way back and had been friends for a while before any feelings actually came into the picture. knowing of her since you began in england U17s youth teams.

it not being until you were called up to the senior team, and she took you under her wing, lucy having joined a year earlier that you started hanging out more often, until you both confessed your feelings for each other — ever since then the two of you had been inseparable.

the award show was paying tribute to young and upcoming stars both domestically and internationally, the girls being nominated for their work done at the euros. it also being a chance to see new and old faces.

“hmm.. well you do look adorable in pink but-“ your girlfriend pausing, her face deep in thought you could see the cogs moving behind her eyes as she looked between the two outfits still not giving you an answer.

why was the girl so indecisive?

second felt like hours had passed and she was still looking between the two outfits, the clock ticking and you already didn’t have a lot of time to get ready as the two of you decided to have a thirty minute nap which actually was two hours.

“so i’ll just pick the pink then?” you ask, your arms getting sore from holding up the two outfits for so long like some sort of clothes statue.

“no, no!” lucy quickly said as she moved to sit on the side of the bed, “you look cute in the pink but the black.. you just um what the word..” lucy continued, she was dragging it out on purpose now knowing how short of an attention span you had to begin with and how much your hated waiting.

“you look sexier in black” lucy smirks, as your stomach begins to do flips. “so go with the black!” she confirms her answer as you nod satisfied that you had finally gotten an answer from the girl.

“could have just said that in the beginning!” you mumbled, but still loud enough for lucy to hear you as you turned around to move back into the bathroom to get changed.

placing the dress down on the counter as you began to get changed, the black satin dress which hugged your curves just right and for once maybe lucy was right — you did look sexier in black.

not that you would ever admit that to your girlfriend’s face knowing the smug smile you would get if she knew you thought she was right.

the ego of hers did not need to be boosted anymore than it already was on the daily,

fixing the straps to ensure that they sat on your chest in the correct way, feeling a pair of eyes staring you down from the doorway.

moving your head slowly to the direction of the doorway, your eyes were met with lucy as she stood in the doorway a large oversized hoodie which will definitely make its way into your wardrobe later, and some shorts that she always slept in.

little flyaways coming from her bun as her hair was all messy from the nap the two you you had just woken up from but still she managed to look gorgeous, her tattooed arms standing out as she stood with a giant smirk across her face.

“yeah?” you asked wondering she she needed anything as she stood there in her own thoughts, while you began to rummage through your makeup bag for a certain product.

“oh nothin’ just admiring how beautiful my girlfriend is!” lucy smiled as she came and wrapped her arms around your waist her head resting on your shoulder.

“mhm that so?” you mumbled as you began to press makeup into your skin, drawing lines and dots on your face.

“why are you even puttin’ that on your face?” lucy asked, as she focused on you dabbing your face as the product blended into your skin. lucy of course knew the basics about make up but she didn’t wear it a lot — in fact very rarely. the most makeup she wore was mascara other than that her makeup supply was very limited.

“makes me look more put together!” you shrug as she hummed, “you look gorgeous with and without out!” lucy whispered as she placed a gentle kiss to your neck, a grin appearing on your face like a child at christmas.

you carry on with your makeup as lucy does everything in her power to slow the process down by teasing you.

placing sloppy kisses to your sweet spot on your neck, sucking slightly on it every few seconds as you body tried to remain calm, your head had other plans.

“luce, please… you need to go and get ready” you squeaked out. however you weren’t sure if you were wanting her to stop and listen to you or if you were wanting her to carry on kissing you.

your breathing increasing with each kiss she placed on your body. seconds beginning to feel like hours as she removes her hands from your waist, lifting you so you were now sitting on the bathroom counter.

kicking the door shut with her foot, as she placed on hand on your lower thigh and the other moved up to your cheekbone and gently tucks the loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

you swore you could hear her pulse as she brings her lips to yours as you can feel the fire crackle under your skin. the same feeling you get in her tummy as you did when you and lucy had your first kiss appears once again.

if there was one feeling you could have for the rest of your life — this would be it.

you don’t let yourself think about how your going to explain to the rest of your teammates why the two of you are so late.

all you wanted to focus on right now was the way her hands slowly roamed your body, your body feeling flushed just at her touch.

the way her mouth tastes, the way your tongue somehow knows how to follow hers and the way your hands grip her neck to pull her closer into you.

burying your fingers into her hair, tugging gently at it as her hands find their way fumbling with the straps of your dress. feeling the smirk on her face as small whines fell from your lips as she nipped and tugged at your body.

“lucy! y/n!” georgia yells banging on the bathroom door startling both you and lucy as you jump away from each other a the sudden noise. “are yous’ in there” a thick milton keynes accent of leah williamson sung out as they both began to bang on the door at the lack of the answer.

“hang on!” lucy yelled back, while the two of them still banged on the door — probably just to be annoying.

lucy helped you down, smiling as she kissed you one last time before opening the door. both leah and georgia nearly falling over at the sudden moment of the door opening.

“how are the two of you not ready yet?” leah asked as her and georgia stood all dressed and ready while lucy opened her mouth to say something before being cut off by leah pulling a face of disgust, “you know what don’t answer that i don’t wanna know”

“can yous like hurry up, everyone’s waiting and im starvin” georgia complained as you stood their beginning more to wonder how they even got in when neither have a keycard for you door and for a good reason.

"how’d you even get in-" you began.

“okay cool- also lucy you’ve got lipstick on your face!” georgia cut you off before you even had a chance to get your sentence out, directing the last part to lucy as she pointed to your girlfriend. before the two left giggling, quickly leaving your room.

“do i really have lipstick on ma face?” lucy asked turning to you as you smile to yourself reaching to rub it off with your thumb.

“darling you need to get better at puttin’ makeup on!” lucy cheekily says as she watched you fix up your own lipstick.

“and someone needs to learn to keep their hands to their self!” you sass as a gasp comes from your girlfriend as your quick remark.

“don’t wear that dress next time.” lucy mumbled as you stood dumbfounded as she was literally the one who told you to wear the black dress.

“go and get ready, we’re already late!” you smile at lucy hitting her slightly in the shoulder as you pushed her out the bathroom.

#lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #woso community #woso #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barca women #barcelona women #leah williamson #georgia stanway #enwoso

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mooniiify · 8 months ago

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when we were young | wriothesley x reader

synopsis: their first years at the fortress of meropede were hard, but wriothesley will always find a way to take care of his girl word count: 1.2k cw: fem!reader, kinda angsty? fluff mostly, use of y/n, not proofread sorry folks notes: came to me at like 1 am last night, i'm so down bad for this man and i don't even have him in game sigh; also this is kinda the ‘what if’ version of another story that’s currently in the works hehe

She was used to the monotonous lifestyle at this point. Three years had passed since their sentencing. She could still remember as she stood next to Wriothesley in the Court of Fontaine, listening to Iudex Neuvillete announce to their seventeen-year-old selves they would be going to prison for killing their adoptive 'parents'.

They weren't her parents. She'd only been with them for four years and never had she seen them as anything less than monsters. She wasn't sorry for taking their lives. Neither was Wriothesley. They were okay with the sentencing.

Three years of living in banishment at the Fortress of Meropede, hundreths of meters underground, with no access to the outside world, yet she has never been happier. She liked the motonous lifestyle. She liked her job at the Fortress, she liked helping people, but most of all, she liked seeing Wriothesley at the end of the day.

She still sometimes longed for the freedom the outside world provided, of course. But as of right now, her eyes kept glancing at the small clock on her desk, watching as the hands of the clock move seemingly slower with every minute.

The infirmary has been mostly quiet the whole evening. She'd been stuck with the later shift, meaning she would spend most of her night waiting in case someone came in with an injury or sickness. She wasn't the only nurse, but she was the youngest, so the others always gave her the worst shifts. She couldn't complain, not when her social status was much lower.

Her legs were crossed, the one on top swinging lightly. She let her head fall back, letting out a sigh. Was there seriously no one getting injured today? Usually there would be a lot, especially about this time. Those Pankration Ring people--

Footsteps echoed from outside right into the infirmary. Y/n stood up at that, making her way to the stairs. Just as she was about to go up to investigate, three people appeared in front of her.

Her eyes widened as she watched two inmates basically drag Wriothesley into the infirmary, his head hanging, his messy hair covering his eyes.

''Oh my Archons.'' Y/n immediately moved to the side, allowing the two men to walk down the stairs as safely as they cold. ''Come on, bring him to the bed.''

Wriothesley groaned as the two men laid him down on one of the beds, Y/n quickly moving to his side to inspect the damage. Other than a bruise, his face looked okay, but he was clutching his side. She moved to touch around his ribcage, eliciting a wince out of him when she pressed against his lower ribs.

She looked at the two men. ''What the hell happened?''

''I'm fine,'' Wriothesley groaned from under her, holding her wrist with one of his hands.

Y/n ignored him, waiting for the men to speak. ''It's Pankration night,'' one of them finally said.

That was all the information she needed. Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. ''Thank you for bringing him. I can take it from here. Go and enjoy the rest of your evening.''

The two men left without another word. Y/n lifted her hands over Wriothesley's body, chanelling her Hydro powers. Small streams of water appeared above Wriothesley, which she slowly lowered to his chest and the bruise on his face. She looked at his face, watching as his expression relaxed gradually the more the water healed him.

As soon as she felt that his pain was gone, she willed for the water to disappear. Her hands fell back to her sides as she watched Wriothesley sit up, dangling his legs over the bed. Their eyes met. He gave her one of his charming smiles. ''Thank you, darling.''

''What were you thinking?'' Y/n crossed her arms, watching as his grin fell, realizing he was, in fact, in trouble. ''Why were you fighting again? You know how much I hate seeing you hurt.''

Wriothesley chuckled. ''You should've seen the other guy. I won!''

''This isn't funny, Wriothesley.''

''No, not funny at all, darling.''

Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. ''Where's your Vision? Why didn't you use it to protect yourself?''

''I can't go against a normal person with a Vision, Y/n. I can't look like a sissy. Besides, it's not fair,'' Wriothesley explained as he finally stood up. Y/n looked up in his eyes, not saying anything. Wriothesley moved his hands around her, pulling her body flush against his. ''I can handle myself without my Vision, Y/n.''

''I know you're strong, Wrio. I just . . . I hate seeing you like this.'' She raised her hands to his cheek, gently caressing them with her thumbs. His bruise was gone now, but the old scar under his eye remained. She traced it with her thumb, feeling as Wriothesley melted under her touch. ''I don't get it. Why do you insist on fighting?'' Wriothesley was quiet. Oddly quiet. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. ''What is it?''

He licked his lips. ''I just . . . I thougth that maybe, if I could make extra coupons by fighting, then neither of us would have to take on as many shifts and . . . we'd have more time for each other.''

Y/n blinked once, twice. She felt his hands tighten around her.

''You're the only good thing left in this world and you've been so busy here recently, I've been missing you.'' Y/n's hands dropped to his waist as one of his moved up to her face. His fingers were gentle as they ran through her hair. ''You're only here because of me. If anything, I should be making sure you're not working at all.''

Her chest felt like it was about to burst. She leaned on her tip-toes, pulling him down so their lips would meet. She felt his hand fully move to the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. His lips were warm but slightly chapped, but they were his, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

She pulled back soon enough, watching as Wriothesley's eyes fluttered open. ''What was that for?''

''Because I love you and I hate seeing you beat yourself up for things that aren't your fault.'' Y/n pressed her hands against his chest, looking up at him with a smile. ''You have to talk to me about things like that, Wrio. I'm sure we can figure things out together, if only we can discuss it.''

''But I want to take care of you.''

''I know you do,'' Y/n breathed out, her smile remaining. Her stomach felt like it was doing flips. How could she be so lucky to find someone so caring as Wriothesley? ''And I appreciate that. But we have to take care of each other, Wrio. There's a reason why there's two of us in this relationship.''

Wriothesley hummed, slowly nodding his head. ''Okay. If you . . . really don't want me to fight, then I'll stop. We can figure this out.''

''We will.'' Y/n pulled him back down, murmuring against his lips. ''Together.''

i may or may not have an idea for a part 2?

#wriothesley #wriothesely x reader #wriothesley genshin #wrio #genshin impact #wriothesley fanfiction #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin fanfiction #fontaine #wrio x reader #duke wriothesley #x reader #x reader fanfiction

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mandos-mind-trick · 2 years ago

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The Initiation

Summary: Echo doesn't quite know what he's getting himself into when he joins Clone Force 99. He definitely doesn't expect what goes on behind closed doors with their beloved medic.

Pairing: Poly Bad Batch x reader (no clonecest whatsoever)

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, group sex, kind of an orgy, reverse harem, brief glimpse of the author's glove kink, masturbation, exhibitionism, oral, spitroasting, Wrecker's big dick, unprotected sex, creampies galore, squirting, Hunter loves feeding reader's praise kink, Hunter's a bit of a dom, this is utter filth someone get me holy water i need to drink it.

A/N: *sweats nervously once more* Don't ask where this came from. I'm not sure you want to know. I...have no excuse. If you need me, I'll be in horny prison.

MASTERLIST

Echo notices not long after he joins them.

He feels more at home with Clone Force 99 than he would have back with the 501st. The “regs” they called them. Even on the cramped ship that’s too small already, he feels a sense of comfort. Of course, in such cramped quarters, it doesn’t take him long to notice things.

You, the squad’s medic, had been the most welcoming at first. You had been there, on Skako Minor, waiting with the ship for them to return. You’d spoken so softly, so sweetly to him, talking him through everything as you scanned his body for potential injuries. You’d wrapped him in a blanket, warming his frosted skin as much as physically possible. You hadn’t done any more than you needed to, not wanting to cause him any more stress than he was already feeling.

He hadn’t fallen in love in that moment, per se, but he had grown to like you first, before the others.

That wasn’t entirely the reason why he noticed it so quickly.

It was hard to miss.

The first were the touches. In close quarters it was hard to avoid sometimes, but this was more than that. Most recently had been coming in to land for their latest mission. You had been standing next to the seat Hunter was sitting in, in the cockpit. He had slipped a hand between your legs to grip your inner thigh and tug you closer to him. It had been far too high to be only Hunter keeping you steady as Tech expertly landed the ship.

You hadn’t seemed to care at all.

Then the proximity. You stood close to them. Very close. Even Crosshair who kept as much personal space as possible allowed you to break into that circle.

It wasn’t just you. They hovered as well, standing closer than regulation would approve of when you talked, sometimes so close you had to be breathing the same air.

Then the lingering glances. When you passed by them, their eyes would follow. When you were busy taking inventory, sorting through supplies, reading away at your datapad, they’d be sitting watching you. Their eyes would trail your form, very visible beneath your tactical suit. You don’t go out into the field with them, but due to their status as an independent squad, you wore tactical gear instead of the normal civilian medic scrubs. It had been modified, slightly of course, thanks to Tech. Despite the fact you never saw any combat, you had greater protection around vital areas just in case.

Something’s going on. Something more than just the closeness of a squad. Something they’re all in on. He’s too afraid to ask.

Maybe he should have.

***

His first experience in Clone Force 99’s barracks is...something. It’s messy, as the Marauder is. There’s a smell too, something he can’t quite place. Something bad. None of the others even seem to notice, not even you. You toss your bag onto the couch before sitting at the table, leaning your back against it.

“We can rig up something for you, if you don’t want to sleep on the couch.” Hunter tells him, setting his own pack down.

His gaze flickers to you. There’s only four bunks. He doesn’t want to take your spot if that’s where you sleep. “But what about-”

“I rotate bunks.” You say, lips curling up in a smirk.

Hunter says your name, a warning growl in his voice. Echo’s only heard that tone once from him, when Tech had made a quick decision without informing anyone else during a fight. It had worked in their favor, but Hunter liked to know when he was going to do something reckless.

“What?” You ask, batting your eyelashes innocently. “He’s a smart man, he’s probably figured something out by now. It’s not like you’ve been trying very hard to hide it.”

So he had been right. There were things, things beyond just the normal gawking of men enclosed in a tight space with a beautiful woman. You are beautiful. He can’t blame them for staring, or touching. It’s not exactly forbidden. He knows the kinds of things that happen during shore leave. But that was shore leave, far from the GAR and those that would report to higher-ups the goings on in the private lives of troopers.

Hunter had told him the little shore leave they get they spend here on Kamino, far from Coruscant and where the other troopers spend their free time.

An easier place to get caught.

He knows the consequences of doing it, the consequences of getting caught. The reprimanding, the possible decommissioning.

He stares at you wide eyed, Hunter passing him to stand in front of you. “That’s...against the-”

“What, against the rules?” Crosshair says, leaning against a crate. “You’ll be quick to learn we’re not exactly ones for following the rules.”

“It’s tradition.” Hunter says, hand cupping your chin to lift your gaze to him. You stare up at him, something shining in your eyes. Love? No, not quite. “Perhaps this time it can be more of an...initiation.”

“If you want.” You say, turning to look at Echo once more. You’re staring at him like you did when you first met him on the flight back from Skako Minor. Your tone is the same too, that gentle, disarming voice used to calm nervous patients. Your lips turn up in a soft smile, a complete 180 from the salacious look you had been wearing seconds ago. “You don’t have to, if you’re uncomfortable. You can always go and get dinner, give us a couple hours.”

He should. He should walk out the door and pretend he’s not about to watch his new squad’s medic act inappropriately with the other members of the squad. You don’t seem to have any complaints. There was no coercion on their part, at least that he could tell. You want this as much as they seem to do. They all move towards the table, hovering around it, around you.

You’re beautiful. You truly are. He’d be crazy to try and deny that. He can’t blame them, and perhaps if he had still been like he was before, he’d have tried to shoot his shot.

You rest your elbow on the table, leaning your head against your hand. “It’s up to you, handsome. You can always just watch, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

There’s a tense moment of silence, everyone still as you stare at Echo. He swallows thickly, knowing he should walk out while he still can, but he’s not sure he wants to. Maybe he does want to see this. Maybe he does want to partake. You seem so willing, so ready.

Hunter grabs your chin, yanking your face back to him. It’s rough, the sweetness in your eyes disappearing again, being replaced by the lusty look that had been in them before. Hunter presses his gloved thumb against your lips and you eagerly take it into your mouth.

He’s screwed. He’s so kriffing screwed.

Hunter stares at you as you suck on his thumb, seeming to silently communicate. This isn’t a new thing. You’ve been doing this for a while. Hunter pulls his thumb from your mouth, dropping his fingers to the neck of your tactical suit, tugging on it gently. “Off.”

You stand, Hunter stepping back. You begin to undress, pulling off your gear and tactical suit. Echo can’t help but avert his gaze as you pull off your breastband, his face feeling warmer than usual. You’re not the first naked woman he’s seen, but this is different. He’s not supposed to be seeing you naked.

His eyes dart back to you as you move, lifting yourself onto the table. His face feels warmer than usual as he stares at you, taking in every curve and slope of your body. You bend your legs, pressing your heels into the table, spread wide enough for even him to see the slick folds between your thighs.

“Get yourself ready, mesh’la.” Hunter says, his voice deeper than usual.

You lay back on the table, tracing a hand down your body. Echo can hear the thud of codpieces hitting the floor, but his eyes are focused on your hand as it dips lower and lower.

Your fingers run through folds, gathering some wetness. You slip a finger inside, letting out a breathy sound. Your other hand drops down to circle your clit slowly as you work your finger in, stretching yourself out. Your head falls back as you add a second finger, slowly picking up the pace.

Echo’s eyes focus on your lips, parted as you moan quietly. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could see you like this. The risks are so high, but no one seems to care.

You’re close, your fingers thrusting into you hard as you desperately chase your orgasm. Hunter turns his head, glancing at Crosshair. The sniper smirks, pulling his toothpick from his lips before flicking it across the room. He steps up to you, fingers wrapping around your wrist before tugging your hand from your pussy. You let out a whine in complaint, Crosshair tugging you up to sit.

“Aww man, why don’t I ever get to go first?” Wrecker complains.

“Because you’d rip her in half.” Crosshair says, delivering a sharp slap to your thigh as you maneuver yourself. You bend over the table, resting your head so you can see Echo. You make eye contact with him, lips parted as you breathe.

Crosshair’s thin fingers trail down your spine, your back arching to press your ass up. His other hand frees himself from his blacks, jerking his hard length. You moan as he presses his cock into your slick pussy, lifting up on your toes to take him deeper. Crosshair groans as he settles inside you, hands dropping to grip your hips.

You brace yourself on the table as Crosshair begins to move, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. You let out the most salacious sounds, Crosshair’s hand tangling in your hair to pull your head up. Tech steps up in front of you, slipping a hand into his blacks to draw out his cock. You open your mouth, waiting expectantly for Tech.

He presses his cock into your mouth, his own hand taking the place of Crosshair’s. Crosshair picks up the pace, snapping his hips into yours. The sound of his hips hitting your ass, and the wet squelch of your pussy are loud. Echo glances nervously at the door. If someone stood too close to the door, they could probably figure out what was going on.

No one else seems to care, though. They’re not stopping, nor attempting to be any quieter.

The only things that have been silenced are your moans, muffled by Tech’s cock in your mouth. You’re moaning and whimpering, at the mercy of the two clones as they use your body. Crosshair slips a hand under you, fingers rubbing your clit.

Your body shudders as you cum, letting out a high pitched moan around Tech’s cock. Crosshair groans as he stills, cumming inside you. Crosshair pulls free, Tech not slowing at all. Wrecker steps up, taking Crosshair’s place. He runs his fingers along your slit, gathering Crosshair’s seed that’s beginning to seep out of you, using his thick fingers to push it back in.

You moan around Tech’s cock, pushing yourself up on your elbows. There’s a pool of drool forming on the table under you, more stringing between your lips and Tech’s cock as he pulls free for a second. Wrecker takes advantage, pressing the thick head of his cock against your slit.

Your eyes squeeze closed, body relaxing as he presses into your pussy. You whimper at the stretch, body gaping around his thick cock. Your head ducks down, hand lifting to jerk Tech’s cock as Wrecker presses further in. Hunter steps up to your side, carding his fingers through your hair. It’s so soft and gentle, such a change from what had just happened.

You whine, hips shifting against Wrecker’s hold. “Too much.”

“You can take it, mesh’la.” Wrecker groans.

“Good girl,” Hunter praises, still stroking your hair. “Be a good girl and take him.”

You let out another pathetic whine, legs shaking by the time Wrecker is completely seated inside you. Hunter gently guides your head back up, Tech slipping his cock back into your mouth. You grip the edge of the table as Wrecker begins to move, slow thrusts as your body stretches around his cock.

Echo’s hands have curled into fists at his sides, his cock pressing uncomfortably against his codpiece. He never would have thought he could be turned on by something like this, but the sounds, the way your body moves so seamlessly with them, the noises coming from you...it’s all too much.

Tech grits his teeth as he stills, cumming into your mouth. You take all of him, swallowing his load. Wrecker pulls you up, holding your back to his chest as he cums with a loud groan, spilling into you. Tech slaps a hand over your mouth as you nearly scream, soaking the table and the floor with your orgasm.

Wrecker laughs rapturously, holding you up as you practically go limp in his arms. “Got another one!”

“Yes, well, you do have the anatomical advantage when it comes to producing such a result.” Tech says. “For some of us, it takes actual skill.”

Wrecker lays you on the table on your back, your body limp as you breathe heavily. “Yeah, well I’ve done it more times than anyone.”

“Enough.” Hunter says, stepping around the table to where you’re laying. “You can debate skills later. We’re not finished here yet.”

Their gazes all turn back to you, Hunter stepping between your legs. He reaches up, stroking your cheek gently. “Hi, mesh’la. Still with us?”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “Present, Sergeant.”

Hunter smirks, reaching down with his other hand to pull out his cock. “Good girl.”

You let out a little whine at the praise, his hands folding your legs against your chest. You hold the backs of your knees, keeping your legs in place.

Hunter smiles, trailing his hand down your front. “Such a good girl for us.” His fingers circle your clit, your legs twitching. “Can you take one more?”

You nod, looking absolutely fucked out as you stare up at him. “Yes, sir.”

He smiles, moving his hand to press against the back of your thigh as he guides his cock to your slit. You groan as he presses into you, giving you no time to adjust as he begins moving his hips. You make the sweetest little noises as he fucks you, eyes trained on him.

It feels different than with the others, softer and more intense. Echo wonders if it’s simply the dynamic. The others pick you apart and Hunter pieces you back together. He can’t help but be curious. How had this started? How long had it taken? Who was first? You’d probably tell him if he asked. It wasn’t like you were hiding it anymore. Not that you really had been from the start.

Your knuckles are white where they’re gripping under your knees as Hunter rolls his hips against yours. He can tell just by the sounds you’re making how close you are. He can already pick up the cues your body gives.

Hunter grips your hips, pulling you to the very edge of the table. His movements change, thrusting shallowly into you. Your legs begin to shake, moans getting louder and higher pitched. He knows what’s coming already, your hips jerking as you soak the front of Hunter’s armor, sending a squirting into the air and onto the floor. Hunter takes his cock in his hand, jerking it a couple times before he cums onto your pussy and thighs.

Wrecker stares in disbelief, making a disappointed noise.

“Looks like you won’t be in the lead for much longer.” Crosshair teases, slipping a toothpick back into his mouth.

Tech grabs a questionable looking towel off the floor, wiping down the table and the floor. You let your legs go, both flopping bonelessly over the edge of the table.

“So?” Hunter says, turning to Echo. He’s still standing between your thighs, the front of his armor dripping from your explosive orgasm. “What do you think of our girl?”

Echo’s throat feels constricted. He’s not sure he could speak if he wanted to. He’s hard, fists still clenched at his sides.

“You’re a part of this squad now.” Hunter says, placing a gentle hand on your stomach. “Which means you can be part of this if you want.” He glances down at you. “She’d like you to be, wouldn’t you, cyare?”

You nod, still lying limp on the table. “Want your cock, Echo.” Your voice is raw, hardly more than a murmur.

Hunter stares at him, waiting for an answer. Echo knows he can say no. You’ll be disappointed but not upset. He should say no. You’ve had enough, he can tell, but the way you’d worked Tech with your mouth, giving control over to him. His cock twitches at the thought.

“So, how do you want her?” Hunter asks.

“I-I want her mouth.” Echo finally says, stumbling over the words.

Hunter helps you sit up, easing you off the table. “Come on, mesh’la. Show him what you can do with that pretty little mouth.”

You take the couple steps to him with a distinctive limp, dropping to your knees. You’re hazy eyed and soaked with sweat, sticky from your cum and theirs. You look absolutely fucked. If someone walked in, there would be no question. All they’d have to do is look at you to know what had transpired in the barracks.

You wait patiently on your knees as Echo reaches into his blacks pulling his hard cock out. You lean forward and for a moment he’s worried you’re passing out, but instead you stick your tongue out, running it along the bottom side of his length. His jaw clenches, hand closing around the base of his cock so he doesn’t cum immediately and embarrass himself. It’s been a long time since he’s felt anything, and your warm mouth might send him straight into space.

You grip his thighs as you lick along his length, swirling your tongue over his head. Your eyes lift, no longer hazy as they meet his, staring deeply into them as you take him into your mouth. He keeps hold of his cock, watching as you sink lower and lower until your lips are pressing against his hand. He swallows thickly, the warmth of your mouth and the press of your tongue almost too much.

He understands now. Not that he hadn’t before, but he can see how they’ve all fallen so heavily for you, risking being discovered just for this. Just for you.

You bob your head, fucking his cock with your mouth. He desperately squeezes the base, not wanting to cum just yet. He holds on for dear life, keeping his gaze locked to yours as you suck the very soul out of him.

He lets go, cumming with a curse as he spills into your mouth. You swallow around him, taking every last drop before releasing him. You lick at his head, cleaning every last drop before you sit back, licking your lips.

Hunter steps up next to you, gently patting your head. “Good girl.”

Wrecker helps you into the ‘fresher, Tech cleaning up the rest of the mess you had made. Echo tucks himself back in his blacks, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. Two years ago he would have never considered taking a civilian medic to bed, much less with his own squad. They’re so nonchalant about it, slipping back into their routines almost instantly.

When he had first met you, he would have never thought you did something like this behind closed doors. It’s not hard to see why they would take advantage of your willingness, though. You’re captivating, not just in your skills and your beauty.

Kriff, he’s in deep now.

He’s not as upset about it as he should be.

Taglist:

@kaminocasey, @rosechi, @mxkyrie, @bobaprint, @star-trekker-0013, @padawancat97 @bamfahsoka, @rain-on-kamino

#star wars #star wars fic #the bad batch #the bad batch fic #poly bad batch #the bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #the dark side fic

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bgomtori · 2 years ago

Text

!!he gets me so high- c.bg smau

☆

playlist to listen to while reading - ♡

beabadoobee- he gets me so high

pairing - band member! choi beomgyu x volleyball player! reader

childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn

back to my navi ☆

summary - you've been friends with beomgyu ever since kindergarten, the two of you have been attached to each other by the hip, everyone thinks that you're dating but youre not. maybe there are hidden feelings you two hide between each other? maybe you two secretly fawn over each other when the other isnt look

features - all txt members, yunjin and chaewon from lsfm, minji, haerin and hanni from nwjns (hanni is used as inspo on how the reader looks like in the story 😓😓)

warnings - curse words, mentions of injuries?, mentions of kms and kys, just very painful mutual pinning 😓 reader depicted to be fem!!

NOTE : this is like my first time writing and writing a smau SO PLEASE DONT HAVE MUCH EXPECTATIONS 😢😢 ALSO THE CHAPTERS MAY GET A LIL BIT REPETITIVE.. ! the plot gets messy and it's rlly cliche... thanks for understanding 🙏🙏🔥

status - end :D ♡♡

profiles: acers on court! | tomorrow x todorro

01 : toe kisser

02 : so cool

03 : moonlit skies

04 : she's mine !!

05 : comforting

06 : d-day

07 : against jyp??

08 : history made

09 : healing

10 : toilet explosion

11 : back to school!!!

12 : on that grind

13 : stressed out

14 : i definitely will!! (not)

15 : doc.. he's out again

16 : jealousy? maybe..

17 : bio more like kms

18 : blackmail resources

19 : oops..!

20 : exposed

21 : inner demons

22 : discord mod's room

23 : light

24 : anxiety munchers

25 : con day

26 : drunken confessions

27 : the reveal

28 : he gets me so high!!

#beomgyu smau #beomgyu x reader #txt smau #beomgyu fluff #txt scenarios #beomgyu scenarios #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #txt imagines #txt fanfic

682 notes · View notes

dreamywriter143 · 2 years ago

Text

Breathtaking

Status: Part 2 of ‘Breathtaking’

Paring: Neteyam x Human Reader (Y/n)

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of death, Romance, Humor, Jealousy.

Summary: Y/n finally realizes why she is able to breathe the dense Padnorian air. It was the will of Ewya herself. Does also that mean her fateful encounter with Neteyam was also meant to be?

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Thank you so much for the AMAZING feedback for ‘Breathtaking’! I’m so shocked with how much you guys loved it! Please keep in mind I’m still new to writing about Na’vi x HumanReader. So please excuse the horrible writing! I hope you guys enjoy!

———————————————————————

Spider glances at the rustling forest around him, his smile dissipating at the sound of rapid footsteps that only continue to get closer to where he had crouched down. He nervously glances at Kiri noticing how she was immersed in the flower she had brought him to show, not realizing the disturbance lingering near.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Spider whispers, standing up to his full height. He slides his bow over his shoulder whilst gripping it tightly. Kiri, who was crouching down in the midst of inspecting the beautiful flower closely , stands up at his tone, her eyes filled with worry.

“No, only Neteyam and Lo’ak know where we are” she murmurs, her ears standing straight as she stares at the source of the rustling. Reaching for her knife around her holster she takes a tentative step forward, Spider moves to stand in front of her, holding his breath in anticipation.

All of a sudden Neteyam hurriedly bursts through the bushes coming to a halt in front of the tensed duo, his face flushed with color as he desperately tries to catch his breath. Spider and Kiri let out sighs of relief lowering their weapons of choice.

“Neteyam you Skxawng! We could have killed you!” Kiri groans in annoyance, her eyes rolling at how her brother acted so stupidly which could have resulted in an injury. He was usually so careful with his footing, barely making a sound.

Neteyam lets out a breathless chuckle, his eyes dancing between Spider and Kiri. He was slightly hunched over, as if cradling something in his arms.

“S-sorry, I was quite-”

“Y/N!!!!”

Spider immediately recognized the messy locks of hair that laid against Neteyam’s arm.

Neteyam had cradled the girl close to his chest, protectively nestled within his large arms. Upon hearing her name, the girl looks up, the flush red color of her cheeks giving away how embarrassed she felt to be in the large Na’vi’s boys arms.

“S-Spider!” She rushes out, her eyes filled with relief when she sees the boy she had been scurrying the whole forest floor for. Kiri glances between the two, her posture completely relaxing knowing it wasn't a stranger.

Neteyam crouches down, his knee resting on the ground below as he helps the girl stand. Her legs wobble as she grabs onto his bicep for balance quickly whispering an apology. Neteyam offers a soft smile, holding out his hand for further support if needed.

“Y/n?” Kiri asks, peering down at the smaller female. Spider had always spoken of a girl living with him at base camp, but due to the fact she never actually ‘saw’ the girl over her many visits to the lab, Kiri chalked it up to Spider having a creative imagination.

“Y/n! What the hell?” Spider rushes up to her, taking her tiny hands into his as he assesses her for any injuries. His hand reaches up to brush over her shoulders and down her arm with worry, forgetting the fact that was still Neteyam crouched right behind her with his mouth forming into a thin line.

“What the hell are you doing here?! Where is your mask! H-how?!?” Spider cups her cheeks, squishing them to make sure the figure in front of him was indeed his dear friend and not just a figment of his imagination.

Y/n scrunched her eyebrows, feeling embarrassed that Spider was flocking over her like a mother bird in front of two gorgeous Na’vi’s. She couldn’t help but feel self conscious as is. Y/n reaches up, removing his hands while staring at Spider with slight anger.

“What do you mean! I came here because you took the defected-” she places her hands over his mask, tilting it upwards to read the number it would be branded with. Unfortunately for her the number labeled wasn't the one she had been fearing.

“-exo pack...what the hell?” Y/n knocks against the faceplate in anger. Thankfully it wasn't the defected pack, but that just meant she had a heart attack over nothing. She nearly killed herself, over nothing! And that didn’t bode well with the smaller female.

Placing her hands along her hips she glares into the boy who chuckles nervously. He shrugs his shoulders while taking a step back from the fuming h/c girl.

“You really think I'd leave with a defective pack?” He questions, slightly offended that Y/n would think he would be dumb enough to do so. Y/n huffs in annoyance, pinching the bridge of her nose while trying to calm herself down. She inhaled deeply before turning her attention back to Spider, forgetting the Na’vi who watched her with curious eyes.

“Then what did you do to it?!”

“I threw it, obviously?”

“Ugh Spider! You’re supposed to log that type of stuff. I didn't see it in the recycling unit! Hence why I came all the way out here! Scared shitless that you might be dead!”

Kiri snickers from her spot beside Spider, clamping her mouth shut when Spider glances her way with an unimpressed glare. He turns back to Y/n while smiling nervously.

“I didn’t recycle it…..more so chucked it into the forest?”

“Spider!”

“Seriously?”

Y/n throws her hands up in anger, anger over the fact she even worried over an idiot to the point she left the confines of the base. And anger over the fact Spider clearly violated their code of not harming the environment whatsoever.

“You can’t throw it out in the forest you dummy, when we go back we have to recycle it ok? Don’t go around harming the environment around you. Alright?” Y/n lectures, her eyes knowing as she nudges against him. Spider nods in defeat at her words.

“She’s right, our eco system is not used to your technology. No matter how minor, it has consequences” Kiri pipes up, taking a step closer to Y/n. She kneels down to her level offering a friendly smile, one that Y/n returns with a slight flush on her cheeks. Neteyam watches curiously, slightly proud over the fact that a human like Y/n, cared about his world. And with such sincerity. It amazed him.

“I don’t believe we met, I’m Kiri. You must be Y/n?” Kiri introduces herself, causing Y/n’s eyes to widen.

“Kiri? Oh………..ohhh!!!” Y/n smiles wide, glancing at Spider who cowers at her knowing look.

“I’m sorry, it’s just I’ve heard so much about you!” Y/n explains taking a shaky step forward. Slightly limping. Neteyam automatically reaches his hand out to steady her, his heart racing at the thought of her falling again. She steadies herself before clasping her tiny hands with Kiri who smiles wide at her words.

“And I you,”

“Good things I hope?” Y/n throws a warning glance towards Spider who shrugs it off playfully.

“We’ll, up until now I didn’t know that you actually existed” Kiri announces, Neteyam quirks a confused eyebrow. He had never heard Spider mention Y/n before. It could have been due to the fact he was barely around to visit the lab. Not that he wanted to. He cared for Spider, but he couldn’t hold back the inner urge to dislike humans and their inventions. That’s why he never made it his mission to check out the lab or their equipment on his own accord. Which is why it pegged him, why was he so easily accepting of Y/n?

“You mean you thought I was crazy?” Spider interjects, sounding offended as he tries to get in between Kiri and Y/n’s bonding.

Y/n huffs out, waving her hand dismissively. “That’s besides the point” she says softly causing him to pout.

“That doesn’t matter, what matters is how are you not dead?!” Spider asks, looking to Neteyam for an explanation. The older Na’vi had been uncharacteristically quiet, so when everyone turned to him for an explanation he felt his cheeks flush with color.

“W-well, after I found her on our way over here she fell, sprained her ankle and broke her mask-”

“Oh my-”

“But she was able to breathe fine…I believe there is some significance to that. Earlier I saw a Atokirina approach her and accept her….it was as if Ewya ha-”

“-had chosen her” Kiri finishes his sentence cutting him off. Neteyam nods, his face turning towards Y/n who smiles shyly. He feels an elective shock surge through him at the sight, though he doesn't know why.

“I'm not so sure about that, there has to be a scientific reason for it. I must let Norm and Max know” Y/n says quickly, her eyes turning away from Neteyam’s focused stare. Ever since the fall Neteyam had insisted that he carry her the rest of the way. Though Y/n opposed the idea, the 8ft Na’vi wasn't going to take no for an answer. They did indeed make it rather quickly to Kiri and Spider, but at the cost of Y/n’s dignity,

“Speaking of which it’s really late, I’ll take Y/n back-” Spider steps towards Y/n, nodding as she tries not to put any weight on the ankle she had strained, frowning at the injury.

“-think you can walk?” He asks softly, reaching out for her.

“I think I can…wo- '' Y/n loses balance for a moment ready to fall face first into the ground below. But luckily a strong arm catches her mid fall, holding her tightly as if afraid to let her slip through his fingers. Y/n flushes crimson, staring down at the large blue arm wrapped around her waist yet again.

“T-thanks Neteyam” she stammers, feeling quite embarrassed. Turning her head slightly to show her appreciation as she smiles softly. Neteyam shakes his head, his eyes were so focused on her face, her eyes, her beautiful lips that he almost had lost himself in his thoughts once again. He clears his throat gently placing her down and turns to face Spider.

“I can assist you guys back. It’ll be safer that way” he suggests, secretly hoping Spider would agree. He wanted to insure their safety, most importantly Y/n’s safety.

“It’s alright Neteyam I got it. Thanks for watching out for her, she can be quite a handful” Spider chuckles, picking Y/n up with ease in his arms. Y/n yelps at the sudden change from standing on her two feet to floating midair, her face once again flushing red.

“Hey!”

Spider ignores her pleas to put her down, taking a step past the Na’vi with her still in his arms, he glances back momentarily, offering a smile to Kiri who returns it right away.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow monkey boy, get back safely” Spider turns around barley ducking for a tree branch that hangs low, grazing past the top of Y/n hair.

“Watch it!! She’s delicate!” Neteyam takes a cautious step forward before freezing. Kiri snorts out before covering her mouth at her brother's sudden words.

As his words register in his head Neteyam flushes purple, he quickly stands up straight clearing his throat he sputters out words while avoiding eye contact with a surprised Spider, and a wide eyed Y/n.

“I-I mean, be careful!”

“Neteyam, I got this.” Spider nods knowingly, he was promising to keep Y/n safe. And Neteyam seemed to have calmed down in that regard, his stare turned to Y/n who peered at him with a soft smile across her lips. He feels his heart tug in slight pain not knowing if he’d see her again.

“Will I-we be seeing you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know ...I hope so” Y/n whispers truthfully, her lips forming into a full smile knowing that Neteyam wanted to see her again. Out of his own free will. She couldn't help but feel giddy at the thought. The boy who saved her life reluctantly, now seems to genuinely care and want her near him.

Just as the duo disappear into the forest Kiri turns to her brother, smirking wide.

“Wow”

“What?”

“Nothing….just enjoying the view”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n and Spider sit on the medical chair in the middle of the lab as Norm and Max flock over them, their eyes holding disappointment as Max ran several tests on Y/n to make sure she was ok.

“What were you thinking! You could have died!!” Norm grumbles, throwing his hands in the air in frustration, Max nods at his friend's words, examining a sample of Y/n’s blood through a microscope. He notes that there were no abnormalities in the sample, she didn't seem to have any negative effects from being outside without an oxygen tank.

“But I didn't….I'm still here” Y/n rolls her eyes at his worry. She was fine other than the minor sprain which they tended to right away when they arrived.

“That’s not the point Y/n, what you did was dangerous….”

“We’ll if I didn’t then Spider would have died-“

“But I was fine-“

“Not helping!”

Y/n glares at Spider which causes him to keep his mouth shut. Taking a deep breath she faces Norm and Max who were staring at the tablet in hand, going over the sample results.

“The point is, I’m fine. Neteyam helped me and assisted me. If I didn’t go after Spider I wouldn’t have found out I can breathe the air out there. We can finally crack the code on our genetic makeup for humans to breathe Pandora’s air!”

At her words Norm and Max share a knowing look, where Norm nods giving Max the ok to speak, “Y/n…we knew you could breathe the air out there” Max says softly, he took a step closer to her to carefully place a bandaid over where he took a blood sample.

“WHAT?”

Y/n feels her heart drop at his words.

“W-what?”

They had known, they had known the entire time and hadn't thought of taking her out, choosing to keep her in this prison on purpose? They held such an important thing from her, for what? Y/n’s eyes sting with tears, the truth holding far too much weight.

Y/n hops down from the chair, Spider following her ready to hold her back while he carefully watches her tensed back. The way her hands clenched into fists and her angry tears that began flowing freely down her cheeks, he couldn’t help but sympathize and feel her rage.

“T-then why have you ... .you've kept me locked up in this-this prison knowing I’m suitable for the world out there?”

“Y/n, calm down-“

“NO!! I will not calm down! All my life I’ve been…stuck here!! All my life! I never got the chance to go out because you made me believe it wasn't suitable for me! And now I find out you lied? How can I ever trust you?” Spider holds Y/n back, her tears cascading down her cheeks at a rapid pace as she didn’t bother wiping them away. She felt betrayal weigh her down, her world crashing around her.

“Why…w-why did you do it” her voice cracked with pain and she leaned against Spider’s hold, unable to muster the energy to keep standing.

“Because we were scared..”

“Scared?” Spider's tone held more malice than he had intended, but he couldn’t help it when his close friend sobbed in his arms.

“Your mother-Dr L/n was a brilliant doctor. She assisted the Na’vi through tough times barley caring for her own deteriorating health….while she was heavily pregnant with you, due in a few weeks time-she went out to grab some herbs to for testing as well as ointment” Max begins silently, pushing his glasses up against the bridge of his nose,

“She insisted that no one tag along with her because she didn’t want us to affect the geological atmosphere. Considering how she is human, she didn’t want to create a fuss as is,”

“While she was deep into the woods, she went into labor. Neytiri had been nearby and tried helping her before she began active labor. They…They were close. The delivery was difficult as Neytiri couldn’t do too much..” Norm adds, taking a seat on his chair, hanging his head low in sadness.

Y/n seems to calm down, resting against Spider while listening carefully. The tears continued to cascade as she was finally able to hear what really happened to her mother years ago.

“By the time we were informed and arrived to the scene, your mother….had passed”

“You…you died Y/n. The moment you came out, you stopped breathing. You didn’t stand a chance against the harsh environment of Pandora. The very air suffocated you upon your first breath.” Max chokes up, taking off his glasses quickly to wipe away the tears as he recalled the events of that day.

“I held you, checked you for your vitals which…there were none. We thought we lost both you and your mother that day…and then, you cried”

“As scientists we are taught not to believe in miracles, but there you were. The first breath you ever took, and it was Pandora’s air. You were able to breathe the air like it was normal, it was as if you were reborn. As if Ewya gave you another chance”

Y/n wipes her tears, her expression hard as she was able to pull herself away from Spider to stand on her own, “Then…then why keep me here?”

“We were scared that Ewya spared you to survive for…that movement. We were too scared to take you out there in fear that you actually couldn't breathe it now that you're much older. We didn’t want to take any chances, we couldn’t risk losing you too ... .So over the years we conducted tests to see if anything would change, your genetic code stayed the same and we couldn’t figure out why or how you were able to breathe the air as an infant. We are not even close to cracking the code for humans to able to breathe the air, and seeing how you are able to now... .it’s clear only you can do this…” Norm states, standing up only to frown when he notices Y/n take a step back.

“Y/n we’re sorry for what we’ve done. Everything we ever did was for your own good, you are like a daughter to us " Max reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Y/n shoulder as she sighs out, wiping the remaining tears she pulls herself away, quietly retracting to her quarters without uttering a word.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t take Y/n long to forgive Norm and Max for what they’ve done. She knew they had the best intentions in mind but that didn’t help the feeling of betrayal from consuming her. Over the past few days she stayed locked in her room, requesting her meals to be delivered to her due to her sore ankle.

Even though her heart ached to be out once again, to explore the beauty she dreamed of while also interacting with Na’vi, especially Neteyam. She couldn’t bring herself to do so. She was so worked up over the fact that years had been stolen from her, she couldnt find it in herself to take the few steps to freedom. Days went by as Y/n actively declined Spider’s request to take her out.

As days progressed and at a slow pace, Y/n’s mood lifted a bit as her ankle healed. Her ankle seemed to be much better now, she was able to stand and walk without much aid but she still didn't feel the drive to move, the drive to leave.

“Y/n?” Spider peeks into her room, his exo pack slung over his arm. He looked ready to go out again.

“Yes?” Y/n sighs, not moving from her spot hunched over her desk. She had paused on the log she was currently watching, of her mother examining various plants and herbs she was fascinated with.

“There is someone who wants to speak with you”

“Spider, I’ll speak to Norm and Max when I feel like it, We both apologized. What more is there to say,” Y/n says with slight annoyance, turning away from him. Spider lets out a throaty chuckle, his eyes mysteriously twinkling with mischief.

“It’s not Norm, or Max,” he says before quickly disappearing from the room. Feeling a budding question Y/n gets up with a grunt, stretching her sore limbs before leaving the comfort of her room.

Her steps were slow as she quietly padded down the cold hall leading towards the lab, finding it weird how no one was nearby. It wasn't even that late into the day. Where has everyone gone? Y/n nears the lab, placing her thumb into the biometrics as the doors slide open with a swoosh.

“Ok Spider, wha-“

Y/n’s words die along her tongue as her eyes widen. Her jaw goes slack while she tries to figure out that what she saw in front of her was indeed real and not her imagination.

“Oh shit bro, you were right! She’s a cutie!”

There in the confines of the laboratory crouched down just to fit in were three Navi’s, two of which held bright smiles when their eyes snapped towards her direction, another stared at her in pure astonishment. His tail swished around him in pure excitement as he examined the girl his brother wouldn’t shut up about for the past few days.

“H-Hi!” Y/n squeaks when her eyes immediately land on the handsome Na’vi who blushed furiously at his brother's statement. She steps into the lab, her smile growing wide as Spider chuckles loudly. Kiri smacks him and the unidentified male Na’vi to shut them up before walking closer to said girl.

“Y/n, how are you?” She asks softly, crouching fully to the girl's height. She smiles sheepishly, forcing herself to train her gaze away from the handsome Na’vi who had been taking up her thoughts.

“It’s alright, I’ve…I’ve learned alot about my past and it’s hard to digest is all”

“Is that why you haven’t been around? Neteyam has been asking of you every time Spider drops by-“

“No!-“

All eyes turn to Neteyam who tries to scramble to his feet in embarrassment, knocking a bunch of papers and equipment along the way. Y/n bites her lip from laughing at the scene as he desperately tried to compose himself, while trying to put the things back to where they were in a hurry,

“-I-I mean I’ve been concerned. That’s all!” Neteyam assures quickly , making Y/n nod, a smile tugging along her lips. He looked adorable when flushed as he glared daggers into the two males who snicker on his behalf.

Y/n turns her attention back to a worried Kiri who waits for her response, “T-thank you. I’m fine....” she whispers softly, biting her lips as the last few days replayed inside her head. The group seemed to fall into a moment of silence, registering how upset and conflicted the girl looked.

“Y/n? Spider told us. And I know this is a lot to take in, but know you were chosen by Ewya. Everything has a purpose. There is a reason why you’ve found out about your uniqueness now. Trust me, it’ll make sense soon” Kiri assured, sending an encouraging smile. Neteyam nears his sister, offering a soft smile in return.

“Thank you Kiri” Y/n murmurs, her eyes softening at her words. Maybe everything that has happened had a purpose?

The unknown Na’vi sighs out as everyone shares a smile along their lips. The male stretches his legs before brushing past Neteyam and Kiri only to stop right in front of Y/n who stares at him quizzically.

“Now, on a better note-“

The Na’vi crouches down to her level, his eyes playful and full of wonder as he examines her from head to toe. Y/n felt her face flush red at the close examination, she even caught the way how he leaned in to take a whiff of her scent which didn't help her nervously beating heart.

“I’m Lo’ak! You know. The cool one? Spider must have spoke of me often”

The male introduces himself, raising his clenched hand up for a fist bump which Y/n immediately returns her smile stretching wider into a grin.

“Lo’ak! Oh yes, nice to meet you. I’m Y/n. Spider speaks quite fondly of you.” Her words causes Lo’ak’s smile to grow wider as he throws Spider an appreciative nod. He quickly turns back to her, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“That’s what’s in talk’n about!! I’m glad I’ve made such a good impression-” the sly wink he sent to Y/n causes Neteyam to groan in annoyance.

“-Now, how about we all get outta here?”

~~~~~~~~~

Y/n stares at the beautiful flower in front of her while crouching down beside Neteyam. Her eyes drank in the way the sun caused the petals of the flower to glimmer beautifully, sending a feeling of wonder and awe through her. In all her life Y/n had never seen something this beautiful, well, other than Neteyam who was something else to be reckoned with.

Neteyam shares quick glances between the quiet girl and the flower, watching how her eyes lit up as she leans a bit closer towards the blossoms. Neteyam smirks in amusement at how her mouth formed a ‘o’ in amazement.

“What is this flower called?” Y/n whispers, turning her head slightly to face Neteyam while still keeping the beautiful flower in view. Neteyam chuckles at her words, his chest vibrating with laughter.

“That’s a Tsawksyul” he replies.

Y/n smiles at how easily he said the word, how smoothly it glazed against his tongue. Neteyam watches Y/n pause for a bit, as if he would see the gears shifting in her brain as she deciphers the meaning of the word in her head.

“A Sun-Lilly? Tsaw-ky-syul?” Y/n tries to mimic the way Neteyam pronounced it only to fail terribly. She winced at how rough the beautiful word sounded against her tongue. Neteyam’s eyes glimmer with affection seeing how she tried her best to learn, her curiosity knowing no bounds.

Scooting closer to the much smaller girl he points to the flower in between them, “Its ‘t͡sawk.sjul’,” he repeats, much slower then before which allows her time to mimic him, her words come out choppy but better than before making Neteyam smile wider.

“It’s beautiful, why is it called that?” Y/n asks, leaning her head against her crossed arms resting in her knee. A smile twitches against his lips at the gesture, he knew how much smaller she was compared to him, but now sitting this close, their bodies nearly touching, Neteyam feel a urge to protect her, his tiny human.

“It’s a sun loving flower, it blooms fully during the day” Neteyam murmurs, his longer fingers reaching down to pick a flower that had fallen from the bush. The stem is still intact which he holds delicately, twirling the flower. The sun hitting the petals just right as Y/n watches completely mesmerized.

“Wow”

Neteyam chuckles in amusement at how her fingers twitched, as if she wanted to reach out to touch it like he had but stopped herself from doing so.

“It reminds me of you” Neteyam mumbles softly, taking the flower and tucking it behind her ear. Y/n freezes at the action, shutting her eyes out of reflex as Neteyam secures the blossom in place. His breath hitched as she slowly opens her eyes.

Two worlds, a beautiful flower of his world and a Tawtute. Two things that shouldn’t mix, but looked perfect in his eyes. Like they were meant to be.

“H-how so?” Y/n asks, reaching up for her fingers to trace over the delicate petals. It felt so soft to the touch and Y/n knew right then and there she would cherish that flower for all of eternity.

“It reminds me of your smile…how your smile lights up your entire face. Similar to a Tsawksyul” Neteyam admits bashfully. His bioluminescent freckles flicker under her watchful eyes in slight shyness.

“T-thank you!” Y/n squeals, averting her eyes to the other Na’vi not too far away from them playing around with Spider. Her heart beating wildly against her ribcage

“D-don’t mention it,” Neteyam whispers, his attention averting again to the flowers in front of him. Flowers that once looked so beautiful to him, now paled in comparison to who sat before him.

~~~~~~

“This is Eam’pin, I named her after my mothers previous ikran Seze” (Green) Neteyam pets the beautiful creature, decorated green markings that made her look unique. Y/n, who maintains some distance watches in wonderment.

Over the past few weeks she had grown closer to the Sully’s, meeting her favourite current Na’vi Tuk along the way. It was odd at first that even though Y/n was older than Tuk by a lot, Tuk still towers over her tiny human body.

Today Tuk urged Neteyam to finally take Y/n to see the Ikran, up close and personal since the girl had expressed her interest over the magnificent beasts.

Neteyam had been reluctant at first due to the slight fear of Y/n getting hurt based on her fragile body. She was human, and though she has grown accustomed to the world around her. He still felt worry rise within him.

Y/n and Neteyam have grown close over the past few weeks, whenever he had time off from his training he would look for her in a heartbeat. He always accompanied her out into the forest where she would inspect the fauna around her.

He loved watching her appreciate his world, all with the purest intentions. Neteyam grew to understand that maybe not all humans were bad after walking and his initial distaste started to wear off the more he spent time with her.

Now that Tuk started tagging along often, Y/n had grown more comfortable. Interacting with the creatures as her interests grew. Which led to this moment, right before Neteyam could go on patrol Tuk had dragged Y/n to visit his ikran.

Knowing very well that Neteyam’s ikran was much kinder than others when in his presence. Spider and Lo’ak also tagged along, waiting for Neteyam to depart so they can drag Y/n off with them to their pre-planned adventure.

“She is, but don’t look in her eyes. She is very calm but fierce as well” Tuk reminds her.

Y/n nods, casting her stare downcast as Neteyam easily mounts his Ikran. Once he makes Tsaheylu, the ikran screeches. It’s head turning towards Y/n, the girl that took up all of Neteyam’s thoughts. The ikran eyes softened a bit, noting the fondness Neteyam felt towards her.

Seeing how Neteyam readied himself to take off Y/n steps closer towards them, a sad smile along her lips knowing she wouldn’t be able to spend time with him today.

“Be careful?”

Neteyam lets out a throaty chuckle, his eyes crinkling with happiness. “Oh my Tsawksyul, I’m always careful”

“See you soon?”

“I’ll be back before you know it” Neteyam promises before looking at Lo’ak who smirks.

Neteyam nods towards him, his eyes speaking volumes. Reminding him to stay safe, to keep Y/n and Tuk safe. Lo’ak waves his hand off dismissively which causes the older Na’vi to sigh out. He lets out a call before his Ikran takes to the sky, Y/n covers her eyes from the leaves the rustle wildly at the sudden movement.

Lo’ak and Spider walk closer to the girls, both wearing shit eating grins, “So…..Tsawksyul??”

Y/n immediately flushes pink, swatting her hand out to hit the taller Na’vi, barley causing him to flinch, “Oh stop it Lo’ak!”

“No, it’s cute! Sickenly cute. I’d say you and my brother are getting quite acquainted” Lo’ak teases making Spider snort beside him,

“We’re friends! That’s all”

“Her diary says otherwise,” Spider quickly adds, which causes Y/n blood to run cold.

“You read my diary?!? Spider I’m going to kill you!” Y/n roars, lunging after the retreating male. Tuk giggles before following after the duo.

Lo’ak howls with laughter, running after the group trying to insure Y/n didn’t get to Spider first.

“Wait, don’t kill him yet! Bro! Tell me what it says!”

________________________________________

Pt.3 (coming out tomorrow)

A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you for everyone who had been looking forward to Pt 2. Unfortunately I didn’t want to make Pt.2 a 5k+ fic so I decided to do it two parts. Pt.3 will be out tomorrow so please look forward to it!! Thank you much and I hope you all like Pt2! I’m so thankful to those who understand that I’ve been going through, but I also want to apologize for taking so long, I hope you enjoy!

Tag list:

@lala-1516 @yagirlheree @strawberri-blonde @min-jianhyung @lucialobelia @camilo-uwu @unicornicopia1 @a-blog-name-2003 @daffodil-darlings @elizarikaallen @jin0x0 @holysaladapricothero @navs-bhat @moony-artemis @need-a-life-or-grass @alexandra-001 @fifia-writes @ok-boke @whoareyoi @melllinaa @themostegotisticalgirl124 @anangelwhodidntfall @lilymoew @laylasbunbunny @oceanstar19 @meritxellao @childofgod-05 @heart-an0n @sully-stick-together @kau7itz @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @youngpersonaathletebear @ohshititsfenharel @mybl00dyblades @glimmering-darling-dolly @meritxellao

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yutarot · 9 months ago

Text

she’s the man. l.hc smau

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ humour, friends to lovers, college au, gamer!haechan, gamer!yn, everyone’s a gamer actually, loosely based off the movie ‘she’s the man’, fem reader, slowburn, angst, plot heavy

synopsis. after you discover your love for gaming, you soon find out that your college won’t let you in any of their e-sports teams due to your gender. but what happens when your twin brother leaves town just before he’s about to start at a new college, where not even NCU’s e-sports captain, lee haechan knows anything about him? there’s only one problem, your brother’s crazy ex is trying to hunt you down. will they all find out your true identity? and will their views on you change if they discover who you really are?

++ will be using the same taglist as my other works for ease, dm if you would like to be removed.

WARNINGS: language, mention of alcohol/being drunk, jokes about death, the plot will divert from the original movie, themes of sexism (at the start), cliffhangers again sorry guys, typos literally everywhere, a littleee bit of violence, small injury detail, heavy on the miscommunication trope… obviously…, lots of angst, things get MESSY, a small (?) plot twist

STATUS: COMPLETE! 08.06.24 - 09.03.24

DISCLAIMER: all portrayals of people are fake and from my imagination, in no way am i claiming that they act like this irl

MASTERLIST

[profiles one] || [profiles two] || [ig profiles]

[1 - positive affirmations]

[2 - let me cook]

[3 - dream vacation destination]

[4 - why’s he kinda…]

[5 - therapy scheduled]

[6 - winky face and all]

[7 - sorry i can’t read]

[8 - trick or treat]

[9 - “can i get your number?”] written chapter

[10 - bro shes your friends sister]

[11- double date]

[12 - canada?]

[13 - do you do weddings?]

[14 - sick and twisted.]

[15 - all of the above]

[16 - who are you?]

[17 - i don’t wanna see you again]

[18 - it’s all over]

[19 - he doesn’t miss you] written chapter

[20 - the truth]

[21 - we’ve missed you]

[22 - you’re delusional sweetie]

[23 - i guess we both had our secrets] written chapter

[24 - second male lead]

[25 - i had no idea]

[26 - is she okay]

[27 - you know her]

[28 - the nile?]

[FINAL; 29 - you already do] written chapter

END!

replies, likes and reblogs are all appreciated! feel free to send requests in my asks; scenes, chapters, characters etc.

TAGLIST - CLOSED.

#nct #nct dream #nct fanfic #nct smau #nct college au #nct 127 #haechan #lee haechan #haechan smau #haechan x reader

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drivinmeinsane · 1 year ago

Text

Snow ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Four ※ Sierra Six / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: You expected a quiet night in, but that changes when you follow a trail into the trees.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Pre-relationship, Treatment of injuries, Caretaking

※ Word count: 1920

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Of course you notice that the log basket by the fireplace is empty when you’re already sprawled out on the couch, remote in hand, Christmas tree plugged in, and fully prepared to settle in for the night. You grumble as you get up and pull on your boots and your coat. Grabbing your flashlight, you open the back door and step out into the cold. You’re nearly to the shed when the beam of light picks up something unusual in its field. You come to a complete stop and examine the ground with a growing sense of horror.

The snow is churned up, something had clearly come through here recently enough. Probably within the past hour or so while you had been snugly tucked into your remotely located home. You can make out footprints. Human, likely belonging to a tall male judging from the size and the distance apart. They’re messy like the maker had been stumbling along. Your flashlight picks up dark blotches on the white. Blood. You look up, frantically scanning your surroundings for a sign of who might have left this path across your yard. There’s nothing other than the trail that leads off into the woods.

You silently backtrack to your home to grab the hunting rifle leaning against the wall in the coat closet, an assurance for living out in the middle of nowhere in the wooded hills. Feeling like a side character in a cheaply stereotypical horror movie, you go back outside to follow the trail. Flashlight off now that you’re in pursuit. You desperately want to nope out of the situation, but there is no one else around for miles to handle this. You push follow the path into the thicket. There’s a shape huddled at the base of a tree not far into the brush.

The moonlight is blocked by the branches, so you resignedly turn your flashlight on to illuminate the figure. It reveals a man dressed in bloodstained street clothes. He’s slumped forward so you can’t see his face, but his jeans are covered in a mixture of blood and snow. Some of the blood is glossy, fresh, but most of it is frozen. He is only wearing a thin windbreaker for warmth. There’s a gun resting on his lap. His fingers are slack around it, not even holding onto the weapon. They look waxy and stiff. Only his labored breathing lets you know that he’s alive.

“Hey.” He doesn’t respond to your slightly hesitant yell so you nudge his foot with the tip of your boot and try again, louder. “Hey!”

No movement, or any awareness of you at all. He just continues breathing like each exhale might be his last. Emergency services are at least forty-five minutes away, if they are even able to get through the snow at all tonight.

Gritting your teeth, you inch forward to kick the man’s outstretched leg. “Hey!”

That finally gets a response. The stranger groans and lifts his head up. He squints against the bright light you have pointed at his face and raises a shaky hand to block it. You shift so you’re pointing the rifle at him in case he gets it in his head to make any sudden movements.

“Put your other hand up too,” you order him. He complies, leaving the handgun on his lap. You can barely hear your voice over the pounding of your own heart. “What are you doing out here? You’re on my land.”

His mouth works a couple of times before he’s able to speak. When he does, his voice is hoarse. “Sorry. I got turned around.”

“Yeah? Why are you so messed up if you just ‘got turned around’?”

“Had to jump out of a moving car. The people I was with didn’t appreciate that much.” He sounds so serious that you raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

“Are you going to be trouble for me?”

“Probably not.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” His answer is immediate, out of his mouth before your question has the chance to linger in the air.

Against your better judgment, you take his word at face value and tuck your rifle under your arm, pointed away at him. His handgun gets stowed in your waistband before you help him to his feet and sling his arm over your shoulder. The arm not occupied by your own gun gets wrapped around him. Your knees nearly buckle under the weight of him. It’s slow going to your back door. He seems to be intermittently losing consciousness. On the second of the three steps leading to the small porch, his foot drags and slips out from under him. He nearly takes the both of you down.

“C’mon,” you grit out and bodily haul him up the final stair.

The stranger slumps in your hold as you get the door open and all but drag him into your kitchen. He comes to enough to stagger through to the living room. You more or less drop him onto the couch. He sags limply into the cushions like a puppet with its strings severed.

“Can I call for medical help or do you need me to try to do a patch job?”

“Please don’t call anyone. I’ll be fine.”

You exhale hard, nerves jangling. Patch job it is. “Sit tight.”

Leaving him alone and dripping melting snow all over your couch, you gather a couple towels and the medical kit that you keep well stocked for emergencies. He is exactly as you left him when you come back in the room laden down like a pack pony. You put the supplies on the seat next to him.

“What’s your name?”

“Six.”

You want to comment on how that’s obviously not a real name, but you bite your tongue and swallow the words down. It’s not your business. Keeping him from dying on your couch is your business.

Without any further preamble, you wrestle him out of his wet clothing, leaving him in just the underwear you don’t dare to touch. Once he is stripped naked, you start examining his body to find the source of the blood. You find it immediately, but your eyes can’t help but take in the rest of him. Six, as he calls himself, is muscular, but you knew that from how heavy he was over your shoulder and in the circle of his arm, but it’s the expanse of his injuries that is more notable. It’s unsettling. He’s marked with old scars and fresher ones that are still uncomfortably raw and pink. You don’t think you want to know what this strange man does for a living. It looks as though several people have tried to kill him over the years, admittedly with limited success if his presence in your home is any indication.

Ignoring the rest of his body, you focus on the sizable gash in his size. A bullet must have burned its way across his side at a close range judging from the singeing around the edges of the wound. It’s still sluggishly bleeding, but it’s thankfully shallow enough to not be fatal in the short term. You wet a piece of gauze with disinfectant and press it against the wound. Six does not so much as flinch. He looks resigned to the pain when you glance at his face to gauge his reaction. You pinch the sides of the injury together and secure it with several meticulously placed butterfly bandages to keep it closed. Holding a thick gauze pad on the wound with your hand, you wind vet wrap around his abdomen to hold it in place. It should serve to put pressure on it to restrict the chance of bleeding and further trauma to the sight.

You’re relieved to discover that the rest of his injuries are minor in comparison. He has a slightly sprained wrist that you stabilize with more vet wrap. Unfortunately, he is covered in scrapes and abrasions. All you can do for them is to put a large band-aid on the worst of the road rash. It’s next to a tattoo that says something in Greek. Your stranger appears to be more well-versed in literature than you might have expected, not just a thug despite the obviously prison quality tattoos.

Injuries aside, the man feels concerningly cold due to the exposure to the freezing temperatures and not insignificant blood loss. You realize that if you had been more prepared and hadn’t needed to restock your log barrel, he would have likely succumbed to the elements right outside of your home. The thought of finding his body in the morning makes you shiver reflexively. You push that line of thinking aside and pick up one of the towels. You hold it in both hands and rub his extremities in between your cloth covered palms, trying to encourage circulation back into his body. It works. His fingers lose their waxy appearance and his body temperature seems to level back out. He starts shivering, a good sign that means there is no more need to worry about hypothermia. You take the fresher towel and dry his sodden hair before wiping his torso clean. His shivering gradually subsides as you work. He’s dozing off, breath whistling through his nose. Some of the tension has left his face.

Once you’re finished with him, you finally fetch the logs from the shed. On your way, you take the time to disturb the tracks. Even though it’s still snowing, you do not want to take the chance that they will be discernible by a hostile party. Knowing that you will be cleaning up anyway after you put your unexpected guest to bed, you don’t take any great pains to avoid tracking more snow into the house.

You drop your armful of logs into the basket and put a couple of them into the fireplace. They should last a while. You approach the couch, catching Six awake but not alert. He’s staring blankly at your Christmas tree, seemingly captivated by it. His eyes redirect unsteadily to you when you’re close enough to touch him. The man squints like he’s having a hard time seeing through his exhaustion.

“You an angel?”

You almost laugh, but he sounds so tired and so sincere. “No,” you tell him gently. He mumbles something unintelligible in response.

Crouching at his side, you take hold of his legs and guide him until he’s laying down, curled on his non-injured side on the cushions. Six manages to lift his head enough for you to shove a decorative pillow under it. His eyes slip closed when you cover him with the throw blankets that you always keep in the living room. You practically tuck him in. Just before you withdraw, you impulsively smooth his hair back and press a kiss to his forehead. Something in your heart tells you that he could use the comforting gesture.

You pull away, satisfied that he’ll make it through the night and that you will be able to get some food into him in the morning. Just as you turn to leave to start cleaning up the mess that has been left in the wake of his arrival, you’re brought to a halt. Six’s fingers are wrapped around your wrist just long enough to make you pause before he lets go.

“Thank you,” he says, muffled against the pillow.

Your face softens and you feel the corners of your lips rise in a smile. “You’re welcome."

#12 days of goosemas #the gray man (2022)#the gray man #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six #sierra six fanfiction #courtland gentry #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry x reader #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fanfiction #ryan gosling x reader #.my posts #.my work

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prlite · 4 months ago

Text

the importance of self-trust, society's obsession with humbling others & why shifting doesnt need to be "proven" for it to be real — a very messy midnight rant.

i feel like every shifter has their first antishifter encounter and instantly feel like theyre insane. youre shouting about your dr and how you heard your s/o whilst trying to shift & someone shows up and goes "🤓 ackshually you have psychosis, DID, schizophrenia, maladaptive daydreaming disorder, npd, aspd, spiritual psychosis...youre a freak, you shouldnt exist here...what a weirdo" and you instantly feel like shit because you were super excited and someone came, threw a bunch of bricks at you and ran off giggling — happy that theyve "humbled" you because you're "weird".

youve never actually talked to this person or even if you have, youve never done anything to them...and your shifting journey and what you believe doesnt do anything to them either...yet theyre so hellbent and focused on humbling you.

why?

ego. well, thats the blanket answer obviously some of these people are just dicks but id argue 99% of the time its an ego thing. seeing someone so happy over something so small, something you dont have to believe in or dont even believe in, seeing them so happy...is wrong because in this world and in this day & age, its not normal and its almost unfair...how can you be free and happy and thriving over silly things instead of suffering like everyone else. once you hit a certain age, youre expected to stomach and simply deal with the way the world is...you cannot change it. why? because youre nobody. you need to simply deal with it, thats the "real world".

but the second you defy that, the second you go against that, the second you decide to change things or believe in things that arent conventional...that arent the "status quote" — youre the crazy one. in a world where water is put behind a price tag and people go into debt for injuries, whats considered crazy and abnormal is simply...you. why arent you sad? why arent you stomaching it like everyone else? why arent you following everyone else? you cant just believe in what you want based on yourself, thats selfishness...you must be selfless but not the selfless where you help others, the selfless where you put down yourself so others feel better.

people love to humble others, because you put down others to put yourself up. you see someone believe in astrology...what a freak, so you go out of your way to bully them...why? because thats just how the world is.

thats the "real world", thats how everyone is...except its not, thats just how these people defend this. people's egos make them feel entitled to other people suffering...because theyve suffered too. "if i have to be treated awfully, so do you! thats how the world works!"

you put so much trust in these people, believing them when they say shifting isnt real...even though theyre just a random person in a sea of billions of other people. that level of trust, should be put in yourself.

there is no stronger weapon than self-trust. the ability to simply know your strengths and proudly show them, not allowing others to push you down so they can be elevated.

you deserve to shift, you deserve everything positive & everything that is aligned with your desires. if others say you dont, would you instantly crumble down & believe them? if so, why?

why are they the spokesperson of your life? who appointed that position?

those who are stuck in the grasps of negativity, drowning themselves in selfhate, will always try to throw others down as they try to pull themselves up...yet youve let someone like that be the spokesperson of your life...the narrator to your story.

this fear of regret, embarrassment, shame...of being wrong...of being the freak and the weirdo...this fear of self-trust...it will do nothing but shackle you to the very place youre trying to leave. its okay to be wrong or make missteps, thats natural...thats human. you dont need to be humbled, or treat yourself like youre this crazy person. all you need is the ability to trust yourself...to trust that youll move forward and continue to go to where you desire; that you know what you want because noone knows you better than you do.

if shifting is real to you...if it feels real...if youve shifted...then you should trust that it is real. someone who doesnt have a degree cannot diagnose you (you cannot daydream asleep, you cannot luciddream awake, you cannot trigger yourself into psychosis, if you were to shift & it was you simply interacting with people here because you were hallucinating and making it all up and youre so "crazy" and "insane"...people would notice & there would be videos spreading of people doing this...like thousands of videos by now — a lot of antishifter stuff is just fancy words being snowballed at you) & someone you dont know shouldnt be the narrator and the voice of reason over what you do with your life.

dont let people who are desperately trying to make others as miserable as them drag you down to the hole that theyre in. trust yourself, they will never know nor understand you. shift & live for yourself, even if its "selfish" & "weird".

prl ✶⋆.˚

#prlite #💭💡 ... thinking #desired reality #neville goddard #affirmations #manifesting #shiftblr #loassumption #shifting antis dni #loablr #reality shifting #ignore typos im halfasleep #shifting #shifters

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ackerifle · 1 year ago

Note

Captain Levi x prisoner of war reader please 😊 🙏

spoils of war!

yan. captain levi ackerman x fem captain. reader (ft. special operations squad)

+ CW. — au: canon adjacent, war crimes, treason, imprisonment, abuse of power & authority: mistreatment/abuse of pow, non-sexual nudity, choking, restraints & hot iron branding, uncharacteristically long post because it’s combined with another work i was making; not proof-read.

it came as no surprise that paradis island was capable of producing and preparing such an overwhelming abundance of competent and proficient soldiers. even if many civilians had initially criticized their old-fashioned choice of weaponry, their contentious plays on the battlefield, and even their morales as a stand-alone concern in itself; their doubts would soon be long forgotten once the soldiers had returned, claiming their first victory that would soon become countless victories. the war may still have yet to be won, but it is no secret that lady luck certainly favored the survey corps’ soldiers with all she had.

and that is precisely why levi had so easily been able to whisk you away with not so much as a glance from his subordinates and superiors alike, during an attack no less. in retrospect, you should have adamantly defended your right to fall back on this particular mission to your commander, should have let this great burden fall onto the shoulders of one of your fellow captains, and have been done with the whole situation entirely. but there was much more for you to prove to your commander and newfound nation than your other marleyan peers.

even if you had demonstrated your worth as a valuable asset time and time again, had gotten your hands dirty for the sake of marley’s name and conquest, serve your own motherland and its peoples only to turn your back on them halfway through the war; you would remain the only ‘foreigner,’ in power, a potential traitor in the eyes of soldiers who were your supposed comrades. if you could betray once, you could betray again— and those who held such leery and low beliefs of you simply could not be reasoned with.

but the judgment and distaste that was made very well clear to you by the marleyan military was nothing in comparison to levi's contempt. actually, it was captain levi now, although that isn’t such a shocking revelation when you take into account that you had also been promoted to captain status during your years away from home. however, your title was a gift from marley, not paradis, and that alone made all the more difference.

you hadn’t remembered him when the two of you came face to face after half a decade. when all of your soldiers had either met their final fates or been broken down with wounds beyond repair, captured and detained; you too, had fallen with them. and when levi had stormed down the ghastly corridor of deadmen and far worse to reap his reward of the fight well won, he had found you. the first thing he noticed was that you looked better, happier. far happier than he could’ve ever dreamed to see you when you were still in paradis— even with the absolutely disgusting mud, grime, dirt, blood, and shit smothered onto your raw and tender skin, with injuries that were likely already infected and guaranteed to last you a lifetime of scars, and well over half of your comrades-in-arms deceased. for someone who was just about to lose everything, you seemed so alive.

at the time, he had approached you wordlessly. slowly trekking his way down to your pathetic and forlorn figure, limp with lassitude and slumped in defeat in a messy pool of your own blood. given enough thought, levi thinks he must’ve looked angry back then. teeth grinding together behind a disturbing sneer, and eyes left wide open until they felt dry enough that he may as well have cried; levi acted far quicker than even his own thoughts could. as the end of his blade dipped beneath your chin, experimentally tapping the sharp side against your neck before raising the entire weight of your head until you could face him.

for but a moment's time, something vulnerable had flashed through levi’s eyes, and he remembered this feeling from his youth, that of a scared boy. his relentless heart wouldn’t stop in its persistence to beat out of his rib cage, and his sentiment, his fondness for you had resurfaced with bone chilling ardor. he was rendered completely, and wholly speechless. mouth agape and stunned into silence, but levi must have let your name slip from his lips in a voiceless whisper, because you finally opened your eyes, “do- do i, know you.” and so you had forgotten all about him.

you truly had done something so utterly unforgivable. leaving him all alone and abandoned while he remained under the unanswered pretense that you were taken; only to have been double backing on paradis the entire time, while he was the only one suffering, left in egregious shambles over your absence. so now he was going to do something unforgivable to you.

“get up.” levi always finds a way to announce his presence before making his way down to your cellar— as if the sound of him (unnecessarily) slamming the rickety door open and stomping on the the concrete steps wasn’t enough for you to catch the hint. a faint window of yellow light from above could be seen framing his silhouette on the uneven stone ground, and you brace yourself for whatever words of wisdom levi has so graciously decided to enlighten you with today, “it’s your lucky day.”

biting back a mirthful huff and an equally incredulous leer, you study his next words carefully, “we’ve got visitors coming today.” you’re quite observant of how he intentionally takes his time when it comes to unlocking your cellar door, his eyes don’t leave you, as if he enjoys seeing you imprisoned behind bars, and it makes your skin crawl, “visitors?”

your copycat repetition was intended to be silent, though you can’t help but ponder his statement aloud. there is something odd here, levi slides the door open and enters the caged room with you, you don’t know what it is, he grabs you by the arm far too intimately for someone holding a hostage, no— you know what it is; his voice, levi doesn’t bother to close the cellar door as he guides you down the ill lit, damp and dreary hallway, he almost sounds like he’s looking forward to having these ‘visitors’ coming today.

“you’ll be happy to see them.” as if reading your mind, levi offered his ominous words of assurance, if one could even call them that. opting to ignore his response in favor of studying your surroundings, partially because you weren’t conscious for the trip down, and partially to soothe your nerves, you have distant memories here— “familiar to you yet? the old headquarters’ basement.”

levi bites his tongue to refrain from adding in a sardonic jab about how you would have been there to witness the construction of the new headquarters, the symbol of paradis island’s first victory in the war, if you had simply stayed. but levi trusts that he’s spent enough time re-indoctrinating your pasts together with the days he’s been granted leave to tend to his war trophy. but his heart still aches every time he remembers your neglectful memory was due to your own carelessness, nothing to do with marley brainwashing you, or any sort of militaristic torture into subservience. was he that insignificant to you that over the span of five short years, you would think no more of him?

the two of you seem to recall your trainee days on paradis very differently, and the notion itself puts levi in a sour mood, “hurry up, the ropes don’t make you fucking immobile.” he barks with a shove in between your shoulder blades, “cuffs with enough leeway for me to move a single centimeter at a time? how accommodating!” levi shoots you a dark glare, “behave.”

it leaves your body sore when you come to a standstill atop the steps, vision straining at the introduction of an unhealthy combination of natural and artificial lighting on your luminescent-deprived eyes. levi takes advantage of your poorly adjusting eyes, suavely escorting you into a new room. there is something that you notice immediately upon entering the unrecognizable area, it is the smell of smoke. instinctively, your eyes frantically search the room to locate the source, landing on a small coal fire, all the while levi continues to usher you forward until you bump into a wooden surface.

peering down, you’re greeted by a low, yet unusually and unconventionally capacious table. each corner holds an individual ring of rusted metal, hooked to the ends with suspicious purpose. but before you can dwell on it too much, the force of levi’s hands on your shoulder and waist have you coming to your senses. with one calculating motion, he swivels you around, turning your body until you’re faced towards him, and although your hands are tied together behind your back, you struggle like you can touch him. levi is unfazed by whatever attempts you can bring yourself to muster to aid in escaping his grasp, dropping his hands to your torso with dangerous constriction before slamming you down onto the table with all his might.

your lower back takes the brunt of the force, and by god does it hurt. the edge of the table digs spitefully into your back and spine, causing you to momentarily scream in agony. and in an instant, levi distracts you from the pain when his hands start roaming your body, starting with your shirt. when he gets closer, the severity of the situation finally sinks in, and you only hope you’re wrong about what will happen next. wildly moving in his hold does little when your limbs are bound, and your legs are lifted too high from the floor for you to even do anything, and despite still maintaining full control over your movements, levi lets out an annoyed grunt either way.

his right hand quickly descends down onto your neck, enveloping your airway with a firm squeeze, enough to get you to stop violently staggering about. levi is more concerned with the position this has now put him in, only a menial worry, really; unbuttoning your shirt with one hand proves to be rather difficult, so he’ll have to tear at the fabric. like it was an ordinary sunday morning, he is more worried with the tattered frays and cloth pieces your blouse will discard, than you, a literal captive, scrambling to get out from beneath him. he decides he will both unbutton and rip the shirt, using his thumb to sloppily shove the buttons through while also dragging the article further down your body.

“fuck, don’t. this is inhumane, even for an enemy soldier!” it hadn’t crossed his mind that you may have taken this the wrong way, his intentions that is. but you did give him an idea for another day, “well, you aren't quite a soldier— no, not even a civilian of paradis anymore, now are you?”

levi halts his movements, but doesn’t release you, instead, feigning a thoughtful pause before continuing, “but that doesn't matter, even if you miraculously find your way back to marley, they won't want you back, not after i'm done with you.” your heart drops, and your thrashing increases tenfold, causing his grip on your throat to loosen with every move, but levi is able to ignore it with his determination to get those insufferable buttons undone.

the sound of a door and hurried footsteps interrupt any frenetic and hysterical thought you’re having, even levi tilts his head in the direction of the clamoring, “hm, it seems they’ve arrived.”

casual chatter could be heard nearing the two of you, and when voices were revealed you were horrified. gathering at the open doorway was a group of four soldiers, or so you had presumed, as they had the same matching uniform as levi. there were three men, and one woman; all of which who are holding something. two with the same rope that had your arms and legs tied together, one with a singular iron rod, and the lady with a water basin and a washcloth resting halfway inside the bucket and halfway on the outside. and what terrified you even further was that they seemed unperturbed by the sight before them, it’s almost as if their smiles grew wider.

“sorry we’re a little late, captain!” the woman chirped, lowering the water basin in her hands to a more comfortable position to allow gravity to uphold its weight, rather than her arms, “it’s about damn time you all finally show up, restrain her.” levi was blunt and to the point, glossing over greetings entirely, and aiming his index finger in your direction.

there was a lot going on, and levi disappeared behind the three figures approaching you in the midst of it all. the short-haired woman must have placed the basin on the floor, because her hands were definitely free when she reached for your shirt, “it’s been so long since we’ve last seen you, you know.” how she had managed to keep such a cheery tone and face while also single-handedly witnessing your torment and anguish was beyond you, and you leaned away from her touch.

“yeah, captain said you forgot all about us.” it seemed that distancing yourself from the chipper lady had landed you into the trap of another, this time, a blond man with a blithe though hurt grin on his face, “we’ve got so much to tell you.” the tallest of the three added, carelessly placing a hand on the buckle of your belt.

entering your peripheral vision was the final soldier of what you presumed to be levi’s squad, he had been the one carrying the iron rod in his hands, now absent, as he made his way towards you, finding a spot next to the woman, “a lot happened while you were away.”

that’s right, you remember them. these soldiers were of the plethora of cadets that had enlisted in the military when you and levi had graduated. you had only encountered them a handful of times, but they were recurring guests in your life thanks to levi preparing for his promotion, the one you never had the chance to witness for yourself due to your leave. who knew they would be the same people to disgrace your pride and dignity by stripping you naked, even if they were much gentler than levi ever cared to be with you, there was no greater comparison than a pack of hungry wolves. and it was so draining to fight them, you tried and tried, but when the ropes had come out, you gave in.

and their names, they were: petra, eld, gunther, and oluo— which you had only picked up thanks to their small-talk with one another as they defiled you. shutting your eyes to avoid dwelling on the feeling of having your arms and legs strewn out, wrists and ankles bound by the rope that had been threaded through those worn out coils. all attention was focused on your shallow breathing, praying to disassociate hard enough to block out their jovial conversation. but you had picked up on something else, the burning coals. expectedly, the room was airless and sultry with a running fire and six people confined to such a small room. but this scent was different, like you could smell the heat, and that heat smelled like iron.

snapping your eyes open, you raise your head as much as your neck would allow it in your pitiful position, desperately scanning the room for answers. and you get them when you finally hear levi’s voice, “grab her arms and legs, i didn’t get this shit custom made for her to fuck it up.” readily, as if anticipating this specific command, petra and oluo had taken hold of your calves, while eld and gunther grabbed the inner side of your elbows. when levi leisurely drew near the side of the wooden table, the only thing you could see was the iron bar in his hands, the black metal now a light ash grey, emanating heat even with the distance levi was holding with you.

“wait, stop. get that fucking thing away from me!” the only control you had over your own body seemed to be your mind and mouth. even when you banged against the table, pulling away from the left side of the table where levi menacingly stood, recoiling as much as you could through the grip of the four soldiers and the ropes.

if it was forgiveness you wanted, you wouldn’t get it. that much levi would make sure of. if you wanted to run away? to be disobedient? then he’d reward your bad behavior with a deservingly bad punishment. carefully, levi lowered the scorching iron pole to align with the left side of your hips, though he wasn’t cautious for your sake, of course not, you deserved this and much more, but because he refused to let your little tantrum screw this up. you could feel the metal before it even touched your skin, burning away any body hair that may have been there to a crisp, and the sheer radiating from it had you screwing your eyes shut. you braced yourself, preparing to feel the searing iron, but it never came. levi contemplated whether or not he wanted to do it slowly, or to startle you after letting fifteen seconds pass, he fancied the latter.

it was so much more painful than you thought it was going to be. the sweltering hot iron rod blistered your sensitive skin, and you shrieked and cried in pain. it was scalding hot to the point it felt as if the metal was actually ice cold, and it pressed stiffly against your side, sinking into the fat of your hips. you had screamed until you couldn’t no more, until your voice cracked and your vocal cords bled, something the soldiers restricting you seemed to ignore. but the smell, the smell of your flesh being burned to the point it would leave a fresh, bloody mark. it was nauseating, and you gagged and heaved, but nothing to come of it. and despite how hellish it was, how it caused you unfathomable pain, caused you to convulse and spasm in your restraints, the pressure of the iron rod only lasted five seconds.

levi had counted, retrieving the metal pole and alleviating the pressure of its marking on your body after five maliciously counted seconds. you couldn’t tell if it hurt worse when the cold air nipped at the new wound than it did when it had been applied to your skin. tears fell from your eyes, and you don’t recall when you had started crying, but your face was wet with those salty droplets. shuffling resonated within the room, and the weight on your limbs was released. how tired you were, defeatedly laying your head until you could feel the rough surface of the wooden table. eyelids getting heavier by the second, you dared glance at the brand on your hip, the two letters ‘LA,’ bold and clear.

if you had the energy to, you would have flinched when a hand holding onto a lightly wetted rag came into contact with the new marking. the hand was tentative and mindful, applying little to no pressure on your hip, but just enough to cleanse the burn. you could have sworn you heard the sound of humming, but you knew you heard levi’s voice, “if you so much as think of betraying me again, i’ll do more than just mark you with my initials.”

#ackerifle #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot #yandere aot x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader

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that-spider-fan-over-there · 10 months ago

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BNHA 428: This chapter made me annoyed and yet it was still somewhat better than I expected?

Himichako. I like it, it's a good ship- not one I'm crazy about, but the vision is compelling. I mean, the loved girl on hard times who admires honesty but represses her feelings + hunger motifs, and the formerly wealthy and rejected girl who's honest to herself but masks her sadness from others + drinking motifs? Being so similar at their core from selfishness, bleeding love, admiration and imitation? Yeah, why not, sign me up, it looks fun.

(plus Ochako needed a subplot that would shy away from Izuku because oh boi her writing is messy-)

Then the ending annoucement happened and I immediately went "oh no" when I remembered that tidbit. But. Yesterday, I remembered this page from 424, which in hindsight makes sense:

Shoto moving forward and choosing to not dwell on his past anymore, because he wants to know the man he wants to become alongside his family of choice.

Spinner feeling so much grief for Tomura inside his room, his extra Quirks add up to it. Further gut points as it was all because of AFO, but the wrong person is getting the blame.

Ochako looking lost and dissatisfied, not really saying anything about Himiko's status; then her hidden injury which left a scar that'll never go away, nothing can change that.

And then, well, a sky with a chance to fight for a "bright future". Which is the most ambiguous you can get for anything, really, sequel or not.

(sidenote: is it me or the panel where she's touching her stab wound looks like a tangent line?)

Okay so, I went into the chapter, with Pikahlua's translations. It was A Chapter alright-

If it wasn't the antepenultimate chapter, the "filler" would've been welcomed. But I guess it means we should focus on the smaller details, I guess? Like that 1st year saying Izuku filled him with courage and Izuku immediately thinking of Spinner's pain? Yeah he hates himself and that people call him a hero, when he considers himself a murderer, and will never forgive himself for failing Tenko, therapy for him and everyone in Class 2-A please- yeah it was a fun detail. Also the throb of hiding your pain of "defeating" someone you wanted to save but in the end everything is miserable but everyone else is happy and you don't wanna be a bother. Fun.

Also I wasn't the one to point the out, but looking at the uniform (U.A. uniform blazer for boys + the tie with a dot for girls), the student who's a Izuku fan is probably trans/gnc, which I appreciate a lot :D (Damn Izuku attracts so many queer people I wonder if that's a sign- /hj)

Also, I guess Class A stating "[Bakugou], Midoriya and Todoroki were at the heart of it all" then focusing on Ochako is good foreshadowing on how her own battle wasn't fully recorded? It's like saying in the end her fight didn't matter, but the other ones went "well", so she's trying (and slowly failing) to keep her sadness at bay because, well, everyone's happy, so who cares? Another "throb".

I thought since the Todoroki family issues are out in the open, didn't they record the whole thing? Then I re-read it, they only saw the family stopping Touya from exploding. So they didn't see Shoto trying to talk to Touya, which means none of the LoV were humanized. Fuck's sake.

After that, I get focusing on the first years and civilians wanting to help and all, but it feels like a repeat of everything seconds before Jakku, so I assume it's a way for them to pretend things are normal? But not-quite-quoting Katsuki (<- which I will point out for my sake is very much alive and well and- oh boi LFtR will kill me) and Edgeshot here because it made me smile:

"Will you...go back to the way you were?" "I plan to attain something greater than what I was originally!"

So, yeah I suppose he'll be fine eventually. (Best J. really loving Edgeshot even as a worm, honestly, goals)

Again with Izuku remembering saying "[He'll] bring it all back" and apologizing for "not keeping his promise" and others telling him to not blame himself and they can reconstruct as many times as it takes. Again, gave me a little smile, but not for long-

Finally, Ochako pretending things are fine. Hello there, Sports Festival/Provisional License!Ochako I missed you- /hj (I miss the dorms era in general, actually.)

So... *sigh* Full disclosure: I wasn't looking forward to Himichako as we were getting 5/10 pages for the "conclusions" in the previous two, I thought Ochako would be off about Himiko being depressed about the League. But since she's MIA, red flags are now red herrings, and it's better than the dead outcome. If Ochako got another person dying in her arms that'd just break her character.

A blood transfusion takes hours, she couldn't been doing that for more than 20min, if it was gonna kill anyone it'd be Ochako. Either Himiko ran away or got arrested, and Ochako feels guilty because she doesn't know if she's dead or not. Not great, but until I see a corpse she ain't dead. Besides: Touya, Shoto, Edgeshot, Katsuki, Toshinori, Ochako herself, all physically hurt unlike her, and yet they live.

And then we have Izuku showing up. I'm upset he used OFA embers for this, but eh, it's Izuku, do I expect anything else?

Rolling with the assumption Himiko died (like our POV characters), Izuku would need to face his own failure in Ochako- Failed to save two people like she failed Himiko, but it'd be so. Empty. Ochako was true to herself, while Izuku gave nothing but "I want to save that crying kid" while fighting Tenko. The most they can do is bond with "failing" and "this isn't what we fought for". This is not really a moment where he can be a shoulder to cry on, it'd come across as hypocritical /neg.

The only way it could make sense it without being shallow on Mr. Control = Repress Your Heart's part (as he didn't open up to the two people who died in "his watch") is Ochako telling how Himiko loved yet seeing him repressing this part of his is idiotic? She likes people who are true to themselves, which Izuku hasn't been for ages, leading to him realizing something. I thought it'd be through a DvsK3 but. I'll take it, two chapters left, I just want his thoughts (and for them to talk but that can happen in the last one).

They only recorded Shoto stopping Touya from being a suicidal bomb, Ochako floating a bunch of Twice!Himiko clones and Izuku entering a coccon, popping out armless, getting them back, punching Tenko to death. The "I want to save [them]" wasn't registered, it makes sense they're (well, Izuku and Ochako mostly) weirded out about this, dissatisfied like most readers are (sidenote: why when it comes to the trio either Ochako or Shoto get sidelined? So much could tie their stories together and yet-)

It's still a tough pill. I'm not a villain stan, just wondering if those fights were for nothing- the humanity of Tenko and Himiko? Can't be proved for anyone else, since they weren't recorded.

And I don't know if anyone saw the same thing, but those "city lights" look like the bubbles from Ochako's awakening, maybe we'll get a Blackwhip or Entrance Exam callback? Maybe it's what the tagline meant by "hidden feelings", since she unlocked it to reach Himiko and doesn't think anyone would understand why. I hope it's just a nice visual though.

If Himiko is truly dead though... You know, I headcannoned the characters were telling the story through confessionals/recordings to register it to the world so they'd learn from that, but I guess the interviews Aizawa was talking about seemed more likely, which. Well it's something, but I thought it'd be everyone instead of just Class A. Idk. The idea the LoV didn't change anything, or that they did change things but don't get to see it, is bitter.

So uh. Yeah, those are my thoughts. I'm not sure how to feel about it, on one hand I want Izuku to finally open up but on the other, it feels like it'll be at Himiko and Ochako's expense by involving him in something that's theirs now. And there's a chance we'll get the "nothing is fine" from Ochako- god I'm fearing the discourse next week already :DDDD

... Man, and this is a bad timing to be in the fandom, considering the LFtR episode airs this Saturday (which will be yesterday by the time this post goes up and I'll be crying about that instead-), so uh. Yeah, this fandom will be emotionally devastated for two reasons XD

Okay, so I'll try ending this on a more optimistic note: I think Himiko is alive, and Ochako just doesn't know it, which is why we're getting 0 confirmation and a breakdown. Izuku's confrontation with her can make or break this plot, but as long as 1) we acknowledge the emotional, different stakes between the Himichako fight and Tenko vs. Izuku one and 2) it doesn't end in a confession (and let's be real, it won't), then we're probably good (sadly, if you disregard the LoV status). I still think it's an ass pull for the camera battery to go out though.

But no matter how this goes: C'mon, two chapters left now, this one was wasted on the first years, smh, let this sequel hopium be a reality I wanna know who's the 425 guy, not the poor first year who's gonna replace Shindo Yo in fanfics- /hj

#Boku no Hero Academia #spider.posts #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #BNHA 428 #Uraraka Ochako #Toga Himiko #Himichako #Midoriya Izuku #if she's dead i'm gonna say: should've been Gran Torino #this is somewhat poorly edited but screw it we bail-#anyways why are we making it about ships this week? Guys Izu is a repressed boi and Katsu is probably just giving him space calm down #Izu didn't choose to be the bus driver today yet he's tied by a seatbelt by the fandom when he wanted to be a passenger today poor dude lol #I don't think it's gonna end in a confession we're just too paranoid about the ship wars c'mon it'd be OOC for Izuku to do that to her #I will be upset if we don't get a CYH payoff after Ochako's breakdown tho I've been waiting for Izuku to blow up #anyways into the queue it goes because after LFtR airs I won't be available until the next week I'll be devastated XD #I'm mostly upset at this chapter for being the embodiment of the criticism I have about Ochako:#i won't call her a LI but her plot inevitably goes back to Izuku when her whole shtick was to find out the hero she wants /herself/ to be #every big moment Ochako has is somehow /directly/ tied to Izuku even the HMCK plot and as much as I like their friendship #it doesn't feel great when even the first time she and Himiko met had something to do with him. At least it's how I see it Ig

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