#or maybe they had a safeguard and i just slipped through it?

[turnedpalefromlackofsun]

TELL US THE STORY

Ok ok

So

I was saying the worst head empty moment I've had*

*That I can remember

Was this one time during an exam when I wrote my dad's name on my exam because I forgot mine. I didn't even realize, I was like hmmmm name. What names do I know? Automatically wrote my dad's name.

So a couple weeks go by and I still didn't realize that was a mess up because I was just going over the answers in my head like yeah I got that one. Got that one. Ooooof I only did that one partially correct. So if the professor gives half credit for half correct work and then a baseline 5% for an attempt --

All that good stuff right

Exams get graded and I get a 0. I was like WHAT? NO!! I can argue my points back right now! Tf they think I did? Cheat? I can resolve the the paper right now! I'm gonna fight!

And the professor goes "oh is this yours?" That's when I noticed that wasn't even my name and I was like "oh yeah thats mine that's my dad's name"

And this guy goes. This guy deadass asks me "how do I know your dad didn't take your exam"

BROTHER!!!! YOU WERE THERE!!! DID YOU SEE A 50 YEAR OLD MAN???

And I was ready for some knowledge test or retaking the test or getting grilled or whatever. This mf who is the professor who was there!!! He asked me HOW DOES HE KNOW MY DAD DIDNT TAKE THE EXAM????

Its so over. So I was like, bro I can call my dad right now. And also my dad doesn't even know my field of study. But whatever I'll call him. And so I called my dad on video call and the professor goes "yeah I don't recall seeing him there but he could've been sitting in the back" IS THIS GUY FR? bro is CRAZY!!

so I was like damn this guy is a brick. OK then, what if I brought back eye witnesses? People who were sitting next to me? And do you know what he said to that

He said I could've bribed other students to pretend I was there.

And I was like ooooooh shit this guy is an absolute brick and if he's not convinced, he's gonna report me for academic dishonesty.

No ok. See. For some reason at this point, both me and the professor forgot that he had 6 TAs there acting as proctors for all sections of the rook. I didn't notice them so I forgot they existed.

I deadass have no idea why the professor didn't know this. Maybe he was testing me? But bruh! I was taking the test! Why should I notice anything?

So I'm in my TA section and I'm like brooooo the professor is gonna beat my ass I'm gonna fail and then die. And the TA was like if it's academic dishonesty just confess. And I was like noooooo the professor doesn't even believe I was there. I couldn't say the full reason because I think it's hard to believe that a person can be this

Head full of bubbles

And she was like oh is that it? I saw you.

And then I'm sure I said something stupid in response to learning this and then they started checking student IDs for future exams and everything got resolved.

And I started writing my name as the last thing on my exams so I can use my entire brainpower to remember.

The end

[petrapalerno]

Submitting to the Alien Barbarian #11

Alien x fem reader, a dom/sub erotic short.

TW/CW: rough consensual sex, primal play, knotting, breeding, aliens, dominance/submission, blood play, spanking, pregnancy, overstimulation, anal play, gagging, violence and murder.

MASTER POST

PREVIOUS

There’s a jungle that spreads out before you, so different from the dusty red steppes you’ve seen on the rest of this planet. Like a mirage or an oasis, it is teeming with life. 

Alien animals swing from the heavy vines that drape over the full golden foliage. The trunks of the trees twist in ways that seem too delicate to support their massive canopies. There must be some magic behind their design for they seem sturdy. 

Lost in the enchantment of this new world, you barely register the feeling of Graysi stumbling over his own feet. 

It feels like time slows down as you’re forcefully thrust forward, unaffected by whatever is holding the big cat’s movement at bay The inertia speeds up your inevitable face plant into the powdery dirt. 

You shut your eyes tight, waiting for impact. 

There’s a tugging at your belly, and a twisting motion that has your body spinning. You feel Drohako’s warm chest at your back, his arms are circling your stomach protectively, and although the collision with the ground is abrupt, your alien mate absorbs most of the impact. 

It takes a moment before you can breathe properly; the wind having been knocked out of your chest. 

Once you regain some of your composure, you realize that Drohako’s arms are limp around you. You twist around, cupping the side of his cheek. 

As you pull his face towards yours, blood wells from a forehead cut at the edge of his hairline. The rock underneath his head is small, but jagged. 

Drohako is knocked out cold. 

You panic, cursing this stupid planet for not having helmets, and put your palm against the cut. Alien blood has to clot and slow with pressure like humans, right? 

As the fear of something more sinister than a temporary blackout gnaws at you, you rack your brain, attempting to piece together what transpired. 

You scan the treeline, not seeing a single trace of Graysi... but when you hear him snarl directly above you, you lift your eyes higher, realizing that the giant cat is caught in some primitive looking snare. 

Despite its best efforts, it can’t lift its heavy body high enough to bite through the rope that’s suspending its four paws above it. 

“Did you think you’d get away from the Volkroth human? That they’re wouldn’t be safeguards against this kind of thing?” A deep voice booms from the thicket of golden leaves. 

His boot crunches heavily on the underbrush as he steps into the light. 

A Volkroth, smaller than Drohako but none the less intimidating, comes closer to you. The right side of his face is marred with a heinous and twisting scar. 

The ruined flesh runs through one milky eye and ends at the tail of the scar, with a menacing grin.

“All this trouble for a little thing like you? Seems such a waste,” He keeps advancing toward you, and you shake your unconscious protector. 

Please wake up, please Drohako...

“We’re mates, he told me. I swear he’s just trying to keep me safe!” You plead with the alien, unsure of what he plans to do with you. 

His steps falter when he hears you say the word, mate.

“Mate? Not possible—you lie!” He spits, finally close enough to grab your wrist.

As he rips you from Drohako’s still unmoving body, he’s full of rage. Somehow, your plea to honor the matehood has had the opposite effect you intended. 

“You’re hurting me... Drohako won’t stand for this!” You yelp, attempting to wrench your wrist from his grip.

“He won’t care much about anything anymore,” the brute laughs as he throws you over his shoulder. “In fact, maybe I’ll claim you as my own in the spawning pits—-I’ve never had something so fragile as a human before.” 

The volkroth keeps running his mouth on what he’d like to do to you as you dissociate. Your mind slips back to when Drohako first held you like this. How he slung you over his shoulder at your initial meeting. The fear then only heightened your excitement.

Now, as you’re dragged from your lifeless mate, it only fills you with dread. 

“We can’t just leave him here!” You yelp, kicking your feet against him. 

“Don’t worry, the jirion hounds will take care of him,”

No, that’s not possible. 

You run your hands over his chest, fingers searching with unhinged desperation. 

“Your ‘mate’s’ body isn’t even yet cold human, and hear you are ready to be rutted again,” The volkroth laughs with his entire chest, so convinced of the fact that you’d easily give up your mate. 

His laugh is cut short as you finally grab one of the many blades that the volkroth like to keep strapped to their bodies. With every bit of your strength, you forcefully drive the sharp point of the blade into the vulnerable flesh of his neck. 

He gurgles as you twist the dagger, fiery blood running down your hand, the liquid sputtering from between his dark purple lips. When he falls to his knees, you regain your footing, kicking off of him as he face plants into the ground. The bastard clutches for his neck, his body slowly draining of its purple color, mewling around on the ground like the worm he is. 

You can’t stop yourself as you spit on his back. His movements slow as his skin turns gray.

Good.

Only when you hear Drohako cough his way back to the realm of the living does your rage subside. 

You rush to his side as he struggles to sit up. 

“What happened?” He croaks, his voice so hoarse it’s almost a whisper. When he touches your hand, his brows draw together. He pulls his fingers back from yours, they’re slick with blood.

The panic spreads over his face as he wipes his your cheek frantically with his hands. “Are you hurt?” 

“No, it’s okay now. Do you think you can stand?” You ask him as he continues to clean your skin.

“The blood,” his eyes are wild, “where did the blood come from?” 

“Don’t worry, it’s not mine. The blood is yours and the sad excuse for a volkroth over there.” 

He follows your outstretched thumb to the dead alien behind us. 

“Did he hurt you?” He’s not any calmer when he unsteadily clambers to his feet. 

You rush to his side, wrapping an arm around his hips, as if he would show weakness by leaning against you. 

He doesn’t, of course, but instead hurries to the dead volkroth, now laying facedown in a pool of his own quickly coagulating blood and stomps on his skull with brutal force.

The sickening sound of bones cracking echoes through the air as they collide with the blood-soaked mud. 

Despite having just slit the dead alien’s throat, you quickly avert your gaze from the macabre sight. 

Only when Drohako wraps you up in his arms, tucking your chin against his chest, do you refocus your attention. 

“Did he hurt you, mate?” He asks softly.

“No, quite the opposite,” you whisper. “He was too weak to continue his bloodline. It dies with him.”

Pride sparks behind Drohako’s eyes and he cups your blood-soaked face in his hands, he crashes his mouth against your own with a hungry, desperate, kiss.

“You are perfect,” he mutters against your ear as he breaks away.

Drohako groans as you squeeze the coil of his members through his loincloth. They pulse, hardening at your touch. You both almost just died, but there’s something about victory that makes you slick with want. Maybe you’re becoming a true volkroth mate after all.

“I will have you stuffed full of my cocks before long, but for now, we ride.”

He swiftly grabs a curved blade and hurls it towards a nearby tree trunk, the sound of metal meeting wood echoing through the air. Graysi is taken by surprise as the blade severs the fibers of the snare rope, causing him to crash heavily onto the ground with a loud thump.

The cat coughs, shaking his head a few times before stalking over to the ruined body of your attacker. Gripping his torso in his giant maw, he flings him off the path and into the thick underbrush of the forest.

With a satisfied snort, he looks back at us as if we’re the ones lollygagging.

“To the hunting cave.”

NEXT

[hyperactively-me]

now NOWWW hear me out, from king!ghost's POV, i wanna know what he thinks of her after the wedding and after he leaves her alone without consummating the marriage. maybe he's just absolutely yearning to fuck her but he's respectful of her. he just really really REALLYYYY wants HER to be willing to give in to him, and to realize that she's not the one with the leverage in this relationship they have. like, he wants to be like "oh yeah, now you're giving in to me," if you know what i mean? idk if i explained that correctly LOL

i think i get where you're trying to go with this one! hopefully i wrote what you were expecting!

He shuts the door behind you gently, standing out in the chilly hallway. His fingers linger on the door handle, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. The sigh he heard through the crevice under the door felt like a heavy weight pressing on his chest, a reminder of the fragile situation you were both in. He takes a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do next. 

Stepping away from the door, Ghost wrestles with the current dilemma in his mind. No one can discover the unconsummated marriage, at least not for the time being. He's determined to ensure this remains hidden, resolute in safeguarding this secret. He understands that the consummation will come in due time, just not now, not when you’re not willing. He can be a patient man when he wants to be. And for you, he would wait. 

Memories of your smiles and laughter during the reception flood back to him. That’s who he wants to see all the time. He wants you to show that side of yourself to him, to be more vulnerable with him, but he knew you were afraid. But the circumstances had kept you away from him, leaving wounds in you. 

He quickly makes his way down the hall and to his own personal chambers, ensuring that no one catches him alone and without you. 

Slipping into bed, he looks at his ring finger. Now he really was stuck with you forever, and you with him. And one of these days, you’ll realize what you truly want.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do - Part 9

Masterpost of ao3 link and all parts. wc: 2920

Jason hated Danny, a little. The other had really (accidentally) downplayed the effect the ectoshot would have. Flu like symptoms his ass, Jason felt like his insides were trying to crawl their way to the outside. Danny had apologized profusely and frequently, and Jason had forgiven him. Still, he hated Danny a little for doing this to him. Danny earned a lot of points back, though, by acting as Jason’s personal ice pack through the worst of the fever. Jason spent a lot of hours with his head or chest pressed against Danny’s cold back as he lay, miserable, on the couch with Danny sat on the floor in front of it. It was even nicer when Danny would absently run cold fingers through Jason’s hair and scratch lightly at his scalp. Jason tried not to think about how good that felt. How easy it was to let Danny touch him. He was determined to just blame the fever and ignore how his very bones seemed to hum in pleasure at the contact. Or maybe it was Danny humming. Purring? Fuck this fever, seriously.

So Jason sat close to Danny and Danny spent most of the time doing homework on a laptop that looked one step from death. “Summer classes,” he explained when Jason asked. “I’m trying to get all my gen eds done so that I can double major. Maybe even triple? I don’t know if I want to have spend the time on the language classes a Math major needs.” Jason hummed in response, trying to tuck the information away in his sick ailed brain. He couldn’t decided if he hoped Danny and Tim never met (con, they were both too damn smart), or if he desperately wanted them to meet (pro, Tim would replace all of Danny’s failing tech in a pique of disgust). Maybe the scholarship already came with a new laptop? That sounded like it would be a Tim thing to do, but Jason wasn’t sure how involved Tim was in the scholarships. “Math sucks,” he settled on. | “Sure it does, book boy. I bet you were an English major.” Danny had found Jason’s pile of books early on the second day  and made fun of him. But Danny had also found both ‘Pride and Prejudice’ movies to download and had put them on for Jason to watch. They had spend all day trying to make it through the Colin Firth one as Danny kept pausing it whenever Jason dozed off due to the fever. “Nah. Never even finished high school. Too busy being dead,” Jason mumbled and tried to press closer to the cold. Danny must have done something because the chill increased. Jason let out a content sigh. He was almost asleep when Danny spoke. “You’re not just dead any more. You can still have a life.” “Don’t know if I deserve one.” “Of course you do,” Danny said. Danny didn’t know what Jason had done, the Pit groaned in response. Jason let himself slip asleep rather than deal with either of them.

-

The next time Jason drifted towards consciousness, there was a hand on his forehead. It wasn’t right though. It was familiar, but it wasn’t right. “Too warm.” “You sure are Jaybird. You’re burning up.” Jason jolted up and almost fell right back over as the world swam around him. When it solidified, it settled into a very different pair of worried blue eyes than he was expecting. “Big bird?” But if Dick was here, where was Danny? There was no sign of the other now; no laptop or textbooks or scribbled equations. Too many takeout boxes stacked too messily were the only clue, but Jason figured that could be excused by his sick state. Jason knew that Danny hadn’t been with him the whole time he’d been sick. The other clearly came and went at least a few times to pick up food, his school work, and other supplies. What Jason didn’t know if the timing was just lucky or if Danny had managed to disappear before Dick had made it past all the safeguards. He hoped Danny wasn’t stuck hiding in a closet or something. “What?” Jason asked. Dick had been saying something to him, but Jason hasn’t caught a word of it. He rubbed at his eyes to try and focus. “Did you get dosed?” “Does? No. Just the stupid flu or something,” Jason lied. “Why are you here?” “Because you didn’t show up for patrol for a few days in a row, little bird,” Dick said softly. He brushed Jason’s sweat soaked hair off his forehead. Jason swayed into the touch. Not even two days of finally being touched apparently was all it took to lose his self control. At least Dick wasn’t shying away from him right then. Not like he normally did. Right, his brother had said something. “That made you break into my place? You know that was fucking stupid. What if I’d been…” Jason trailed off and motioned to his eyes. What if he’d been in a Pit rage. “You don’t drop off from everything like this when you are. We were worried,” Dick said. He sounded worried, but Jason didn’t feel like he could figure out if it was real right then, not with his head so full of cotton. Maybe it was. This was Dick, he seemed to care. Of course, then Dick had to go and add, “You should have checked in.” Jason snorted at that. “Not for patrol reasons,” Dick said, rolling his eyes. “So that we didn’t worry, little bird. And so that I could have brought some soup from Alfred.” “Mmm… yeah, would have been worth it for the soup,” Jason decided after a moment. “Most things are worth Alfred’s soup,” Dick agreed with a chuckle. “But no, you had to be stubborn and not let us know you were sick so there’s no soup for you.” “Shut up,” Jason grumbled with no real heat. He tried to let himself fall back onto the couch but was stopped by Dick pulling him forward. “Nu-uh. We’re going to get you up and into the shower. You’ll feel better in clean clothes and I can change the blankets on the couch and get these through the wash.” “No.” “Yes,” Dick said in a sing-song voice that made Jason want to punch him. Instead he let Dick help him off the couch. Now that it had been mentioned, a shower really did sound good. He was left propped up against the door frame of the bathroom while Dick got the shower started. The sound of the water was almost soothing, and Jason eyes drifted closed. Normally the Pit would be snarling at him to stay alert— to stay focused and on guard— even (especially) in the presence of his family, but it seemed as drained by the ectoshot as he was and stayed quiet. “Jay?” “Hum?” “Do I need to get you to a hospital?” Jason pried his eyes open to glare at his brother. When had Dick gotten so close? He hovered just in front of Jason like if he wanted to reach out and pull Jason close. Shit, Dick really was worried, wasn’t he? “It’s just the stupid flu or something.” “I don’t know, you’re really out of it, Jay. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you with your guard like this.” “’S fine,” Jason said and let his eyes close again. “You’re here. I’m safe.” “Okay little bird,” Dick said softly and started to help Jason out of his sweat soaked shirt. “Let me take care of you.”

-

Dick helped peel off Jason’s shirt and tossed it on the floor. This wasn’t his first time undressing and shoving one of his family members into the shower. Being a vigilante left no room for modesty between the mortal wounds, medical procedures, and decontamination processes. It was easy to be clinical about it at this point. Besides, his mind was too busy reeling over Jason’s words. Jason felt safe with him. Jason, who even when he was sitting right next to them, still held them at arm’s length. Who Dick wasn’t sure would even show up at the few family meals he did attended if it weren’t for Alfred’s cooking. Who struggled to share any details about a case. Who didn’t ask for help when he was this sick… … felt safe with him. Dick had to bite his lip to keep the tears from welling up. He hadn’t thought Jason would ever trust him again, not really. He hadn’t been sure if he’d ever really have his brother back. He didn’t even need— want— Jason back in a creepy ‘just like he was before’ sort of way. Dick knew that was impossible. Jason dying had changed them all. Him coming back had changed them again. Jason had talked to Dick about it once, just a little. They had both been drunk— Jason more than Dick— and Jason had talked. He had talked like the words were spilling out of him, bleeding out of him; a soft steady flow of horror. There in the dim light of Dick’s apartment Jason had talked, just a little, about what it was like to live with the Pit rage in him. How it was like a rabid dog on a leash that was barking, barking barking. Dick didn’t know how someone even thought over that noise, but he was so damn proud of Jason for managing. He was so damn proud of Jason for clawing his way back to life— out of his grave and out of his madness and out of his rage. He didn’t want the old Jason back. He just wanted a chance to get to be a brother to this Jason. He was so damn proud of the man he’d become. His eyes ran over the horrible autopsy scars that crossed Jason’s chest. The stark reminder of exactly why Dick hadn’t been sure they’d ever really have Jason back. Jason, when he had to change around them, always did it as quickly as possible. But right then the scars were on full display. Because Jason was trusting Dick to see them. Dick tried hard not to think too much about it. Jason needed his help right then. He could deal with the mental fallout later. With some wrangling, Dick got Jason into the shower. After getting fresh clothing, he took a seat on the closed toilet, flicking through his phone from somewhere to order food from. He wanted to be close by in case Jason lost his balance in the shower. “Is Ben’s good for pizza?” “What?” At least Jason was sounding a little more clear headed. “Ben’s. I’m ordering food.” “Yeah. Get a supreme. The chicken bbq one is good too.” “Got it.” Dick selected the pizzas, added maybe too much garlic bread to the order, and submitted it. Then he pulled up the family chat. The one that Jason still refused to be part of. Dick: So Jason’s running a pretty bad fever. He thinks it’s the flu. Oracle: He’s actually staying home and not patrolling when he’s sick? Tim: Shit. It’s that bad? Dick: He’s pretty out of it. Shower seems to be helping and I’m ordering food. I’m going to stay the night here unless you need me on patrol. Bruce: We’ll rearrange patrols. Keep an eye on him. Dick: Will do. He wasn’t going to let Jason down again.

-

When Jason woke on day four, he felt good. He wasn’t perfect, he knew that. Danny had said it would take at least a few infusions— maybe several if his core took to it badly. He might never be without lingering effects. But even with just the one shot of ectoplasm Jason felt better than he had in years. Jason let himself linger in bed for a bit, slowly stretching out his sore muscles, before sounds from his kitchen made him stir. The press of otherness was back, so Jason assume that Danny was back. His arrival still made Jason shudder with a chill of cold. It wasn’t as overwhelming as it used to be, but there was never any doubt when Danny was around. Yesterday Dick had hardly left his He’d convinced Dick that he would be fine for the day and that he should go to work. Dick had still insisted on waking Jason up in the morning before he headed out, but Jason had rolled over and went back to sleep. And now Danny was back. The sound of something clattering, followed by cursing, had Jason finally rolling out of bed and heading to the kitchen. He half debated at least pulling on a shirt over his sleep pants, but the cursing had turned rather fevered. Besides, he didn’t think that Danny would be bothered by his scarring. He had to stop in the doorway to the kitchen and just stare. Smoke hung in the air. Danny was right in the middle of it— holding an ice covered frying pan out at arms length. Jason was pretty sure the tips of Danny’s bangs were singed. Jason was smirking. He knew he was. He really couldn’t help it. “I can see why you always bought food these last few days.” Danny whirled to face him, blue eyes wide. He made a cut off little noise and flushed bright red. Chuckling, Jason stepped into to the space— the kitchen was hardly big enough for two people— and reached around Danny to turn the burner off. Danny’s arm was cold as he brushed against it. When Jason pulled back and Danny was still just staring at him and had grown redder. “You good there, fish?” “Um, what? Oh!” Danny finally blinked. The blush went right to the tips of his ears. “Right, yeah? But, um, I don’t think that the eggs are okay.” “Don’t know if my frying pan is either,” Jason said, eying the frozen hunk of metal. “Sorry,” Danny said with a wince and dumped it in the sink. He waved his hand and let the ice melt. Scorched eggs washed down the sink. “How did you burn them so badly?" Jason asked. He was actually a little impressed. “I never learned to cook, okay? We didn’t really cook at my house so I’m having to pick up all of it now,” Danny said with a little shrug. “It’s, ah, not going so well.” “Neither of your parents chefs?” “Too much ambient ectoplasm,” Danny said as he tried to scrub at the charred pan. Jason didn’t think it would do any good. “When the casserole tries to eat you back one too many times you sort of give up on eating at home.” “What.” “Reanimated food. They’re always bastards. I have scars from the hot dogs still,” Danny said and also gave up on the pan and turned around to lean against the counter. “…I have so many questions and I don’t know if I want answers.” Danny shrugged again. He picked at the ends of the hoodie he was wearing, unraveling the ragged edge further. “You probably don’t. So, um, I was in the right to leave the other night, right?” “Yeah. It was my brother checking up on me. I don’t think I’m ready to explain all of this,” Jason said, giving a little wave of his hand to indicated everything as he leaned against the counter next to Danny. Danny glanced at him, his eyes flickering over the chest scars and back up. “They do know you died, right?” “Sorta hard to miss,” Jason said, crossing his arms. “But they think the Pits brought me back. We all did. Not that…” “It’s different, knowing you’re still dead,” Danny filled in where Jason trailed off. “Yeah. I’ll tell them later, maybe, but I want things to settle more. Shit, wait, am I going to get powers like you have? Then I’ll have to, I guess. It would hard to hide magical ice.” “Oh, you probably wont get ice. There are lots of difference cores. There’s all the elemental ones, fire and electricity and things, but also like, technology and shadow and a the Ancients can have really unique ones like time and hope. We won’t know what yours is until we get rid of the corrupted goop and you have enough ectoplasm.” “Huh,” Jason said with a frown. “So more ectoshots?” “More ectoshots. But we’ll give you a few weeks in between so you can recover. I’ve got to get myself moved to Gotham anyways, and I don’t really think you should take any of it if I’m not around, just in case your powers do develop.” “Yeah, alright,” Jason said, brain already working on how to hide all of this from the Bats. He was just starting to get things back to better with them. He didn’t want to throw ‘hey, turns out I’m still a little dead’ into the mix. He didn’t want to see the looks on their faces at that news. He didn’t want to break anyone’s heart again. He didn’t want to lose them again. Jason cleared his throat. “Well, guess I better give you my number then. Not that I don’t know when you’re around, but would be shit of you to have to come all this way just to check on me. How do you keep  getting back and forth, anyways?” “Oh, sometimes I use a portal but mostly I just fly.” “You what?”

-----

AN: So this chapter was originally a single scene, but it decided it really needed more time. Then Dick decided to show up. I’ve gone back and forth about showing a POV other than Jason or Danny, but Jason is such an unreliable narrator about himself and Danny doesn’t know how Jason used to be, and I wanted to be able to show that. So Dick will show up a few times! He’s mostly here to have feelings.

And yes, Danny was totally bluescrened by shirtless Jason there at the end! I debated the POV for that, but thought it was funner that Jason has no clue why Danny is blushing like a tomato.

This is rough in places, I know, but my focus has been shot by pain. Besides, cleaning it up is what rewrites are for! Speaking of, rewrite of chapter 3 will be up on ao3 Thursday! Thank you all always for your wonderful response to this and stay delightful, darlings!

Tag Cult, as it has lovinly(?) been called: @fisticuffsatapplebees | @thegatorsgoose | @wolfeyedwitch | @lazy-bouqet | @confusedandghostly | @glomsk | @kailithiel | @bahfev | @d4ydr34min9 | @claudiashq | @someonebored0100 | @pastalavistamf | @samgirl98 | @angelheartgamer | @lehana37 | @spiteismymiddlename | @rosecinnamonbun | @demon-cat-goes-woof | @violet-catsarelife | @trickerdi | @avelnfear | @undead-essence | @basilf1res | @amillionandonefandoms | @stealingyourbones | @sarcastic-yami | @bun-fish | @aconitewolfsbane | @dontfightmecauseillcry | @omgnectarina | @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff | @the-blind-one-speaks | @mimilikey | @wolfe-marvin | @learning-to-fly-on-my-own | @multplelifes | @yurijay | @trickerdi | @bae-graphomaniac | @jeffeniney | @fan4rt1st | @weirdestarrow | @wolfjackle | @allulily | @onyxlightdragon | @zotinha456 | @wwwwyamd | @river9noble | @starscreamlover | @michealawithana | @robinmedea | @spideypoolalways | @jesus-camp-the-sequel | @persephoneblackrose | @clorophorm-frog | @f4nd0m-fun | @mady-is-ace-trash | @ascetic-orange | @renwilson | @ace-aro-as-shit | @rangerhorsetug | @thatrandomsarahchick | @holygoldfish | @mlpizza | @chrysanthemum9484 | @justwannaseesomebrozawa | @newgraywolf | @crazylittlemunchkin | @fire-glass​ | @eonic | @autumnrosnor | @the-nerdy-fangirl | @faithblob-says-things | @aisec-phantom | @a-star-with-a-human-name | @winged-scaly-attic-dweller​ | @mistermetalmaker | @apersond | @mustachebatschaos | @goadinggods | @joaniejustwokeup | @that-dumbass-on-a-horse | @plainly-colorful​ | @blackcatsandhaunteddolls | @booklover223 | @alice-hazelwood | @answrs | @enbydemirainbowbigfoot | @felicityroth | @wanderingrutabaga | @seraphinedemort | @write-it-right-2 | @decisively-o-indecisive | @my-mom-calls-me-rat | @01101010-01100001-01111001 | @arc-777 | @crystalice067 | @phoenixdemonqueen | @icedbluesoul  | @itsparadoxlacuna | @wisp-wishes | @spikedlynx | @redhoneysugarorange | @blu-lilac | @russetfur1128 | @mutable-manifestation | @stargirl1331 | @salembloodsong | @chaoticchange | @living-on-borrowed-time | @orshie | @britcision | @littlefeather345 | @sunflowershine03 | @aro-acedumbass | @thefanficcup | @shibanoh | @blackcatsandhaunteddolls | @racoonmcg |@ashoutinthedarkness | @icefirecrystal | @thatonejumbledmess | @cy-ella | @dolfay | @kobol1​ | @skjiasett | @metal-sporks | @tired-yet-awaken | @currant-owo | @firegirl108 | @stupidlovepurplepeace | @drowningroane | @imagineshazamlokimight | @immakittybear | @justalittletotheleftofnormal | @akikoyuii | @chrysanthemum9484 | @kawaiikenna | @imaginationmademanifest | @wisebouquettree | @a-salty-sal  | @mentalcarebear | @mj-arts-n-stuff​ | @thescarletcryptid | @xysidhe​ | @cottonscrambles​ | @manapeer​ | @yjfk​ | @ryisc​ | @666deaddash999​ | @nutcase8691​ | @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit​ | @yumeyoruppr | @latheevening226 | @dr-syko-pharm-4​ | @i-have-opinion​ |

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Civilian Asset 1.

Polyamorous/femme/female reader x multiple

Summary: Your job was supposed to be easy. Just take a flash drive through customs. Now there's blood under your nails and a threat to your life.

Master List / Next chapter Warnings: Violence, peril, panic attack/anxiety

Inaccurate military because COD MW is inaccurate (it's a fantasy, friends, and we're treating it like one).

A/N: Don't ask. I don't know what I'm doing here either. Hello, new fandom?

1.

There’s glitter stuck to the blood on your hands.

It all twinkles and shines in the sickly yellow glow of the alley’s one unbroken street light, and you wonder how long it will take the blood to dry, to turn flaky and dark in the crevices of your palm. It’s already going tacky. As the bass inside the club jars your heartbeat out of rhythm, you settle back into the skin under the blood, remembering you have your own, and you don’t want it to join the puddle seeping into the cracks of broken concrete at your knees. You wonder how much time you’ve lost.

Run, he said.

It isn’t the kind of order you sit and think over. It’s a do-or-die command, and you’re struggling to do much of anything as pins and needles creep through your legs. How long have you knelt there? How many songs have rolled through the speakers while you drifted? Probably too many.

Run.

He admitted he might’ve been followed. You remember that. And you remember the intel whispered in your ear as you pushed down on the bullet wound in his abdomen, fighting to recall every first aid lesson you learned in high school and college. Pressure – actively bleeding wounds needed pressure, so you’d put your weight on your hands as the party music pulsed through the cracked-open door you thought you’d slip back through after the usual handoff. But instead of taking a thumb drive or notebook and getting a little tipsy before calling it a night, you tried pushing his soul back into his body as the blood welled up between your fingers.

You tried. It wasn’t enough.

The body already smells. You didn’t know corpses stank so quickly after death. Now you do. It was a gut wound. Maybe it’s his last meal you smell, turned half to shit in his bowels.

Fuck.

You need to run. You need to get out of the alley. You need to stand up and wipe the blood off your hands so you can slink onto the Tube without getting the cops called on you.

With a clear series of actions in mind, everything switches to autopilot, and you move without really meaning to. His jeans work as a towel for the worst of gore, and a discarded wad of bar napkins near the door are clean enough to sponge away the red from between your fingers. Rust colored stains linger around your fingernails, but your dress has pockets – something you’d thought absurdly wonderful a few hours ago – and hopefully no one will be looking that closely, anyway.

Your numbed legs wobble as you approach the main street, making you look a little drunk without conscious effort, and you slip into the current of university students and tourists heading to the Underground. You board a train back towards your hostel, and pat your pocket as you sit, subconsciously checking for the intel. Of course, it’s empty, and a spike of panic flairs in the split second it takes you to remember there is no physical evidence this time. Your contact broke the rules and poured dangerous secrets into your naked ears. The mole was compromised. The dead drop became a little more literal and a lot more dangerous, and the man barely had enough time to pass his info on by word of mouth to the next link in the chain. That link, the handler, scurried away with a hole in his gut and just enough time to meet you, the courier, passing along word of the threat like a burning coal to scorch you.

You aren’t supposed to know anything, but you can’t keep your eyes closed and your hands clean, because you’re the only one who knows anything at this point.  Every safeguard between you and immediate danger is dead.

It isn’t supposed to work this way. You’re just a courier, a very literal civilian who can add a USB drive to her collection without suspicion on your way through customs. A digital nomad with lots of stamps in her passport and dozens of good reasons to be in any convenient country. Nobody important, but a very useful mule.

Keeping your eyes off the data you carry is supposed to keep you safe.

In theory.

In practice if keeps the people you deliver to secure. You don’t get names. You get meeting times or dead drop coordinates. But tonight…

Tonight it’s all gone to shit.

And somewhere out there, someone wants you dead.

You don’t even flinch when the man across from you heaves into the middle of the carriage. Everyone else cringes and shouts, but the specs of vomit on the tips of your ankle boots aren’t the worst thing to touch them in the past hour.

Those filthy shoes march with you from the train, up the stairs to the surface, down the lane to the cheap hostel where you’ll have space to fall apart and figure out what the fuck you’re supposed to do. You don’t leave bloody footprints as you move; you check over your shoulder to see if you’ve left a path for the killers to follow. Nothing. Like you’re just one of the backpackers cackling over drinks in the lobby common area.

You’ve never been more grateful for having splurged on a private room as you unlock your door and sprint for the toilet. It’s your turn to puke, and you shake as burning tears and snot stream out with the bile.

Fucking dammit.

Each heave wracks your gut, your chest burns, and your throat is on fire. You know your head will hurt the second the adrenaline wears off – if you live that long – after all this crying.

How do you fix this? Is this something people can fix? You couldn’t even keep enough blood in the man’s body. You literally could not run for a solid – what? – fifteen minutes? Thirty?

You’re going to die.

Another heave locks you in place with a strangled scream as your belly tries to eject your panic and fear. There’s nothing left, though, not even water. You’ve wrung yourself out, so maybe it won’t smell as much when bullets, or knives, or fucking plastic shivs aerate your torso. Maybe it won’t be as awful for whoever finds your body. You’d hate to pass on that curse.

And it hits you, as you pant for breath, a string of saliva dangling from your chin: A lot of other people are going to die if you don’t get yourself together.

That’s enough. Just barely. But you shuffle back from the toilet, wiping your face with toilet paper before climbing the sink. The cool porcelain grounds you, and the cold water on your face and in your mouth helps, too.

The water in the basin turns pink, and you remember the blood in your cuticles and under your nails as it fades and spins down the drain. It hasn’t stained. It lingers along the bed of your nails and the ridges that will turn into hangnails eventually, but if you scrub, you’re sure you can get it off. For a minute, you’d forgotten you could wash blood off skin, that it wouldn’t sink in and brand you. It’s a relief. A stupid relief, sure, but it pulls some steam from the whirlwind of angst trying to launch another round of dry heaves, so that’s good.

A few specs of glitter still flicker up at you, twinkling under the bathroom lights like so many little eyes.

Okay.

Right.

Okay.

You can do this.

Figure out what it is you’re doing first, though.

You can just leave. Check out of the hostel, get a new plane ticket, and get the fuck out of the country. You can also pretend it didn’t happen, just continue as normal. Your original flight back is booked for the day after tomorrow, which seemed like nothing a few hours ago. Now those hours stretch into oblivion.

The problem is this damn city. London. City of a thousand cameras. The Nanny State. It was almost impossible to get around without getting caught by a few dozen electronic eyes, and if the people powerful enough to take out two trained agents wanted to see who the handler met in the alley outside the club, they probably could.

You should assume as much, at least. So, staying was out. But was it safe to just zip off to the airport? Would they be watching?

There was one other option. The option you’d always been told wasn’t really an option until you had no other choice. They had you memorize a phone number, only to be used in the direst emergency, and insinuated that you should think twice even if you had a knife to your neck. You hope that means it reaches someone important. There’s no time to play climb-the-chain-of-command.

Your shaking fingers punch the wrong numbers three times as you struggle with smooth glass and shattered nerves, but eventually you get the right sequence, you lift the phone to your ear, and the call goes through.

A click. A woman’s voice. “Yes?”

“This is, uh.” You stammer your name, your location, but when you get to the situation, your thoughts start falling apart. “They’re dead. And he may have been followed? And I don’t know what – I don’t know what to do.”

A chair squeaks on the other end of the line, and you can hear the focused frown sharpening the stranger’s words as computer keys rattle. “Take a breath. One thing at a time. I need to understand what’s happening. Now, who’s dead?”

You follow her advice, because breathing is always a good idea, and you’d like to keep doing it as long as possible. Her other instructions help more, though. They give you a sense of direction, a clear path forward.

“The handler. I never know the names, but he – he’d been shot when he came to the meet, and he said his contact died, too.”

“Was he able to complete the hand-off?”

Cool lips coughing up secrets against your ear, a shaking hand fisted in the front of your dress to keep you close, fingers going slack and falling from your arm.

You hesitate, only a beat, and try to wipe the blood from your memory. “Sort of.”

“Sort of isn’t good enough. Did he give you the intel or not.”

“He told me the intel.”

“He… told you.” She confirms, with tone alone, that this is bad news.

But now you can tell her, and everything will be okay. That’s how this is supposed to work, right?

“He said –”

“This line isn’t secure.” She cuts you off, and the bright hope curdles in your chest. It isn’t over, then. “You need to debrief somewhere safe. You need to get out of that hostel and wait for the team I send to retrieve you, understood?”

“Understood.” You want to shake, purge the anxiety from your system like sweat. The fear vibrates inside your bones, but the phone stays steady in your grip. You’ve turned into a statue, a marble shell wrapped around an earthquake. “Where do I go?”

She gives you an address to a safehouse, tells you how to get there without drawing attention to yourself. Hopefully.

“Any advice?” The chaos inside needs an outlet or distraction, and maybe the woman at the other end of the line can hear that, because she plays along.

“Move fast. Keep quiet. Stay alive.”

Shrugging as you pull on new clothes that won’t draw as much attention as your little black dress, you nod along. “I’ve heard worse tips.”

“You’re a step ahead of anyone trying to track you,” the stranger says. She speaks low and slow, like you’re a skittish horse ready to bolt, and even if you feel marginally infantilized, you appreciate the fragile illusion she weaves: that everything’s under control, that you know what you’re doing, that everything will be okay.

With the last of your things stuffed in your backpack, you grab your room key and head for the door. The hostel has remote checkout. You just need to drop your key in the box. “Leaving for the safehouse now.”

“Good. I need to brief the team coming to meet you. Keep your phone handy, and call me when you arrive.”

“Or if something goes wrong?”

“Or if something goes wrong. Be careful.”

The line goes dead, and you begin your trek through the dark. Stepping out of the warm, lively hostel and into the night feels like stripping naked and jumping into the water with sharks. Sure, the hostel wasn’t a great place to defend yourself, the doors were thin and the locks fragile, but it had walls. It felt safe. Now you’re exposed, and the vulnerability creeps over your skin like ants.

You take a night bus in the wrong direction, laying a false trail in case anyone is trying to follow you through camera feeds. Then you cut across ten city blocks on foot to find a new line heading the right way, and sit in the illuminated interior like a product in a butcher’s display. Dead meat. You feel obvious. Foolish. You’re following the woman’s directions to the letter, but inexperience gapes under your feet like an open pit, waiting for you to trip and fall so far down you’ll never get back up again.

Every stranger reads as a predator. Every camera holds malicious eyes.

It takes thirty minutes to walk to the safehouse from the last bus stop, and you make the journey with a white-knuckled grip on the strap of your backpack and a pulse so loud you struggle to hear over the drumming in your ears. The light pollution blots out the stars, it’s a new moon, and the streetlights only make the shadows beyond their miniscule pools of light darker.

By the time you find the safehouse and fish the key out of the little box hidden in the bushes, your hands are shaking again. The tension crackles like static through your nerves, blunting your focus even as your senses sharpen to the point of discomfort. Is the rustle behind you just that plastic bag rolling down the street, or is someone stalking you? The breeze feels like breath on the back of your neck, and every hair stands on end as you wrestle the key into the lock and trip through the door.

You slam it closed behind you, past caring about disturbing neighbors or drawing attention. This is like walking the long dark hallway to pee in the middle of the night as a child. You know there’s a monster behind you, but if you look it will eat you. If you run it will pounce. And once you reach safety, you gasp for air the same way you do after diving to the bottom of the pool. All you did was walk, but you feel as if you nearly drowned.

Your ass meets the floor, knees folding with the door at your back. Quivering fingers press over your mouth, trying to silence the wavering pants that may just turn into sobs if you can’t stuff them back down.

“Fuck.”

Blindly groping over your head, you find and turn the deadbolt. It takes more energy than it should, and you allow yourself a minute to recover before tugging out your phone and making the promised call.

The woman picks up after the first ring.

“I made it.” You take a deep breath. Let it out again. Your head drops back and your eyes slip shut as your heart gradually stutters down to a reasonable pace. “Locked the door and everything.”

 “Good.” She sounds like she’s smiling, and you wonder if she’s actually amused or doing the whole horse-taming schtick again. “Your escort should arrive inside two hours. Just sit tight, okay?”

You haven’t even turned the lights on. You’re afraid to let anyone know you’re there, and it’s nice to be the one waiting in the dark this time. “I can do that.”

“I’ll let you know when they’re approaching.”

“Thanks.”

She hangs up without pleasantries. And you’re entirely alone again.

In the silence, you listen to distant traffic and a handful of dogs sounding off on the twilight bark. The world waits outside, but you feel like a weed yanked halfway free of the soil. You fit into that steady rhythm yesterday. Maybe you ferried some secrets to try and make the world a slightly better place, but fuck if you weren’t ordinary.

The debriefing is the goal, retrieving the intel you carry. Keeping you alive and relatively safe until that can happen makes sense, and you don’t blame the stranger on for focusing on the immediate issues. But you can’t help wondering what happens after that.

You consider for the first time since the alley that even if everything goes well, you might not make it home.

[imaginedreamwrite]

For your pic ask game…… #3 with pairing of Everything for you! Jake Jensen maybe done with the military but that training never leaves a solider! (I work with veterans) They keep their gear, which means if anything happens to his Queen, harm/kidnap. He would suit up to get to her and anyone would be a fool to try to stop him. Please and thank you!!!!

It was all tucked away in a hidden safe in his closet, the gear that bore his name from his time in the military. The gear and equipment that he’d used during his stint away from the world he had known, was kept and safeguarded. Jake couldn’t forget the training and experience he had in the army, the years of gruelling training that helped turn him into the alpha he was now.

He never expected to have to dig it out, not like this. Maybe he had once thought he could share this past with his future pups but never like this.

“Jake…Jake, we’re going to find her. We’re going to find her, just don’t act brashly-” The safe popped out with a sharp hiss, the gear long stashed now being taken out of storage.

It was a process that was fuelled by instincts, he was being led by his primordial and aggressive need to rip anyone who touched you to pieces. The need to dig his hands into whoever thought they could get to him by taking you, was like a thousand tiny needles pricking his flesh.

Jake didn’t looked back when he started slipping the gear back on his body, led autonomously as one of the guards, meant to keep safe, started prattling on with excuses. It was a means of saving himself, Jake knew that, and he could hardly fault the other alpha for trying to ease Jake’s calm state of rage.

“We leave in ten minutes.” He spoke over the familiar sound of an assault rifle being loaded with ammunition, a clear and declaring threat made with every striking movement of his hands.

“Jake-”

“We leave in ten minutes.” He spoke again, resting the barrel of the rifle on his shoulder, transforming himself from the alpha they thought they’d known to their worst fucking nightmare.

“This must be heavy, its a lot of gear.” Your hands picked at the name on his vest, your scent was coiling around his and even if you hadn’t meant for it to affect him so much, your scent made him weak.

“I’m a big strong alpha, I can handle it.” Jake’s fingers tipped your chin and his eyes searched yours as you preened under his gaze.

Denial and fear of your feelings for him was preventing the two of you from being together as you should have been. But Jake was patient and he would wait.

“And I can handle you, Princess.” His tone of voice took a turn, a hunger burning through him. “I can handle you so damn well.”

Jake was going to burn the world, turn it to ash and debris, until he found you.

[rosie-b]

True Blue

Chapter 7: Birdbrains

Hawk Moth lowered his cane, setting the tip on the tile floor with a clack. 

The akuma was still visible from the window. 

“Are they any faster than normal butterflies?” 

You can read the rest of the chapter below or on AO3! And next chapter we should finally get to see Marinette transform with the Peacock, which I'm excited about : )

Classes were boring without Adrien. 

She’d known they’d be lonelier, but without him, Marinette found it hard to even concentrate in the nearly empty room.  

And, okay, maybe the lingering questions she had about Adrien, the other magic-born children, and Gabriel’s plan to akumatize Paris until he got the other magic jewelry he needed had something to do with her distraction, too. 

But mostly, Marinette just wanted to know that Adrien would be safe. The Agreste mansion was full of safeguards, but what if someone slipped in through the gate and stole his amoks? What if they turned him into a villain against his will and used him to fight his own father? 

She couldn’t imagine anything worse than that, except for Hawk Moth losing. Then, the world would be left with the scars of every akumatization, at least three dead parents who could have been saved, and more negative emotions without any possible comfort.  

And what if Golden Bug and Chat Grise revealed who Paris’s ‘supervillain’ was and what he’d been fighting for? If the nature of Adrien’s birth was revealed? 

They would call him a monster. They would take his amok and either break it or turn him into a servant they could control. For all Marinette’s doubts about M. Agreste’s actions, he was the one person who could protect her friend and keep him safe from the public’s wrath, and as much as Marinette feared the power of the akumas, she feared for Adrien’s safety more. She only hoped that M. Agreste took the Miraculous soon and made his Wish before things got any worse. 

But after morning lessons, she witnessed firsthand why that wasn’t likely. 

Gabriel walked into the room just as Nathalie was dismissing her for lunch. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he said, standing stiffly and holding a small orange bottle in one hand. “I forgot to have Nathalie give you your medicine yesterday. I’ve had the prescription reordered, so you will be able to keep yourself protected from the magic’s poison until you fully recover.” 

Marinette blinked. She’d felt so much better after the first pill; wasn’t she fully healed already? 

“When will that be, sir?” Nathalie asked the question for her. Her voice was tight as she stood rigidly looking at M. Agreste. “How much longer will she be taking the pills?” 

Gabriel hummed as he ran a finger over the lid of the pill bottle he’d brought down. 

“It could be as soon as two weeks from now,” he said thoughtfully. “But there aren’t any side effects to the pills, so I see no reason to stop taking them before three weeks is up, for better protection.” 

“And after that?” Nathalie asked, tapping her heel on the floor. 

Gabriel set the bottle on Marinette’s desk and placed a hand on the back of her chair. 

“After that, she will be fully healed, so you’ll cancel the prescription and Marinette will return to life as usual, unless something else happens.” 

“Something else happens?” Nathalie’s face, usually stoic, betrayed a flash of frustration with her employer. 

Marinette’s stomach twisted as she looked back and forth between the two adults. Surely nothing worse than what she’d already done could happen to her now, right? 

Gabriel’s mouth thinned, and he drummed his fingers on the wooden chair. The sound went straight into Marinette’s ears. 

“Nothing unforeseen should happen. But it is best to be prepared, Nathalie. A woman in your position should know that by heart.” 

Nathalie scoffed and looked down. “I understand, sir. I’ll make sure Marinette takes the medicine during lunch from now on.” 

“Make it sooner,” Gabriel said impatiently. “As soon as she arrives, you should give her one pill with a glass of water. And she should take one now.” 

As he said this, a waiter walked in, holding a tray with a single glass of water on it. 

Marinette took the glass, nodding her thanks even though she was growing more confused every second. 

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to take it during lunch today?” she asked. “After all, I was just about to head to the dining room.” 

“Today, I have something else planned,” M. Agreste said, letting go of the chair and walking over the window nearest her desk. “There are always more chances to akumatize someone in Paris. The thing that will serve me best now is timing. Golden Bug and his accomplice are both around your age; surely it is their lunchtime, too. You are hungry, are you not?” 

Marinette swallowed the pill she’d hastily taken and nodded. Her stomach made a gurgling sound, and she flushed pink. 

Ms. Sancoeur pinched her nose and turned to go after the waiter. 

“Then they will be hungry, too. And no one fights at full strength on an empty stomach. I will akumatize someone again today, Miss Dupain-Cheng. And this time, I want you to be with me as I do it. Once you see the true nature of our enemies, I think your mind will be put at ease about my ‘villainous’ doings,” he said.  

Marinette could just make out the ghost of a smirk in his reflection before he turned around to face her. 

“Well, are you coming or not? Finish your water. We will have lunch after the fight if it goes ill or well.” 

“Coming, sir!” Marinette spilled some of the water as she rushed to swallow it all down.  

She didn’t really want to do this, but it was true that she still felt uncomfortable about M. Agreste akumatizing people. Maybe seeing things from his perspective would help her to lay her doubts to rest. 

M. Agreste led her to the atelier just like he had the day before, but this time, he went into the elevator first.

“I will transform and begin to narrow down the list of potential people to akumatize,” he told Marinette before he called the elevator. “Watch what I do closely. We will not be going to the basement again today.” 

Just as he said, this time the elevator rose up with him in it, going through a hole in the ceiling. When it came back down, Marinette got in it, pressed the second button she’d seen the day before, and swallowed as she left the ground floor behind. Glass elevators were cool, but she was more afraid of this one than most. Exactly how safe was it? Had it been included in the building plans gone over by the city, or was it a late addition that traded safety regulations for secrecy? 

There were no problems during this trip or any of the past ones, so Marinette brushed aside her fears as the elevator door opened and she stepped out into what looked like a secret attic. It was mostly empty except for a group of butterflies, a large window, and the man she’d feared ever since his first victim appeared on TV. 

Hawk Moth beckoned her closer with a hand.  

Marinette glanced at him, noticing the strange outfit his kwami had given him and wanting to look at it closer, but knowing now was not the time. Maybe after the fight, she could ask M. Agreste some questions about it. 

“There is a man by the Seine who is ready to receive my power,” he said. “Watch how it is done. There is no harm caused to him by this process.” 

Holding out one hand, Hawk Moth waited for a butterfly to land on it and loosely clasped his other hand over it. Marinette flinched, but the other butterflies looked fine, and so had the purified akumas Golden Bug released in the past, so this butterfly was probably unharmed. 

Then a strange light appeared in Hawk Moth’s hands, and the sound of electricity filled the air. Hawk Moth lowered his hands, and the akuma was revealed; a black and purple butterfly flapped its wings and began to fly towards the open window, which, Marinette noticed, was designed to look like a butterfly, too. 

“Fly away, my little akuma,” Hawk Moth said in a low voice. “Find the saddened man and akumatize him!” He raised his cane and twirled it over his head dramatically, probably showing off for her benefit. 

Marinette watched as the butterfly continued its slow flight path. 

Hawk Moth lowered his cane, setting the tip on the tile floor with a clack. 

The akuma was still visible from the window. 

“Are they any faster than normal butterflies?” 

Marinette immediately wished she could take the question back. She was alone in a room with Hawk Moth! He could just whack her with the cane or throw her out the window if she made him mad! But she knew him, and he seemed to like her. Would he really turn on her like that? 

“Oh, of course they are,” Hawk Moth answered in a pleasant, but distracted, voice. “Most butterflies fly at a rate of eight to twenty kilometers an hour. My akumas travel at double that speed, and the stronger the emotion they sense, the faster they fly. Have no fear, it will reach the man in no time.” 

As he spoke, the akuma flew out of their view, darting downwards with a sense of dogged purposefulness no normal butterfly should have. 

“Almost there,” Hawk Moth muttered. 

Marinette clasped her hands together and suppressed the urge to bounce on her toes. This was an awful lot of not doing anything, and it was making her more anxious than she’d like. 

A glowing, purple mask like the one she’d seen over Evillustrator appeared around Hawk Moth’s face, and he grinned as he looked out the window, across Paris. 

“Mr. Pigeon,” he said, and Marinette scrunched her eyebrows together. “I am Hawk Moth. That police officer stopped you from providing care for the city’s poorest, but neither this police officer, nor any other of the park keepers, should stop you from taking care of your friends. What would Paris be without pigeons? And what would pigeons be without you? Accept this power I give you to fight for the birds’ side. In return, all I ask for are Golden Bug and Chat Grise’s Miraculous. Do we have a deal?” 

There was a small stretch of silence, and then Hawk Moth turned to Marinette with a relaxed smile.  

“Perfect,” he said, and the mask disappeared.  

He took a step towards Marinette, who fought the butterflies swarming in her stomach and dug her nails into her palm as she struggled to return the smile. 

“Mr. Pigeon has accepted my offer of akumatization freely,” he explained to Marinette. “They all do, even if they don’t remember it. They all choose to fight on my side.” 

Marinette hadn’t known that. 

“Even the ones who regret being akumatized?” 

That was all of them. Their breakdown was on the news every time. 

“Especially those ones. They confuse their negative emotions with regret for their actions, but if they remembered the moment, they would only be sorry that they failed to win. Now, pull up the news on your phone. You cannot see through the akuma’s eyes as I can, so watch what is happening through the Goldenblog. As you’ll see, the city’s heroes do not fight fair.” 

They do use unconventional methods, Marinette thought with a frown. But they’d both been so nice to her during Evillustrator! She didn’t want to not be able to like them anymore. 

It didn’t take long for Golden Bug and Chat Grise to show up. As soon as they were on the scene, they called for Mr. Pigeon, who could apparently control birds as his main power, to give up his akuma. He shouted back something about it being the pigeons’ world now, and the akuma fight started in earnest. 

“Keep the little pests away from each other,” Hawk Moth snapped after Chat Grise nearly clawed the whistle from Mr. Pigeon’s neck while Golden Bug had him distracted. “They’re less efficient that way.” 

Marinette watched in confused awe as Mr. Pigeon commanded the birds to form a large ball around Chat Grise, lifting her up and carrying her away from the fight. 

“Good,” Hawk Moth praised Mr. Pigeon. “Ask this one to hand over his Miraculous nicely. If he doesn’t, we’ll have to use more... offensive action.” 

A tinny laugh sounded from Marinette’s phone. 

“Roo rooloo! Give me your Miraculous or face the wrath of my feathered friends, little bug!”  

The akuma flapped his arms excitedly while Golden Bug scowled and called for his lucky charm. 

“They never listen,” Hawk Moth muttered to Marinette. “They’ll never agree to a truce; they’ll never hear my plan out. All they care about is keeping the Miraculous under the lock and key of the Guardian. And he won’t allow us to heal Emilie or keep Adrien safe. As far as he’s concerned, Adrien should never have been made to begin with. To him, we’re only getting a just reward for our folly, and he does not care if we pay for it by our lives.” 

Marinette’s heart twisted painfully as she looked up from her phone at Hawk Moth. He was standing close to the window, his shoulders hunched forward as he looked down.  

“We tried for years to find another solution,” he said sadly. “But even now, when I have others fighting for me...” 

His voice trailed off as Chat Grise, with a large white spot on her suit, landed back on the screen with a snarl and chased away the pigeons who’d been crowding Golden Bug. He shot her a grateful smile, sneezed, and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand before tearing open the bag his powers had given him. 

“No! Control the birds!” Hawk Moth suddenly switched back to addressing the akuma, clenching the cane at his side. 

Onscreen, Marinette saw the birds desert Mr. Pigeon in favor of the seeds dropping from the bag. Chat Grise tripped the akuma with her baton as he stumbled over his own birds, and Golden Bug threw his yo-yo, cracking the whistle that had flown off Mr. Pigeon’s neck as he fell, now lying alone on the pavement. 

“No!” Hawk Moth clutched his head and cried in despair while Golden Bug threw his lucky charm in the air with a grin, miraculously ridding the city of any damage from the birds. 

With a sad frown on his face, Hawk Moth turned to Marinette, who slowly turned off her phone and put it in her pocket. 

“As you see, even with this bit of luck on our side, I have reason to fear that we may not win after all,” Hawk Moth said, unpinning the brooch from his neck and scrutinizing it.  

The same purple kwami from before came spiraling out of the brooch, practically wilting as it peered up at Marinette while moving further from M. Agreste.  

“I’ve been trying for weeks to secure those two’s Miraculous, and I don’t have any progress to show for it. I see now that you were right to have doubts about my plan. If it should fail, the city could be irreparably harmed, and I would have only myself to blame,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose as his kwami slowly floated closer to him. “I must be the worst husband in existence!” 

It was a sad display. M. Agreste had thought he’d found the one way to cure his wife and save his son, but everything kept going wrong. No matter how inventive his akumas’ powers were or who he chose to fight for him, he kept losing to Paris’ favorite duo. And now, his last hope was fading. 

“Well, you are trying your best,” Marinette timidly offered. “You’ve already done more to save your wife than anyone else has. You offered to work with the Guardian to find an easier solution, and you make sure all your akumas were willing to fight for you. Besides, I'm sure Emilie would approve of all you’ve done for her! You’ve remained faithful to her even in the darkest of situations, and I think that’s all she could ask of her husband. But... you aren’t just a husband. You’re also a father, and it seems to me that you could spare a little more time to spend with you and Emilie’s son. Adrien needs you now more than ever,” she said softly, her heart beating wildly in her chest as she hoped she hadn’t overstepped. 

M. Agreste scowled for a moment, but then he looked to the side with a sigh.

“Perhaps you are right, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he said, looking up at her with a smile. “I shall see what I can fit into my schedule. I am always busy, as you know. Nathalie does what she can to help, yet still... sometimes I wish I had someone else there, fighting with me. Someone with a power of their own— but it’s impossible,” he said, waving the notion off with a hand. “The only other Miraculous we have is the Peacock, and even though we do have medicine for its effects, it remains broken. Go on, head back downstairs and forget about this old man’s crazy ideas for a moment. It was time for your lunch, correct?” 

Marinette nodded wordlessly. She wasn’t sure she was so hungry anymore; witnessing the battle had been very stressful, and she’d been too occupied with what was going on in it to be hungry. 

But the attack, while somewhat predictable, had not been exactly what she expected. Who knew Hawk Moth asked his akumas for permission before transforming them? And he left so much of the plan up to them, granting them more freedom than she’d thought. On top of that, it was clear he cared about the people his plans affected, and even the butterflies he used! He had a good cause to fight for, and he was not the cold-hearted villain she’d once thought he must be. She didn’t like that it had come to fighting, but Marinette had to admit that Hawk Moth was genuinely trying his best to protect and heal his family. 

But he seemed to be losing hope in his own plan. Without an ally to fight on his side, the field was imbalanced; each battle ended the same way no matter what new powers he came up with.  

Marinette finished her day at the mansion and went home in near total silence, thinking about all she’d seen. Emilie, Adrien, Hawk Moth, Golden Bug and Chat Grise — she’d thought she knew whose side she was on before, but the reality was more complicated than she’d expected. 

She needed Hawk Moth to win. Was she sure he should have resorted to supervillainy without trying harder to reason with the Guardian? No. In fact, she would have preferred it by far if he’d stuck to peaceful methods, but once the first akuma struck, there was only one good way for this to end. 

M. Agreste had to make the Wish. Emilie had to get better, the other parents had to come back, and their children (especially Adrien) had to be protected from their amoks. The fabric of life was snagged and twisted; it could only be fixed by tearing out the bad seams and starting over.

Marinette saw that now. She was in this mess for good; there was no way out, and she didn’t want one. She wanted to help Hawk Moth, if only to make sure he didn’t cause lasting damage and not lose not just the battle, but the very people he fought to protect. 

She couldn’t stand by and watch Adrien’s fate be decided by two more teens who thought they were choosing the right side, but were actually being played by the Guardian. (And she was beginning to want to fight the Guardian on her own, because how could anyone not care about Adrien? Or the other magic children, and their parents? How could he be so heartless?) 

Marinette might not fully understand how Adrien was made or how he could be so human when it was magic that had written his DNA, but she knew that she’d protect him with her last breath if necessary. She could not allow Hawk Moth’s Miraculous, his last chance, to fall into enemy hands. 

She had to help him. But how? She could suggest new ideas for akumas, but there was no guarantee they would work any better than the ones M. Agreste came up with on his own. Besides, the real problem seemed to be that there were two (kind of three) people for M. Agreste to fight, but only one person able to fight on his side.  

Well, the akumas made that number two, but it wouldn’t be safe for him to fight alongside them, because he seemed to need the silence of his lair to communicate with them effectively. And if he suffered a defeat while in public, he could be unmasked and lose his Miraculous then and there! 

No, there had to be something else Marinette could do. Together with Nathalie, they could come up with something effective! 

M. Agreste had mentioned that there was only one other Miraculous they hadto fight with. The Peacock was broken, but what if there was a way to fix it? Whoever had crafted it must have known it could break someday; they must have built in some kind of way to make it safe to use again.

Even if there wasn’t a known way, well... Marinette’s parents had taught her that new paths could be made. That was how they’d gotten married, how they’d kept their bakery in business, and how they’d had the courage to let Marinette study fashion even though the odds were stacked against her. There was always a way, you just had to look hard enough for it. 

And then again, as long as the Wish was made successfully, it wouldn’t matter if the new Peacock holder got sick from using it. Because they’d just be healed like everyone else, wouldn’t they? So, was it really that dangerous? 

The warring thoughts in her head kept Marinette up all night, but deep down she knew her decision was already made. 

[serharwinbreakmybones]

hold me like we're going home pt 3

first part here second part here

Summary: He hates that it takes him looking around the room at these people who are supposed to be adults, who are supposed to care, to realise that if they don't look after eachother then no one will. It's why he doesn't deny it when Aemond names him as the one who spread 'rumors' of their dear sister's boys being bastards. It's why he only nods at Aemond when no one is looking and takes the blame that would have been aimed at him. It's why he slips into Aemond's room after his mother and the maester have taken their leave and stays awake all night as a guard.

or, Aegon has spent most of his life running away from the responsibilities he never asked for, and too long hurting the people that he should be standing united with. It takes a loss of an eye to wake him up.

Pairings: Aemond x Aegon, minor platonic side pairings included.

Trigger warnings: None, will update if any become needed.

Side note, everyone's ages and certain events have been altered on the timeline for this, so aside from the first part, everyone is several years older.

Chapter Text

“I don’t want to marry Helaena,” Aegon says, laying back on the grass and staring up at the trees above them. The light filters down through the leaves, casting alternating shadows and pools of golden light across the grass, and when Aegon turns his head to look at him, just for a second, he almost looks like one of the characters in Helaena’s romance stories, especially with the gold catching in his hair and turning it into spun gold. Aemond looks away, back down to the book in his lap, before he can be caught staring, ignoring the heat that flares in his face. Nothing on the page catches his interest, but it’s better than being backed into talking about why he’s already looking whenever Aegon glances at him.

This isn’t the first time Aegon has said something like this. They’d had a similar conversation at Driftmark the day Aemond lost his eye, but it had been more scornful then, as if the ridiculous part wasn’t that he was expected to marry at all but that he was expected to marry Helaena, of all people. Now, Aegon just sounds tired. It’s not just Aemond that Aegon has been trying to make amends to, he’s noticed all the things Aegon has been doing to make up for how he treated all of them over the years, not just him. It’s easier with Helaena. She’s always been the most forgiving out of all of them, except for maybe Daeron, who is still easily placated with toys and trinkets.

“I don’t want to be King either, no matter what mother says,” Aegon continues, and if they weren’t away from the city, the same place that they always visit when they need to get away from the suffocating tediousness of the court, Aemond would have already told him to keep his thoughts about it to himself. Three years ago, they’d been in this same spot when they’d told each other about the dreams they’d had, the things they had seen, and it’s become something of a sanctuary ever since. Something just for the two of them. “I would make a horrible king, everyone knows it. Yet she would put the crown on my head just to save herself from the consequences of publicly denouncing Rhaenyra’s brood. As if I’m nothing more than a safeguard for her to keep her head firmly on her shoulders.”

It used to bother him, the disregard in Aegon’s voice whenever he spoke of their mother, but it’s been a long time since he bothered trying to rein it in. Aemond has seen the bruises that bloom whenever Aegon is ordered into a private audience with their mother, the redness of his eyes for hours afterwards, the way he flinches if anyone moves too fast around him. He hasn’t seen it happen for himself, not yet, but he knows what it all means. He hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. When his eye had been taken from him, she had been the only one to insist that the act deserved retribution, she had attempted to do the deed herself, no one else had taken his side so completely. At least not until Aegon had found him hours later. She loves them, he knows. She must, or she wouldn’t be so worried about them, she would’ve cast them aside years ago like their father had, but as he grows older he understands more and more that her love didn’t make her a good person, or a good mother.

“Helaena will make a good wife, and a good mother.” It isn’t what Aemond wants to say, not truly, but it’s what he says anyway. It’s not a lie, she would make a good wife, and when the time comes Aemond knows she will make an excellent mother. He’s even almost gotten over the jealousy that fills him when he thinks about it, or so he likes to tell himself. Truthfully, the thought of the wedding that will take place once Helaena comes of age makes him feel like he’s going to either scream or lose his mind entirely. He does neither and keeps how he feels about it locked inside his chest, determined never to let anyone see it.

“If that’s what I wanted, I could find that anywhere. That isn’t what I mean,” Aegon huffs, pulling a handful of grass out of the ground roughly, strands of green poking through his closed fist. They flutter down to the ground in the wind when he opens his hand like falling leaves, and for a moment neither of them speak as they watch.

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to do something more than live out the life that mother and grandfather have decided for us? Something you’ve never told anyone else, something you’d like to do for you and not someone else.”

Yes, “No,” Aemond carefully turns a page in the book, though he doesn’t register anything on the paper as he does. He’s already read this one before, yet another recollection of the histories of their House, but he cannot for the life of him remember what it says right now. Not with Aegon leaning up and staring at him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. It’s a side effect of the not drinking, it has to be, because Aegon was never this observant before. Or maybe he was and just never bothered doing anything with the things he saw that most others would miss.

“You’re lying. Come on, little brother, what have you always wanted to do but wouldn’t dare? Run away? Fly away to Essos and live the rest of your life as a member of the Golden Company? Brave the ruins of Valyria? Wait, I know. There’s someone you have your eye on, but you’ve talked yourself into thinking they won’t want anything to do with you.”

It hits uncomfortably close to the truth. Aemond hasn’t told anyone, not even Helaena, but he’s sure that she knows something about it, if the knowing looks she gives him across the dinner table is any indication. Still, they’ve never talked about it, and if the Gods are merciful in any way, they never will.

“I’m the second son,” Aemond says, as evenly as he can, “I might not have the expectations on me as you do, but it doesn’t mean I get much of a choice in-“

Aegon flops back on the grass with a groan, cutting off the same rehearsed speech Aemond has been giving for years whenever Aegon tried to start this conversation. He can’t tell the truth, and so he sticks to the facts. When he marries, if he marries, it will be for a political advantage, not because he wants to. His future marriage, if there is one, will be used to strengthen alliances or ensure loyalty, and any feelings Aemond might have about it won’t matter even a bit. Yet another way their mother has shown her hypocrisy.

“You tell me, then. What would you do, if you had the chance to do anything?”

“Run away,” Aegon says without hesitation. “Somewhere far away where no one has ever even heard of King’s Landing. I could live the rest of my life without anyone looking at me like they know who I am, and no one would be around to tell me what I can and can��t do. No crowns, or weddings, or anything I didn’t want to do. Just me and Sunfyre.”

Aemond doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods. He can’t say he doesn’t understand. Aegon has been talking about leaving for years, but for now, at least, he’s never gone through with his grand plans. Aemond just doesn’t know if he stays because he would miss them, or if he stays because he knows the cloaks would find him if he tried. He’d like to think it’s because Aegon wouldn’t leave them, but part of him still doesn’t believe that this new version of his brother isn’t just some elaborate, grand joke.

“I would come back to visit, of course, I couldn’t leave you all to deal with mother and grandfather alone.”

“Of course,” Aemond echoes, and stands up abruptly, crossing the clearing to the stream in the far corner. It’s as good an excuse as any, refilling the water pitcher, and it means that Aegon cannot see his face with his back turned and his hair making a curtain between him and the rest of the world. Of course, it doesn’t matter anyway, because Aegon follows behind him like a shadow, and it’s hard to escape him when he drapes himself over Aemond’s back like a cloak.

“So, when are you going to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t.” Lie. But it’s not his fault. He can’t exactly admit the real reason, and he has no desire to hear the scorn that would be aimed in his direction if he said it out loud.

“You have.”

“Can we not do this?”

When he turns around, Aegon is still right there, and it shouldn’t be amusing that Aegon now has to tilt his head back to look up at him properly but it is. For a second, they just stand there staring at each other, and he’s surely just imagining the way Aegon’s eyes flick down to his lips. Right?

“I think we should. You’re always so repressed, it’s not healthy, little brother, you’ll turn yourself into diamonds if you put yourself under so much pressure,” Aegon grins at him, taking a half step closer, and Aemond clutches the pitcher of water to his chest like a lifeline before he catches himself and lowers it, taking a step back.

Aegon matches him step for step, he really should have expected that, and soon enough he finds himself with Sunfyre warm at his back, Aegon in front of him watching him with sharp eyes, face set into something more serious now. Long gone are the days when Aemond was afraid of anything, and he’s never been nervous of much since he got better with his sword work, so he really has no other excuse for why he breathes in shakily now except the proximity. He hasn’t been scared of anything Aegon could do to him since the night they made the promise to each other to look after the other, so he can’t fall back on that excuse either.

“You look nervous, Aem. Want to tell me why?”

“I’m not nervous.” Damn the shakiness of his voice. The soft fingers on the sides of his face don’t help, especially when a thumb starts to brush along the bottom of the scar that snakes down his cheek. He’ll deny the way he turns his head and sighs for the rest of his days.

“Then tell me the truth. Haven’t you ever wanted to just take what you wanted, damn the consequences?”

[rosavulpes]

“ Be careful with it , you break it ? I break you “ 

Tossing over a few credits on the table as payment , he’d soon move away to a darker corner of the area . Some where he could find a bit of quiet , as ironic as it would be considering he was currently waiting for his scouter to get “ fixed “ inside of a night club . 

An odd place to get technical support for his scouter yes , but here ? No one questioned why the credits he was using had droplets of scarlet on them were they ? Regardless of the planet , money was money . 

He’d initially considered crushing his scouter , or leaving it turned on somewhere on the planet he’d come from as a decoy to lure in the frieza force soldiers that were certainly looking for him now that he’d finally made his break away from Frieza’s rule .  However , he couldn’t deny the fact that having it around was still pretty useful . Being able to scan the ambient power levels of those around him would help him steer clear of anyone that might give him trouble . 

Unfurling the length of his tail from his waistline , letting it sway from side to side as it pleased there was no one around here he needed to worry about for now . In fact , there was most likely no in this Universe he would need to worry about ... probably . 

He’d already killed his former “ teammates “ during their most recent assignment , knowing full well that they’d turn on him the moment he’d decided to break off from them . A shame he couldn’t have salvaged their scouters for spare parts but ... it had felt all too satisfying to pummel them into the broken earth until his gauntlets were stained with their colors . With how many times they’d berated him for being a Saiyan , or mocked his ancestry ? They had it coming and then some . 

The memory of it still bringing a grin to his face as he folded his arms over his chest to keep those stains hidden from view .  

Then again ? Turles would have probably killed them anyway . Loose lips sink ships and odds are they would’ve gone running to Frieza to report his desertion the moment he’d decided to slip away . 

Who was Frieza ? A galactic tyrant with a level of power that was rumored to be higher than what any scouter , a device that was meant to be worn on the ears that could detect , and then quantify levels of power into numbers that could be measured , could detect . He’d been enslaved to the Frieza force for years now , conquering different planets for them in his Universe of origin ever since he was a kid and not one person he’d every come across could say with certainly just how strong Frieza was . Direct defiance against Frieza’s empire was a sure way to die . 

As a rather large plate of food , and jug of water was brought to his table the Saiyan began to help himself heartily . His appetite something fierce since he’d first awoken . 

As Frieza ruled his universe of origin , and had the ability to detect ambient levels of power thanks to use of scouters like the one Turles himself possessed , the only way for him to escape had been to enter a state of near death . Lowering his heart rate , and feigning a state of death while traversing through the stars inside of his ship to make it seem like he was dead . With his level of power brought down to near nothing , any scouter that had picked him up ? Probably just thought he was an asteroid soaring on thanks to the pod like structure of his small ship . 

Now that he was free ? Part of him was tempted to go out and find a planet of his own to conquer , not for Frieza , not for anyone else but himself but ... there was also a part of him that couldn’t help but wonder if he’d traveled far enough away from his Universe or origin that he couldn’t be detected , no matter how high he raised his own power level . To that end , maybe it was time to get some serious training in , a safeguard to ensure that if someone did find him that knew him ? They’d never make it back alive to snitch on him . 

Fangs gleaming as they bit through the bone of the meat he as downing with ease . Maybe there were some fight clubs around here that he could warm himself up with , he could use some more money ... 

“ That’s it , get up ... you want to put on a good show for all these people don’t you ? “ 

Smirking as his bloodied opponent slowly managed to stand , the man had been on his last legs for sometime now , with Turles enjoying the fights he’d gone through thus far . He’d yet to find a proper challenge to satiate his saiyan craving for battle but this still had the makings of warm up , even if it wasn’t a decent one . Stomping his foot over the broken remains of a combat machine whose’ s head he’d ripped off earlier on , he’d flatten the machine completely under his boot . His opponent was the last one left out of this grouping of men and machines .  

Easier to make more money when he’d agreed to matches where it was multiple group against him alone . 

@grislyintentions​

[meteodrives]

   𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙴𝚂𝙸𝚂   :      ❛  would you believe me if i said i got all these injuries by slipping in the rain ?  ❜

he looked to be the equivalent of ruination — even after the initial shock had worn off. bruises were attempting to set, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. had he been anyone else, she might've found his quip funny — but this was a crimson soldier ;  the best shinra had to offer. he didn't strike her as the type to back down from a fight, let alone go easy on his opponents. a soft sigh escaped her.  ( did every war torn hero have a penchant for violence ?  did he hold no grievances in regards to resorting to brutality ?  was there no line between man & monster ? )  questions pondered as he sauntered closer to the bar, likely expecting to be greeted with anything to keep from tolerating such pain sober. her head tilted, mentally scolding him for believing she'd hand over that luxury without first ensuring he was alright. 

          ❛  you know ,  ❜   with a back straightened & a jesting grin, she spoke.   ❛  if you weren't such a brawler ,  maybe i would've .  ❜   still, had their positions been switched, she knows it would be the words of a hypocrite.  ( if a single punch were a deal with the devil ,  her soul had long since been sold . )  the tone of her voice made it clear :  this was her effort in lightening the mood. undoubtedly, he wouldn't be quite so keen to reciprocate — not after sustaining a blow as clear as day.   ❛  let's get you fixed up .  ❜   a smile of reassurance ;  as if telling him it isn't as bad as it looks. the mako that coursed through his body might have been safeguarding him from any pain at all. was that how it worked? she felt silly, any confidence from moments ago stretching away from her — uncertainty of how to go about helping him taking its place. cleaning off the blood would be a good place to start. 

a hand reached for the damp rag next to her, having been used to wipe excess water off a few dishes. she made her way to his side of the bar, taking up the seat next to him with ease. it wasn't long ago she felt wary to stand near one another. the thought is pushed aside.   ❛  how about this ?  ❜   a gentle pressure is applied, so not to incidentally worsen anything.   ❛  you tell me what really happened & i just might give you a discount on a drink of your choosing .  ❜

*      ◞      @poeticphoenix            |​            prompted !

[midnightandstars]

Part 11: The Endgame

The Infinity and nightmare

"It's been five years." 

Stephen Strange informed the confused faces that were oblivious to the time that had passed. He continued, "There's a war, and they need us." 

Sparkling orange circles appeared on the battlefield, and once again, the defenders of the earth, the team of the Avengers, were complete. They had lost once and wouldn't let the second chance slip away. 

Strange wasn't sure that the outcome he had seen was going to happen. There were billions of outcomes of their defeat, but only one of their victory. 

"Avengers, assemble."

Thanos' army of monsters were like the chained monsters that had been set free. 

******

Even this time, they were close to defeat. Even the strongest additions to the team weren't any match for that intergalactic warlord. When there seemed no way to win, Tony Stark was about to take it upon himself to safeguard the future, but the future was already decided.

The sudden appearance of a black circle in the sky attracted everyone's attention. Smokey black creatures plagued the ground and started attacking the alien army. A dark silhouette emerged and took on a human form, and at that moment, Stephen Strange knew that the outcome he had seen was right. 

She landed in between Thanos and Iron Man, with an army of demons flocking around her.

"Ready for a rematch?" She tilted her head slightly. 

"I like you, little one, but you cannot defeat me." He said looking at his gauntlet.

A whirlwind started to form around them, and even Thanos was taken aback. 

"I am inevitable." He was ready to repeat history, but to end the whole planet this time.

The demon army wrapped around both of them, and the girl disappeared among it. 

A colourful glow tore through the darkness, and the whirlwind ceased.

"Maybe in your dreams, but this is a nightmare."

It was a magnificent sight. All around the battlefield was darkness, and in the middle, with the six stones revolving around her and veins glowing with power—the power of infinity—was the girl.

A flick of the fingers, a snap, and the whole alien army was gone, turned to dust.

*****

"What happened to Nightmare?" Wong was curious to know the end of the adventure.

"He is trapped forever in this world, without his demon army, or powers to plague a human mind. I guess it would be a nightmare for him to be like that." She chuckled at the thought of the ruler of the subconscious getting a taste of his own medicine.

"Any new lessons today, Sorcerer Supreme?" She started a new topic. The war was over, everyone was back and the world was at peace again. They could surely enjoy that for some days.

"You know I'm not sorcerer supreme any more, and yes, you do need a lesson on -discussing plans before doing anything so you don't scare anyone out of their wits."

"First, I was asking Wong, and second, dead people don't discuss plans; they just do it." She shrugged and stood up.

Strange could do nothing but sigh and mutter "young people." He was sure the snap had made some connections in her brains loose, and for her, it was getting in her own element.

She had finally decided to mess with her mentor, and he had given up on getting upset. Wong had the most fun laughing at Strange.

She turned toward Wong, the sorcerer supreme, and repeated the question.

"I think you should rest for some days. Maybe take a vacation." He pointed at the bone cast on her right hand and the few bandages around her forehead and other arm. 

"That's a good idea," a mischievous smile was plastered on her face. "What do you think about a vacation, Dr Strange?"

"Oh god, no."

A/N: So the story is finally over. What do you think about this?

[certifiedskywalker]

Trouble Doubled - Bucky Barnes

Even after everything, you’re still the person who Bucky Barnes runs to when things go bad. Only now, he brings Sam who fails to hide his grin when he sees how James melts under your touch.

WARNINGS: Blood, stitches, and TFATWS possible spoilers (I think I was vague enough)

“Ouch! That’s going to hurt in the morning!”

“Ha, it hurts now, actually,” Sam grumbled. 

You pressed your lips together to stifle the grin that threatened to spill over them. Unable to help yourself, you glanced at Bucky in the hopes he too was biting back a grin. Stood by the door, slightly shrouded in shadow, you could make out the half smile that played on his lips. Though, his expression quickly melted into a grimace as Sam groaned. Reality quickly crashed back down on your shoulders and you turned back to the man laid on the table.

“You’re not going to like this.” Before Sam could ask what ‘this’ was, you began to palpate his wound. He flinched away from your reach at first, but then settled in the discomfort.

“Mm, yeah, no, that doesn’t feel good, Doc.”

“Not a doctor,” you said, still pressing lightly into the bruised flesh. “And I have to make sure you didn’t crack a rib. Otherwise, you’ll need a doctor.”

“Gotta work on your bedside manner,” Sam said as he winced. You pulled your hands away with a sigh and he met your eyes. “Bad?”

“In the grand scheme of things, no. Just try not to throw yourself off a building for the next few days. Think you guys can manage that?”

“Maybe. Harder to fly without jumping first.” Sam groaned once more as he sat up and the pain seemed to convince him to heed your warning. “We’ll try, Doc.”

You rolled your eyes at him before turning to look at Bucky. Still tucked in the darker corner of the room, he seemed small. His brows were knitted tightly together by worry and you imagined that, if he met your gaze, you would see concern in his eyes. Pushed forward by your own worry, you strode over to him. At your growing closeness, Bucky lifted his eyes to yours.

“Your turn.”

“I’m fine, Y/N.”

Despite his protest, Bucky did not lock himself in place. Instead, he gave in and let you lead him by the arm, over to the table. Sam eyed him with a wide grin as Bucky landed in the same spot he had sat in only moments ago. He mouthed something to the century-old soldier that you caught, but could not make out.

“What happened to taking it easy? You told me after, you know, that you would ease into things.” You gestured to the rags you had used to clean Sam’s more minor wounds; the fabric pieces were now dyed a reddish pink from blood. “That doesn’t seem like easing into it.”

“You didn’t see the other guy,” Sam quipped. 

“I like to think you didn’t leave any of him left,” you fired back as you pinched Bucky’s chin between your forefinger and thumb. “Look at me.”

Bucky did as you told him to and met your gaze. You took a sharp breath in at the sight of him, at how his pupils blew out slightly as you studied his reaction. All at once, the air around you grew thick. This close, you could smell the sweat and ash on his skin, along with hints of whatever air freshener he had in his apartment. 

Was it coconut? Sandalwood? You couldn’t parse out which as you found yourself lost in the blues of Bucky’s eyes. The sound of Sam clearing his throat shook you from your haze.

“No signs of a concussion.”

“Really?” Sam asked, grin still plastered on his face. You raised a brow at him in question before you turned back to Bucky. 

“Why? Did you hit your head?”

“No,” he said, clearly tired of Sam’s commentary, “but if I did, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Super soldier or not, a head wound is a head wound. Can you?” You gestured to his jacket and, with a sigh, Bucky pulled it off his shoulders.

“How do you two know each other again?” Sam asked, glancing around the room. “And why are we in an abandoned building.”

“Hard to trace us back here. Didn’t want to lead them to Y/N’s place,” Bucky said, tossing his jacket to the side. He winced as he did, and then you saw the blood.

“Barnes!" 

With reaching hands, you peeled back the crimson-soaked material of his shirt. Your movement revealed a long gash along his side that, with each breath, sent dribbles of blood to his hip. Sam made a sound of surprise and mild disgust at the sight. You were inclined to agree with another shout, but you were too caught up in how to stop the bleeding.

“Lay back,” you ordered, pressing Bucky’s shoulder. He yielded and you pushed his shirt up to expose the entire length of the wound. “Why didn't you show this to me earlier?!”

“It’s not that bad.”

"You're bleeding," you huffed, "which is pretty indicative of bad, if you ask me. Sam?"

"This is not my battle,” he raised his hands and shook his head. “I know better than to intrude on a lover’s quarrel.”

Neither you nor Bucky spoke up to correct him. In your mind, you came up with a quick excuse: Bucky was bleeding and you needed to focus on stopping it. Sam’s comment could be corrected later. Though, when Bucky didn’t speak up, you felt your chest tighten. As you worked on dressing the gash, you glanced up at him and found his blue eyes trained on you. He was dwelling on your silence too.

You pulled yourself out of the whirlpool of his gaze and reached over his body towards your medical supplies. As you stretched, your chest pressed lightly against Bucky’s, but you swallowed hard and refocused.

“Sorry, need to sow you up.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but he did avert his gaze. He found some spot in the ceiling to stare at instead of you. His distraction allowed you to work without the prickling temptation to sneak glances at his features; for the most part. It was only when Sam moved to stand over at your side you did you look up from Bucky’s wound.

“What?”

“Nothing, just wondering how many times you’ve done this before.” 

A bitter laugh slipped past your lips at his reply. “Too many times to count. If it’s not an Avenger, it’s a masked savior from Hell’s Kitchen. Someone always needs stitched up.”

“But James here is your favorite patient?”

“Sam.” 

Bucky’s tone set you on edge. It was warning, cold, and unlike the teasing you had grown fond of. Sam, knowing better than to piss him off, backed away from the table. You looked from him to Bucky and back again. When Bucky did not dare to meet your gaze, you felt a lump form in your throat. Tension weighed down your tongue, stopped you from saying a word or asking a question, despite your want to. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you be, old man. I’ll check with Torres, see if he has anything.”

Bucky’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling above you. He was quiet, like the first time you met, and distant. His gaze seemed far away, as if he were looking through the ceiling of this hideaway. After you heard the door of the room close behind Sam, you went back to work on Bucky’s side in silence. 

Carefully, you sowed the gash and tried to keep your hands steady. Every other jab with the needle made Bucky wince. You flinched at his sharp intake of breath and mumbled an apology before you went on to the next stitch. Five apologies later, the bleeding slowed and you gently pressed a crisp, white bandage to safeguard your handiwork. 

Immediately after you secured the gauze, Bucky moved to sit up. Before he could, you pressed on his shoulders again and pinned him in place. Though, you knew you couldn’t have pinned him if he hadn’t let you. Your upper body strength was nothing compared to his, you both knew that.

“Don’t move,” you said softly, “you’ll ruin my work.”

“It’s gonna be hard not to.” Bucky met your gaze and, in the dim light of the room, his eyes looked dark, almost sad. Something in his face, perhaps the dull, yet familiar laughter lines around his mouth or the bags under his eyes, alleviated the tension that had silenced before.

“You told me you wouldn’t. That you would take it easy and focus on making amends.”

Bucky closed his eyes at the disappoint that laced your tone. “I tried. I wanted to, Hell, I need to, but I can’t. I never could.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky began to sit up from the table top, “I’m a soldier. I need the fight.”

You watched as he moved, as your hands slipped from his shoulders and fell back to your sides. He pulled his shirt down over his freshly bandaged wound. When he was covered, Bucky looked back up to you, saw your frown and frowned too.

“Soldiers get to come home,” you pointed out, arms crossed over your chest.

“If they’re lucky. I’ve never been lucky.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at that. He was right. Bucky told you his story once before, after a therapy session left him feeling a bit more dry than high. He told you that he couldn’t tell you everything, that he wouldn’t. He didn’t have to, but you still hoped for him.

“Luck can change.”

Bucky scoffed as he pushed himself to his feet. Now, at his full height, he towered slightly over you. Despite his looming figure, Bucky did not scare you. Even when he told you his story, what he had done, Bucky did not scare you. 

“Yeah, well, luck, or fate, or whatever, brought me to you and here we are,” he gestured to the dusty dwelling around you. You looked around with a careful eye before you playfully shrugged. 

“I’ve been in worse dives.” Bucky chuckled, a unforced sound that rose up from his chest against his will. “Really, I have.”

“I don’t doubt it. But we put you in danger, asking for your help here. I put you in danger.”

“Oh, are you serious?” You threw your hands up in the air, “there’s always going to be danger in this world. Aliens, war, bad luck.”

“I wanted to keep you safe,” he pressed, taking a step towards you. 

You could smell the perfume of the air freshener again, how it clung to his clothes. It distracted you, threw you into thoughts of what his apartment looked like, if he would ever share that part of him with you or if he would keep it locked away with his full story. You bit your tongue to keep yourself from asking, from wasting your breath on a question he wouldn’t answer. His words would have to be enough for you and, as if on cue, Bucky echoed his sentiment. 

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“How noble, wanting to keep me safe, Barnes. Just me?” 

Silence was your immediate answer. Silence and Bucky’s full attention. You didn’t miss how his eyes flickered down from yours to your lips then back again.

“Just you.”

In the quiet that followed Bucky’s statement, you became frighteningly aware of your heartbeat again. It wasn’t pounding like before, but it felt loud, like it was pressing against your ribcage, begging to leap out and into Bucky’s arms. As if propelled by it, you found yourself leaning in towards his warmth just as he seemed to shrink away.

Before he was out of reach, you lifted your hands to his face and cupped his jaw. Stubble prickled your fingers and palm, though you were far too enraptured to care.

“Then stay alive,” you said softly, “change your luck and come home.”

In your mind, you did not picture Bucky’s home as his mystery apartment. Instead, you saw only this moment captured by some invisible third party. You saw home as just the two of you and the image made you heart beat a bit faster. 

“I’ll try.”

“Good.” 

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, stewed in the new, easier tension between you. But then your resolve broke and you lips broke into a smile. Bucky mirrored your expression, a lopsided grin resting comfortably along his features. His eyes fell to the floor between you before he looked back into your face.

“Can...can I kiss y-”

“Yes, Barnes, please.”

Without wasting another second, Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. Your hands slipped from his jaw to the back of his head where your fingers tangled in the soft strands of his brown hair. One of his hands found your waist and pulled you close to him, while the other cupped your jaw. In sync, his mouth moved against yours and everything around you melted away.

No more wonderings or mystery. It was only you and Bucky, come danger, trouble, or bad luck; and Sam who lingered outside the door.

[joaquinwhorres]

thorough (fckboy!Joaquin Torres x f!Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› When Joaquín texts, you know what he wants. And you also know that despite your better judgement and all of the other things you should be doing, you're going to give it to him.

PAIRING ››››› Fuckboy!Joaquín Torres x Female!Reader (written in 3rd person so you can pretend it's an OC like I do) Read the OC version here.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,928

WARNINGS ››››› Joaquín's pretty out of character because my angel would never. oh yeah, and smut

A/N ››››› This idea has taken over the entirety of my thoughts. It has consumed all of my free time, so I figured I should try to wrangle some of the vibes and vague ideas into an actual story. So, here is this little imagine which is v smut heavy and v plot light. But, I am thinking of turning this into a fake dating/redemption fic, so lemme know what you think! Divider from firefly-graphics (not tagging because this is a work of smut).

A single notification flashed across her screen. 

U up?

Y/N reached over, clicking the screen dark. She was up. But not for him. Instead, she turned back to her textbook and the packets of printed out notes strewn across the desk in front of her. The only men who would be getting her attention tonight were the esteemed scholars Sedra and Smith. And maybe Dr. Barnaby if she got around to reading her lecture notes over. He would have to find someone else. And there would be someone else. There was always someone else for him. She just had to hold out long enough for him to move on and go find them.

Her screen lit up again. 

Or has circuits put u to sleep? 🥱

This time she rolled her eyes as she dismissed the notification, a small smile playing at her lips despite herself. Of course he knew exactly what she was doing. Even if he never acknowledged her, he still sat in the same lecture hall as her and dealt with the same lectures and exams. 

Y/N returned back to the textbook example problem, fingers sliding under her glasses to rub at her eyes. She withdrew her hands, fixing her glasses before picking up her pen once more. She needed to stay focused. This test was going to be thirty percent of her grade. If she wanted to pass, she needed to learn how to apply input resistance to both Example 6.11 and her own life.

Oh god. She was broken.

Shaking off the thought of her mental deterioration, Y/N pressed her pencil to her notebook paper, copying down the problem in front of her. Just one more section and a skim through of her lecture notes after this. If she powered through, she could probably finish before three and get a solid five and a half hours of sleep before the exam. Yet, as Y/N worked her way through the problem, her eyes continued to slip over to her phone and the dark glass screen that reflected her desk light back up at her. 

Circuits.

Not dick. 

Circuits. 

Not–

Her phone lit up again.

It didn't kill u did it??? 😱🪦 

She snorted a laugh through her nose as she picked up her phone, thumb swiping to unlock it. As she began to type out a reply, the white auto suggestion box popped up. 

Not today Satan.

She exed out of her roommate's attempt at a safeguard, as if on autopilot.

Not yet but I am slowly dying.

The three dots in response were instantaneous. 

Sounds like you need to take a break. 😉

The auto suggestion box popped up once more as she typed, this suggestion an indictment of both her idiocy and predictability. She clicked on it.

Come over.

Very little studying was accomplished in the time between Y/N sending her text off and receiving the text that he'd arrived. The promise of a break seemed too much for her brain to withstand, and she'd only managed to work out an answer for the RIN before she finally gave in and took off her glasses. After that, she'd only had time to shove her dirty clothes in the closet and straighten her sheets up from where they hung  off the bed before her phone buzzed.

Y/N put her phone back down, slipping out of her chair and padding across the still apartment towards the door. Pulling it open revealed Joaquín dressed in a maroon ASU hoodie and dark grey sweatpants. His hair was ruffled, and his own glasses were on. 

 Evidently he'd been studying for Circuits too. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a soft smile—the same one that he'd given her last fall when they met eyes across the crowded frat. She had known even then exactly what she'd be getting herself into if she smiled back. But there was something about the genuine delight in his smile–the fact that he looked almost awed–that had her lips curving into a smile almost on their own accord. Much like now. 

"Hey," he whispered. 

Y/N leaned against the partially open door "Hey." 

"Is it cool that I parked in the lot?" he asked with raised eyebrows, and she nodded. 

"Yeah, they don't usually check for tags at 3 am."

Joaquín breathed out a laugh, hanging his head and shaking it as his own stupidity as Y/N smiled at him. "Yeah, I probably should have guessed that." He looked back up at her with a small smirk, and it was Y/Ns turn to shake her own head before motioning with it that he should come in. He obliged, stepping into the small dark apartment and waiting for her to lock up behind him. 

He probably could have made his way back to her room without her, but instead he remained, eyes roaming over the dark living room and kitchenette as if it were his first time there and he was taking it all in. She took this as an act of kindness–a preservation of the little dignity she had left when it came to Joaquín Torres.

So, Y/N quietly led the way back to her room, ushering him in and closing the door as softly as possible behind them to avoid waking her roommate. 

When she turned back to him, she found Joaquín bent over her notes, curls falling into his face. He looked intently at what she had written, his eyes following along each line of her solution before he shook his head. "That problem's been kicking my ass for the last hour," he said, tilting his head to look up at her. "Think you could walk me through it tomorrow?" 

The sheepish grin he gave her made her stomach flip, and she really should have kicked herself for it. Because there was no way he didn't know exactly what he was doing when he looked at her like that. And he knew that she knew what he was doing whenever he flashed his dimples too. And yet she still couldn't find it in herself to tell him to go to hell.

"Depends how much sleep I get," she said with a shrug, attempting to fix her face into something more smirklike than smiley and feeling like an utter failure at it.

His eyes gleamed mischievously as he straightened up and turned to face her. "How much sleep is enough?" 

She shrugged as she walked past him and over to the foot of her bed, setting herself down to sit on the edge and leaning back on her hands. "I don't know, three hours? Four?" 

"What if it's two and a half, but I buy you coffee," he bargained, leaning back against her pushed-in chair with his arms crossed across his chest. 

"It'd need to be really good coffee." 

"Starbucks counts as really good coffee, right?" 

She scoffed, and Joaquín laughed softly, his head tipping back as the amusement lit his face up. When he faced her again, it was with an expression of warm amusement. "What if it's Starbucks, but I make sure you thoroughly enjoy all of the time you're not sleeping tonight?" he asked, eyebrows raising up over his glasses as he took a step towards her. 

A tingle shot through Y/N as she followed his slow, purposeful movements towards her, and she fought the urge to press her legs together. "I guess that would depend on how thorough is 'thoroughly'." Somehow her voice managed to keep its teasing playfulness even as the look in Joaquín's eyes became more focused, more intense, more hungry. 

He stopped in front of her, close enough that the fabric of his sweatpants brushed against her bare knees and she had to tilt her head up just to see his face. She raised an eyebrow at him, and while she had intended for it to be questioning–a prompt for an answer–she couldn't keep the smirk from playing at the corners of her lips, turning the look into almost a challenge.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he lifted a hand, brushing her hair back behind her ear, his fingers trailing down her neck and along her shoulder until they reached the strap of her cropped cami. His pointer finger hooked under the strap and he pulled her towards him by the thin piece of silk, until her head was tipped all the way back just to see his face.

Joaquín leaned towards her, his breath warm and promising more than his words could ever deliver on. "Thorough," he murmured, letting the word kiss across her skin, setting her nerves alight with anticipation before he closed the space and kissed her himself.

It was easy to get drunk off of Joaquín's kisses. She wondered if this was simply a paired stimuli given the nature of their first encounters. If the dizzying effects his kisses had on her was her body remembering the weightlessness of too much Jungle Juice and a cute boy's attention. If the way she seemed to melt into him was a conditioned response from him pulling her close to him so easily even when her limbs felt heavy from Jell-O Shots. 

But maybe it wasn't classical conditioning or muscle memory. Maybe it was just the natural biological response to the way his hand took hold of her waist, squeezing at the bare skin there as he deepened the kiss and stepped forward, between her legs. Maybe it was just a natural reaction to feel lightheaded when an attractive boy slid his hand up under your crop top and moved his lips along your collarbone with each kiss like a whispered promise.

Her head lolled to the side, allowing him more room to work, and he took advantage of the newly exposed stretch of skin, placing hot, open mouthed kisses there. Y/N sank her teeth into her lip, biting down into it to keep herself from making any of the embarrassing sounds threatening to spill from her just from a bit of kissing. It was a pointless measure though, for as if inspired by her action, Joaquín's teeth caught at the tender skin on her neck and pulled it into his mouth, sucking harshly. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, dragging him closer to her as he moved up her neck, picking a new spot to nip. A gasping noise escaped her as his tongue swiped over the spot, sounding far too much like a whimper for her own comfort. 

Joaquín dragged his lips further up her neck to just under her ear. "Fuck you make the most beautiful sounds," he praised, pressing a kiss below her ear. "Drives me crazy."  He kissed her again before taking a hold of her ear with his teeth. 

Another noise, much like the first escaped her, and her fingers reached up into the hair at the nape of his neck, threading through the strands and then tugging him backwards and away from her so she could see his face. His glasses had slid down a bit on his nose, and his pupils were blown wide and dark, and she knew, she knew,  that whatever happened next, it would be thorough enough.

"Did you come here to compliment me or to fuck me?" 

He grinned. "Por qué no los dos?" 

She leaned closer so that her lips almost brushed his as she demanded, "Cógeme." 

Joaquín practically tore his sweatshirt and shirt from his body, his glasses catching in the material and flying off somewhere with the clothes to a corner of her room. Her own arms were crossed across her middle to pull off her top, but she didn't get a chance before his hands wrapped under her knees and yanked her forward so her back fell onto the bed.  He knelt before her, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her pajama shorts and dragging them down her legs. 

His eyes snapped to hers as he pulled the silky fabric free of her legs. "Impatient, aren't you?" 

Y/N reached down, flicking the side of his head. "It's how I sleep." 

"Mhmm," he hummed, disbelievingly as his eyes focused  back to her parted legs and her center that was completely bare to him, not a scrap of lace or satin or cotton or anything to shield it from his hungry gaze. He lifted her leg over his shoulder, pausing to press a kiss to the inside of her knee and then trailing a line of kisses and nips up to the top of her inner thigh. Y/N squirmed, and he chuckled, moving his other hand to her hip to hold her in place. "I haven't even gotten to the good part." 

"I'm sensitive," Y/N breathed out,

"I know," Joaquín grinned, leaning forward to lick a large stripe through her folds, sending her arching off the bed with a gasping moan. "Qué buena estás." 

And then he dove back in. 

There were a lot of reasons why allowing Joaquín into her bed at three in the morning was a bad idea. 

For one thing, she really should have used the time to study for the test that would make up a solid third of her grade in a class that took many people two tries to pass. There was also the inevitable exhaustion that would probably affect her performance on that test. 

Then there was the fact that if they woke up her roommate, she would have to deal with side eyed glances, reproving sighs, and little comments for at least a week. Not to mention the fact that her roommate would probably tell the rest of their friends, and then she'd be getting it from all angles. 

But the biggest reason this was a bad idea, the reason with the most inevitable consequences, was the fact that he'd leave behind an ache that chased her throughout her morning, reminding her of how stupid she was for doing this. 

But as she gripped onto Joaquín's head like her life depended on it, hips chasing a release on his tongue, it was difficult to really think about any of that. It was difficult to think at all. All she could manage were small bits of breathy praise spurring him on.

"Fuck. Fuck yes, right–ah!" She threw her head back into the bed as he sucked harder around her clit. One hand freed itself from his curls,  clawing at the sheets to give herself more purchase as words left her in favor of high pitched, gasping noises that sounded vaguely like his name. And then, finally,  she could hardly get out any sound as a wave of pleasure coursed through her causing her whole body to go taut as Joaquín replaced  his tongue with his fingers to help her ride out the high.

"I've got you. I got you," he reassured, coming back up her body to place kisses along her jaw as she slowly came down, chest heaving. Y/N pulled in deep breath as his lips continued to rove  around her chest and collarbone, neck and face, always whispering bits of praise before gracing her skin with a kiss. One hand slid across her bare stomach, taking hold of her waist as he gave one last kiss before looking up into her face. 

"And?" he asked with a small smirk.

"And?" she repeated in question, the word coming out more as an exhale.

"How am I doing so far? Thorough enough?" he asked, his hand inching up under her top to take hold of a breast. The pad of his thumb ran over the nipple there, and for a moment, Y/N's mind went hazy. "Or is there something I'm forgetting to pay attention to?"

"I think you already know." Despite the words themselves, her voice came out needy and airy, and it elicited a low chuckle from Joaquín whose hand retreated back to the edge of her top, teasing her with the promise of taking it off. 

"I want you to tell me." 

"Stop teasing me, and put that mouth to better use," Y/N snapped, and he grinned this time. 

"Close enough," he said, pulling her top up and over her head, flinging it away from them.

His mouth was truly a gift from God, but his hands, and the way they massaged her breast, twisted her nipple, worked her in ways that were positively sinful, they could only have been given that skill through a deal with the devil. So, she lay there, fingernails scratching at his shoulder blades as he worshiped her chest, switching between the breasts and from mouth to hands in ways that made her feel holy. Holy but aching. 

"Joaquín," she mumbled, hand sliding from his shoulder to his bicep, pressing her away from him. He lifted himself from her skin, eyes meeting hers. "Flip over," she commanded. His face lit up, and he complied so quickly and eagerly that Y/N laughed. 

Joaquín tucked his hands under his head, watching intently as Y/N moved to straddle him. "We can't be too loud," she whispered, placing a finger against his lips. "Ok?" 

"Got it," he said, biting her finger playfully. She withdrew her finger from between his lips, running her hands down his muscled chest. It was almost criminal, the fact that he always wore loose fitting t-shirts instead of something that showed off the hard work ROTC had him put into his body.

She leaned down, allowing her tongue to explore the planes of his chest, dipping low to swirl around his belly button and lower to the center of his v line. Joaquín groaned, and Y/N hooked her fingers in the waistline of his boxers, dragging both the underwear and sweatpants down his legs and off his body. When she looked up at him, she found Joaquín's gaze fixated on her. There was a quiet desperation to his look, not as needy as she was sure her own faces were, but almost like he was a second away from an answer, and she was the only one who could help him get it. 

Y/N crawled back up his body, taking his cock in her hand and teasing it with long, slow strokes. Under her, Joaquín's eyes had closed, a grunt passing through his lips as he managed to lift a hand to take hold of her hip. Her thumb passed over the head, spreading the precum along his hardened length, her hand twisting around him before she dipped down and kissed the head of his cock. His hips jerked up from the bed, as if chasing her as she pulled away. Joaquín opened his eyes, casting her a look of confused desperation. 

"I'm not the one who made promises," she said with a tilt of her head and a smirk. He let out a gasping laugh, pinching her hip, and she rolled over him leaving the boy groaning underneath her. 

"Hold on," she said, pressing a hand to his chest and leaning up over him to reach into her side table. She fumbled around, fingers slipping over the contents of her drawer until at last the smooth feeling of the condom packet greeted her fingertips. She snatched it up, not even bothering to shove the drawer closed as she withdrew to her position over Joaquín's hips, tearing open the package with her teeth. 

She probably could have been more sensual about it–moved a bit slower with teasing touches and seductive glances–but instead she tossed the empty wrapper and immediately went about rolling the condom over Joaquín's waiting cock. Because while she probably could have withstood a little bit more anticipation, a little bit more build up until this moment why should she have to when she could have him now? 

Y/N raised herself a little higher, Joaquín's hands coming to her hips and slowly guiding her down onto his waiting cock. He hissed as she lowered herself even further until he filled her completely. Y/N paused, hands flat against Joaquín's chest to allow herself a moment to adjust to his size. "You good?" Joaquín asked, gently squeezing her side, and she nodded. 

"Yeah," Y/N breathed. "Yeah, I'm ready." 

There was a reason she always seemed to cave whenever Joaquín texted her. A reason she never told him to go fuck himself or any of the other things her roommate and friends suggested she say. A reason she snuck him in and out of her bedroom late at night or times when most  people were at class.

And it wasn't because she was stupid enough to have feelings for him again.

It was because he knew exactly what to do to make her body feel electric. It didn't matter if he was letting her ride him slow, fucking her fast from behind, or clutching her close to him as he stroked hard and deep–he knew exactly what her body craved and he gave it to her. He gave it to her with murmured bits of Spanish and breathless cursing and moans that made her chest constrict. He gave it to her with fingers that circled her clit and twisted her nipples and pulled her hair at all the right times. He gave it to her with hot, hard, and fierce kisses.

And as much as he gave, it was never enough. 

Even after her second orgasm left her feeling close to overstimulated and boneless, she still clutched at him. While she hardly had enough energy to raise her hips to meet his thrust, she locked her legs around him and pulled him closer as he buried his face in her shoulder. She stayed with him as his hips stuttered and strokes got sloppy and it became clear that he was going to come. 

Admittedly, Joaquín's orgasm face was rather dumb, ridiculous even, with his mouth hanging open and only a grunting sound coming out. But she kept her eyes trained on his face, not to remind her that this god in bed was a mere mortal who made stupid faces too, but because after he finished, when his face relaxed, he was nothing short of angelic. The corners of his mouth turned up just barely into a light smile and his eyes fluttered open and looked at her like she really was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. 

Joaquín placed a kiss on her shoulder as he helped to lower her legs back down to the bed, finally withdrawing from her to dispose of the condom in the trash by her bedside. It was all Y/N could do to catch her breath, her body hot and sweaty from the activity. Yet as Joaquín climbed back into the bed, she allowed him to pull her in close to him, arms wrapping around her, and chin resting on her shoulder. Because this was part of the deal with Joaquín and something that had almost made her doubt her initial assessment of him back when his body was brand new and she was still discovering all of the things it could do—after sex, he always stayed. Not necessarily the night, but long enough to hold and cuddle her and talk about things that didn't matter. 

"Better than studying?" he asked, and she let out a snort and nodded. 

"Yeah." 

"Good enough for Starbucks?" he asked, tilting his head to try to look at her face, and this time she gave a full laugh. 

"I'll meet you there at seven." 

[mrsalwayswrite]

Of The Same Stone - Chapter 1

Here it is! I hope you guys enjoy the start my new short series!

The series does not specifically take place in a certain timeline in the show. But in my mind, its happening somewhere in between season 2 & 3. Also, Gisela and Uhtred were never together in this story.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, brief mention of implied rape

Words: 6100

Series Masterlist

As always, the moodboard is made by the glorious @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

"Lord!"

At Finan's call, Uhtred shifted his attention from surveying the small village he and his men were safeguarding. A tendril of trepidation curled in his gut as he followed the Irishman's worried gaze. What he saw made his posture straighten and his hand itch to grab the hilt of his sword.

The hooves of the Dane's horse barely touched the ground as it flew over the dirt road and towards the village. The warrior on its back seemed to melt into the beast in hopes of spurring it on faster. It was only as the horse and its rider drew abreast to him, did Uhtred speak.

"Sihtric, what is it?"

The Dane spun his horse around in a hasty circle, both beast and man breathing hard. "A raiding party, lord."

"How close?" Finan hastily broke in, coming to stand at his lord's side.

"Not long. Their destination appeared to be the village. They are making their way through the trees as we speak."

"Shit…." Uhtred muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth. His thoughts swirled like a violent maelstrom with this new information. They had been told there were no Danes in the area before coming here. It's why he had brought so few of his warriors….

"Lord Uhtred?"

The Dane-Slayer peered just behind him, finding Osferth standing there, eyebrows pinched in concern. Clearly he had overheard Sihtric even though the young monk was supposed to be away helping the people.

"The….ah, the villagers are almost ready to leave." Osferth spoke in a monotone but the distress on his face told a different story.

The villagers. Those he had been sent to protect. There were no more warriors amongst them, no able-bodied men to fight off the Danes. The small village was too close to East Anglia, too easy a target for raiding Danes. That was why he had been sent here.

Swiftly, he shut down any inkling of fear, turning his mind to battle-strategy and calculations. He would need his mind clear to make certain the villagers, along with his men, saw the setting sun tonight. Valhalla nor the Christian heaven would greet them tonight if he had any say.

"How many, Sihtric?" Uhtred turned back to his spy.

"Thirty? Maybe more?" Sihtric slid from the horse with a quick glance towards the surrounding forest before returning his attention to Uhtred. "I was unable to count, choosing to make haste here instead."

"You did the right thing. Saved us from a surprise attack."

"Lord, there is one more thing."

His blue eyes swung back from staring in the direction Sihtric had looked to meet the Dane's dark eyes. "Yes?"

"I saw Haesten leading the raiding party."

A foul oath slipped from Uhtred's mouth as he exhaled sharply. His gaze dropped to the overturned ground and his hands landed on his hips.

"What's that pig's arse doing 'ere?" Finan demanded no one in particular.

Although Uhtred would have paid handsomely to know the answer to that particular question himself, now was not the time. Later he could mull over Haesten's presence.

"It matters not." He dispelled that line of questioning, gazing once more at the line of trees. "We need to prepare."

"Lord? Prepare for what?" Osferth glanced back at the small village they were supposed to be helping evacuate. His hands were clasped in front of him, a thumb tapping a rapid staccato against the other.

"Are ya certain of this?" Finan stepped closer, his voice dropping so only their small group could hear him. "We have less than half the men we need."

The Dane-Slayer dragged his gaze back to his friend, a cocky grin on his lips. "Then we will need to kill twice as many."

Finan snorted before smacking Osferth's shoulder. "Baby monk, time for ya to make yaself useful."

"I already do. Whenever I pray for the souls of you heathens."

"And an excellent job ya do. I feel more holy already."

"Finan, take Osferth and go tell the priest the situation." Uhtred commanded, his mind already focused on the upcoming battle. "Have the people make their way to that nearby hill overlooking the village instead of the main road. Tell them to travel only with what they can carry on their backs. Go!"

The two nodded, Osferth immediately taking off, his robe flapping around his legs. Finan gave Uhtred a long look before turning around and sprinting towards the village, his sword bouncing off his hip with each step.

"Sihtric, were the Danes on horses?"

"Just Haesten. The rest were on foot."

"At least we have that to our advantage." Uhtred muttered. He gazed over the area surrounding the small village, knowing soon it would be filled with the sounds of battle, with blood and bodies, sweat and tears. The Danes would come expecting an easy raid and find the little bird they had come to steal and stomp on had turned into a hawk with sharp talons and a piercing cry.

"Come, let us gather the men. By the will of the Norns, maybe I'll finally kill that rat Haesten."

Sihtric walked alongside, leading his horse. "I'll gladly help you put his head on a spike after."

The two warriors chuckled darkly, heading back into the village where his men lingered. Uhtred began calling commands to his men, rallying them to prepare to fight and defend the fleeing villagers.

As the winds shifted, he could almost feel the storm brewing on the horizon. As if nature itself prepared to bear witness to the battle and its dubious outcome. Uhtred could only hope the winds were favorable for his men and himself.

*****

This is not how today was supposed to go.

It was meant to be boring and straightforward. The worst was supposed to be that he might get into an argument with the local priest over his heathen antics or an stubborn, elderly woman about leaving behind a cherished momento.

Not a skirmish. Not a bloody fight.

There were not supposed to be any Danes in the area, or at least that was what Uhtred had been led to believe. Now he could not help but wonder if this was someone's simple way of finishing him off. A fleeting thought brought Alfred's face to mind but Uhtred dismissed it. No, the King of Wessex needed him too much to kill him off now. It must be someone else. And Uhtred had every intention of figuring it out once he made it back.

If he made it back.

Uhtred was already at the larger town nearby when the desperate plea for help came to the steps of the Ealdorman. Uhtred had been sent by King Alfred to scout the area but also help plan defenses since the area was on the border of Mercia, close to East Anglia. Hearing the plea, he offered his men and services to escort the weary villagers from their desolate village to the town, a place that provided better safety.

The village was to be only a day's journey by horseback from the larger town. A welcome respite since Uhtred's patience with Lord Odel, the local Ealdorman, was waning thin.

This was meant to be a simple, uncomplicated journey- he was to explain to the villagers their plea had been heard and space had been granted to them at the larger town, then escort them back.

But when had anything been easy for Uhtred?

Now the Dane-Slayer stood amongst his oathmen that he had brought with him. Less than half their opposition. The air crackled with tension with the change in the wind, the foreshadowing of battle. That tension seeped into his men, their eyes shifty as they awaited the Danes, and their grips on their swords and shields firm.

Although he remained poised, meeting the eyes of his men with confidence and assurance….internally, he wondered if today was the day they would be greeted by death. He swore to himself long ago, he would fight with every last drop of his strength to keep his men alive. They followed him with loyalty that inspired him. He would not fail them. He could not. But still that faint sense of doom could be heard in the brewing storm, echoed within his chest.

Heaven nor Valhalla would have his men today. He would not allow it.

"Lord!" Finan jogged up to stand by Uhtred's side. His sword was in his hand already, a light sheen of sweat on his brow.

"It is done? Where is Osferth?"

Finan nodded. "Aye. The pathetic priest went catatonic when we told 'im of the comin' Danes. One of the women stepped up and started givin' orders. It appears this is not the first time they've narrowly escaped a raid. Everyone's headed in the direction of the hill. We made sure to arm the few elderly men left and gave some of 'em older boys bows and arrows they use for huntin'. 'S not much, but if any Danes get behind us, they have some way to defend themselves."

"But do they have the fortitude to kill?" Sihtric murmured from Uhtred's other side, his gaze straight ahead where they knew the Danes would be coming.

Finan sighed but said no more.

The sounds of mayhem within the village had decreased over the past several minutes. Uhtred looked over his shoulder at the village, its scattered buildings, pens and gardens. Evidence of prior raids still stained the village. At the furthest end, he could see the villagers fleeing, some on foot and some on horses. He had made the decision to lend the horses of his men and his own to help carry those that needed it. Now he stood on the ground, surrounded by his oathmen in front of the village, a wall of men to protect the defenseless. They were to be the rock to break the wave of Danes and their destruction. Or so he hoped.

"And Osferth?" Uhtred shifted to follow Sihtric's gaze, seeing shadows move amongst the trees. The Danes drew closer.

"I told 'im to stay and help since the priest was useless."

"He can guard their backs too. That was wise."

"I try, lord." Finan quipped.

Uhtred would have rolled his eyes any other time at Finan's tease but not now. Not with the song humming in his blood readying him for battle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Finan and Sihtric tap swords like they did before any fight. It warmed him to see the friendship that had grown between the Irishman and Dane. Unlikely companions but brothers by choice.

Up ahead, he could see the first Dane emerge from the surrounding forest. His flaxen colored hair hung loosely over his shoulders, his chest bare of armor or tunic bit riddled with tattoos and scars. A mighty axe was held in both hands but it was the bloodthirsty grin on his scarred face that made Uhtred swallow thickly.

The dim sound of movement behind him drew his attention away as more Danes slowly emerged from the forest. What he saw made him want to swear a black oath while simultaneously gape like a fish. Could the gods, for once, not mock him?

A young woman jogged towards them along the main dirt road that ran the length of the village. A sword and sheath were strapped to her hip over her green dress. A quiver hung across her back and one of her hands clutched a bow.

She jogged directly towards him, only stopping when she was within just out of arm's length. Her thick braid of golden hair swung along her back as she swiveled her head to glance at the approaching Danes then back to him. "Where do you need me, Lord Uhtred?"

For a moment, he stared at her stunned. She was dressed Saxon but the way she carried herself and her weapons spoke of something more. What truly made him pause, to sharply inhale in awe, was as she stood there in the sunlight, her eyes were the same color as the stone in Serpent Breath. Never before had he seen eyes like hers. He wondered if it was a sign from the gods. Freckles colored her pale face like stars in the night sky. Not even the small scar at the corner of her plump, bottom lip or on her cheekbone could detract from the beauty she simply was.

Before he could answer, one of his men nearby spoke up, redirecting attention to himself.

"Edlynne, what are you doing here? Go back and help your mother!" Werian hissed. His shrewd gaze darted from the incoming Danes to her and back, as if debating forcibly dragging her away from the impending fight.

She barely spared him a glance before meeting Uhtred's gaze. "Osferth said you needed all the help you could get."

The overflow of determination in the set of her soft jaw and in the brightness of her eyes surprised him. Even her stance was loose as if they were just casually speaking and not preparing to fight for their lives. She was taller than most Saxon women, her eyes at height with his chin. Her body was svelte, even obvious through the dress that appeared a size too large on her lithe frame, and with curves in all the right places that could easily draw a man's eye.

As he stared at her, blue eyes meeting amber ones, he questioned why the Norns would orchestrate this meeting between them….and why he felt as if a thread had woven around him and now bound itself to her.

A swift shake of his head was his attempt at dislodging the foolish thought and to focus on the present moment. "Girl, you need to return. I cannot watch you during the fight." Uhtred demanded, nodding back in the direction of the deserted village. "Guard the women and children with the others, you have no place here."

He witnessed the spark of a flame burn in her eyes, but as she opened her mouth to reply, Finan's comment silenced her words.

"It's Haesten."

Uhtred's gaze slid away from the woman behind him and to the growing party of Danes approaching. At least twice as many as his own men and then a few more, were all he could see on foot. But it was the one on horseback that captured his attention. With a smug smirk on his ugly face, Haesten gazed across the space between his warriors and the village, locking eyes with Uhtred.

Once Osferth had drunkenly confessed he thought Haesten looked like a deranged hog, with his squinting, piggy eyes, the wild hair around him like some kind of untameable mane and the two small tusks tied into his beard on either side of his chin. Uhtred and his men had laughed loudly before pouring Osferth another cup of ale.

The memory flickered across Uhtred's mind as he stared down the dirt road and met the man's gaze. He could slightly see the resemblance, even if he personally thought the Dane was a weasel.

"Is that you, Uhtred?" The Dane called out, narrowing those wily eyes. "Or do my eyes deceive me?"

"It is I...and what are you doing here, Haesten?"

The Dane gave a lazy shrug. "I am merely on a stroll with my companions on this pleasant day."

Uhtred heard Finan's scoff coming from his right but he ignored it, focusing on the Dane who lied as much as he breathed. "Dressed for battle?"

"You never know when an opportunity arises." Haesten chuckled, his gaze trailing over Uhtred's men. "I am surprised to find you here. I figured you would still be licking the boots of King Alfred, or wiping his ass."

The Danes laughed, a few beating their axes or swords on their shields.

Haesten continued, a malicious glee radiating from him. "I do wonder, does the shit of a king stink as much as a common man? And with how often King Alfred is sick, I bet it must be….well, I am certain you can tell us."

"Haesten, take your warriors and leave." Uhtred commanded, ignoring the insult. He had no patience to banter insults and jabs with a weasel like Haesten, whose mind was as thick as a fart.

"Or what, Dane-Slayer?"

"Or we will kill you."

Haesten sucked his teeth. "I doubt it. I see your woman hiding behind you. Perhaps I shall take her as my own after you are dead. I am in need of a woman to hump." Haesten grinned, then loudly called out to his men. "Any man who brings me Uhtred's woman will get their turn with her after me!"

That brought a riotous cheering to the Danes, several shouting insults in their language and a few making crude gestures. Meanwhile Haesten sat above them looking far too pleased with himself.

"Ah, shite." Finan mumbled, peeking over his shoulder. "Shoulda left when ya had the chance, lass."

Uhtred looked back at her and was shocked to not see fear in her face, only that silent determination she carried and a hint of excitement in her eyes. "Stay behind me." He ordered.

Another round of cheers sounded from Haesten's warriors. The sound of Danes readying for glory or Valhalla.

Uhtred pulled his sword from its sheath across his back. The sword sang its blood-song as it emerged, ready to spill blood and entrails on the hard ground. No longer did he try and still his racing heart but allowed it to gallop like a horse across the fields. It only pushed him further and faster. Shoving aside all doubt and concern, he directed his attention at the Danes. It was too late to change anything. Now he must focus on keeping himself and his men alive….and this strange woman.

Suddenly, her soft voice drifted to his ears as she whispered, just barely audible, from behind him. Yet it was what she spoke that almost made him lose focus.

"Æsir, heed my prayers.

Odin All-Father, bless us with your wisdom and cunning.

Great Týr, let not our enemies beat us but allow justice to prevail.

Share with us your profound strength, O mighty Thor.

Let us bring honor to ourselves that we could be called amongst the einherjar if the Norns sever our life thread.

Keep the gates of Valhalla open for us, so we may feast amongst those who come before us and in the presence of the gods."

Uhtred met Sihtric's own astounded gaze before looking back at her. It was not just that she called upon the gods that surprised him, and Sihtric too apparently. But it was the perfect Norse spoken as she prayed that shocked him the most. No Saxon woman would pray to the gods of the heathens, and equally only a rare few spoke Norse beyond a few scattered words.

His intrigue in the woman tripled after hearing her prayer. It felt every moment he spent in her presence, only brought about more questions as to who she was.

Questions he was inclined to seek the answers to.

Eyes closed, she took a deep breath at the end of her prayer. Then in a single, fluid motion, that bespoke years of practice, she grabbed an arrow and notched it. Only then did her amber eyes open and meet the slightly startled and dazed ones of Uhtred.

She gave him a slight head nod and he found himself returning the action before realizing what he had done. It was then the sounds of chanting, jeers and swords or axes banging on shields filled his ears once more. He blinked in startlement as he turned back around. He had not even noticed how her voice drowned out all else as he avidly listened to her prayer.

"Final chance. Do you wish to surrender, Lord Uhtred?"

"I would never surrender to a rat like yourself, Haesten!" Uhtred shouted back. "My men are worth three times as much as those pathetic creatures you call warriors!"

"Attack!" The Dane warlord bellowed.

With war cries on their lips and weapons drawn, the opposing Danes charged. The sound of their movement was like thunder rolling over the grassy fields, deafening all but the brewing storm.

Uhtred gripped his sword tighter, planting his feet into the hard ground beneath him. His shield was heavy on his arm but a familiar, comfortable weight he embraced. His vision narrowed onto the enemy, deciding who would die by his sword first. Bloodlust ran rampant through his veins like a wild stallion. Serpent Breath sang its siren's call, beckoning them forward to meet their doom.

"We're with you, Uhtred." Finan murmured from his side, his gaze never wavering from the rapidly approaching Danes. "Until death."

"That will not be our fate today, my friend." Uhtred answered. Somehow he knew it deep in his bones. Like a whisper into his ear from the breeze tugging at his hair, the winds were in their favor. The gods smiled down upon them today. Perhaps the woman's prayer had some merit to it after all.

A single arrow flew overhead, planting itself into the eye of a running Dane. An anguished scream shot through the air like a lightning strike. But no one paid any heed to the dying man as another arrow flew by. This one landed in the thigh of a warrior, causing him to tumble forward due to his own momentum and the injury. Another arrow immediately followed, catching a Dane in the face, dropping him to the ground.

Arrow after arrow was released on the encroaching raiding party. Most of the arrows found their mark, either killing or maiming its victims.

But it did not stop the fight.

With his own war cry, Uhtred led the change of his men. Blood roared in his ears, drowning the sound of his pounding feet and his panting breaths. Only the song of battle could be heard….and he answered with a savage zeal.

He swung his sword at the first Dane he encountered. The slim Dane blocked his swing with his own sword but stumbled back when Uhtred immediately followed his swing by knocking him with his shield. In that quick moment, Uhtred plunged his sword into the Dane's innards.

Without waiting, he spun on his heel, raising his shield just as another sword descended towards him. He parried with the towering Dane briefly before an arrow struck the back of the Dane's thigh. The Dane fought on, barely missing a step even though an arrow skewered him through his left thigh. The Dane rained down blows with his powerful two-handed axe. It was now Uhtred recognized him as the berserker that first emerged from the forest.

Only due to instinct did Uhtred suddenly lunge to the side. He spun, drawing his shield close as another Dane had snuck up on him, attempting to stab him in the back.

The berserker laughed as he watched his comrade fight, his voice like rolling boulders. "Ha! The Dane-Slayer may best you yet, Harald!" He jeered in Norse.

Finally, an opening showed itself and Uhtred swung his sword at this Harald's thigh, slicing down to the bone. The Dane dropped to his knees with a roar of pain and fury. But before his knees even hit the ground, Uhtred had slid his sword through the man's head, almost cutting it in half.

Swiftly, he turned to re-engage the massive Dane, momentarily surprised he had held back. Instead he found the berserker dropped to his knees with a bloody grin on his downturned face and two arrows sticking out of his bare back.

A loud curse in Irish wrenched Uhtred's attention back to his men.

With dirt, blood and brains on his face and sword, Uhtred returned to the fight without wasting a moment.

He parried and blocked, he struck and dodged. There was no thought besides the battle. No time for remorse or fear. He killed. And did his best not to be killed.

Except always in the back of his mind was the woman- the archer. Like an itch he could not scratch or an annoying fly, she lingered in his mind.

At one point, he saw she had dropped her bow and was fighting off two Danes. She managed to block their hits and dance away from their swings. One reached out to grab her, but she thrust her sword into his gut. Just as she yanked her sword back, a third Dane approached from behind and kicked the back of one of her legs. She stumbled, barely catching herself before the Dane attacked in a rage.

A tremor of fear burned through him. Uhtred tried to race to her aid, unwilling to see her fall, refusing to let her become a captive. But the pain-soaked shout of one of his men as he fell at Uhtred's feet, stopped the Dane-Slayer. He was forced to divert his attention to the Dane that struck down his man. Furor revived in him as he stepped over the body of his oathman. Lifeblood begged to be spilled.

Once he secured the death of the Dane, a new red stain coating Serpent Breath, he glanced up once more and felt an overwhelming wave of relief course through him as he noticed Sihtric standing by her side as they continued to fight, each their own man. With a quirk of his lips, he dove back into the battle with a shout, thrusting his sword into a Dane that attempted to get behind Finan.

As the skirmish wore on, Uhtred found his gaze returning to the woman in between opponents. Relieved when he saw her still standing, still fighting, but also in shock because she moved like a Dane….like a shieldmaiden.

But he did not have long to process the thought for another Dane would appear in his vision.

He was unsure how long the skirmish lasted, for battle warped time and made it both longer and shorter simultaneously. It was not until he was yanking his blade from the ribs of a man now at his feet, that he heard Finan's shouting.

"Haesten, ya coward! Get back 'ere and fight! I'll scalp ya hairy arse!"

Uhtred looked towards where he had last seen Haesten, still seated on his horse. Now though, the warlord was fleeing. Having turned his horse around, he kicked it into a run and made for the surrounding forest, leaving his men to die alone.

Without removing his eyes from the cowardly weasel, Uhtred spit onto the ground, hoping to shed the lingering taste of blood and betrayal.

"Ya alright? Ya injured?" Finan came over, clapping a hand on the Dane-Slayer's shoulder. He was breathing heavily, blood splattered all down the front of his leather armor.

Uhtred took a deep breath, giving himself a minute to take stock. He could feel a sluggish trickle of blood soaking into his tunic sleeve from a sword slice he had deflected and the sensation of both wet and drying blood on his face, evidence of those he had killed. His shoulder ached from the barrage of hammering against his shield he had endured. Overall he had escaped major injuries, something he was grateful for. "I am well. You?"

"A few scratches but nothin' else."

"Good. The men?"

The two men surveyed the area, noting the many bodies sprawled out or contoured on the ground as if still in the throes of dying. It appeared several of his oathmen were still upright. A surprising and pleasing realization. Maybe they would stop squalling and complaining like fishwives now when he forced them to practice and train. One of his men was still locked in combat with the last Dane further away, as if they were so absorbed they had not realized the overall fight was over and the Danish warlord fled. Another Dane crawled amongst the bodies, blood pouring out a missing eye. One of his oathmen walked over, lifted the Dane's head by his matted hair, and sliced his throat.

Uhtred turned away from the sight. "Sihtric?"

"I last saw 'im over there." Finan gestured in the direction of the village behind them.

Uhtred surveyed around at the carnage before shaking his head. He needed a moment before taking the tally of his men lost and those injured. "Let's find him."

"If we are lucky, a Dane killed that rat bastard and we can finally be done with 'im."

"You are just mad he won that bet. What? He cost you four silvers?"

"And I had to pay for his time in the brothel." Finan grumbled, wiping sweat and blood off his face with his dirty sleeve.

Uhtred was weary from the fight, his breath coming in uneven and his legs demanding a respite, but he still managed to hoarsely laugh and smack his friend's shoulder.

They walked towards the village, leaving the battlefield behind them. As they got closer, they could see Sihtric sitting and leaning against the side of a house. Beside him was the woman, cutting off a strip from the hem of her dress. Without a word, she wrapped it around Sihtric's calf, making him wince.

"Sihtric? Are you hurt?"

The Dane glanced up, seeing his companions approach. "No, lord." The woman must have intentionally tightened the wrap further causing Sihtric to hiss through his teeth. "It's just a scratch, lord. I knocked one of them down and he got me with his sword as he landed."

"If you are certain. We will still have Osferth clean it when we return."

"Yes, lord."

The woman finally sat back on her heels and turned to face them. Bright amber eyes met keen blue eyes and Uhtred felt unable to look away from her. His gaze scanned over her with pinpoint accuracy, searching for any kind of injury. At least, that was the excuse his mind conjured to explain away his blatant staring.

"I am unharmed." She softly murmured. Golden strands of hair stuck to her face and neck, glued there by sweat and blood. A blossoming bruise colored the side of her jaw. Her green dress now carried splatterings of blood on the torso and arms. When she shifted, a long rip in her dress could be seen, giving him a peek at a pale, toned thigh.

Uhtred grunted his acknowledgement since words seemed to suddenly fail him.

"Ya fought well. I didn't think Saxons trained their women to fight."

Her sharp gaze shifted to the Irishman. She seemed to hesitate a brief moment before replying softly. "I was not trained by Saxons."

"Danes trained you, did they not?" Sihtric commented, massaging the palm of his sword hand.

She bit her bottom lip, dropping her gaze away from them. Shielding her thoughts and words. Hiding away her truth.

"Are ya a Dane, lady?" Finan dropped onto the ground next to Sihtric with a groan. Even though his tone and actions were casual, Uhtred could see the intelligent gleam and intrigue in Finan's eyes.

She shook her head, uselessly attempting to brush dirt and blood off her dress.

"But Danes taught you to fight?" Uhtred probed, squatting down. His question came out more of a statement for he had seen her fight. Saxons did not move like that. Like they were born with a sword in hand.

"Yes."

"How?"

Those amber eyes scanned around, seeming to make sure they were alone. "Only few know of my training and by whom. I beg that you keep this information to yourselves."

"Our lips are sealed, lady." Finan cheekily winked.

"Thank you." She murmured as she looked over Uhtred's shoulder.

The Dane-Slayer glanced over, seeing one of his oathmen approach. Then it hit him that this was the same man that spoke so informally with her earlier, that called her by her name. A spark of jealousy ignited in his chest, catching him off guard, as he wondered how Werian had met the woman and become so friendly.

"Lord Uhtred." Werian said, walking up with a limp in his step and a bloody gash on his cheek. Although he spoke to his lord, his eyes lingered on the woman.

A flash of annoyance shot through Uhtred like an arrow. His voice came out more snappish than he meant but he felt no remorse. "What is it?"

"We were blessed by the LORD in this fight. We only lost four men to the Danes, with only Odar's injuries appearing life-threatening at the present. Stabbed in the side."

"That is good news indeed." Uhtred replied, running a hand over his mouth. Four men. He despised their loss, but it could have been far worse. The odds were against him and his men with the Danes being in greater numbers. Somehow they found favor and won. It was as simple and complex as that. They cheated death to live another day.

The Saxon bowed his head to his lord before speaking again. "With your permission, I will seek out the villagers and return with some of our horses. I saw an abandoned wagon nearby that we can place the injured in and find a healer."

"Good. Take Renweard with you."

"Thank you, lord." Werian returned his gray eyes back to the woman. "Edlynne, I will see you back to your family."

"Of course. I know a shortcut through the woods, that should lessen our distance."

"Excellent." Werian smiled at her, his short beard twitching with the movement, then started to limp away, calling for Renweard. He thrust a hand through his cropped, black hair, his other hand on his sword at his hip.

Edlynne gave a brief smile to the three men before rising to her feet with a quiet sigh.

Abruptly, Uhtred mirrored her movement, rising to his feet also. He reached over, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and halting her leave. "Who trained you?"

A teasing smirk grew on her face, even as her voice remained low as not to be overheard. "You did not think you were the only Saxon raised by Danes, did you?"

With that, she slipped away from him like a waking dream, leaving him in a confused daze.

He watched as Werian waited for her. As she came to stand before him, he placed a hand on her shoulder, seeming to ask her something. She shook her head then side-stepped him, forcing his hand to drop. With a short statement, she hurried to grab her abandoned bow and the few arrows nearby. Werian helped her gather arrows, always keeping an eye on her.

"Ah, shite. I know that look."

Uhtred looked over at Finan then Sihtric sitting side by side with matching grins. "What do you speak of?"

Finan pointed at Uhtred. "That look. The one ya are wearin'."

"What look?"

"The one that says ya about to do somethin' stupid."

Uhtred scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I do not have a look."

"Aye, ya do. Ya should leave her alone."

"Do not tell me you are not curious about her."

"I am, but this is her secret apparently. We should respect that."

Sihtric spoke up, his brow furrowed as he watched her. "I wish to know who trained her. There is something that feels familiar about her….like a ghost from a past life."

Uhtred gestured at his fellow Dane. "See! I am not alone!"

Finan sighed and rolled his eyes, thumping his head on the wall behind him. "Hild and Beocca would be disappointed in the both of ya."

"Have you not heard? Stupid is in my nature." Uhtred quipped.

"Oh aye, we know."

Uhtred chuckled, turning back to watch the woman and his two oathmen head in the direction they had sent the villagers to hide.

"Edlynne." Her name rolled off his tongue in a breathy whisper. The taste of it like cold mead after a hard day's work.

She had piqued his curiosity. A dangerous thing for he could be relentlessly persistent when he chose to be. And he had every intention of finding out about their shared pasts. He wanted to hear and know her story. To learn more about her and who trained her as a shieldmaiden. But overall, he needed to know why it felt as if the Norns had weaved their life threads together….and what it meant.

It would be at least a two day journey to the nearby town once they started. It would be slow moving with the villagers and now injured men. He had plenty of time to question her.

Or so he thought.

------

Tag List:

@geekandbooknerd @solinarimoon

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[ktheist]

take my whole life too | m

muses. jeongguk x heir!reader

genre. chaebol au. arranged marriage au. expecting parents au.

words. 5k

warnings. dad!jeongguk, house husband!jeongguk, simp!jeongguk, implied smut verging on actual smut, mentions of break up and arguments

x

you never gave much thought for jeon jeongguk - not for how he looks, not for how much he makes, not for how compatible you are together. nothing. so much for promising to stay together through health and sickness till death do you apart.

but that’s just the thing, you were willing to let go of your heart in exchange for the wealth of your family. which is inherently yours until the findings of your grandfather’s will appointing his administrators the task of safeguarding the billions of dollar estate against his unmarried granddaughter who to be fair, has always had her eyes on that bejeweled ring of his. it’s less about the diamond and more about what possessing - legally, of course - the ring could do. for one, nobody could challenge your legitimacy as the chairman of luxean. and boy, do your overbearing aunties like to nitpick every little thing you do at the board meeting just to put their sons and daughters in a better light.

so yeah, you would say sacrificing your non-existent possibility of falling in love would suffice. plus, jeongguk can go shopping for convertibles with a swipe of a card, fly from london to italy to greece and back to london within one night. heck, he can even have a steamy hot night with the locals and bring back a greek goddess of a mistress if he wanted to.

except for one problem: he wants to do all those things with you.

well, considering how he stripped down to just pants with the buckle undone and protrusion of well defined abs that leads to a tantalizing v-line beneath the contrasting black band of his calvin klein halfway to the bedroom of your suite after the ceremony, completely disregarding the fact you never spoke to him unless you were in the presence of other people - watching eyes - and the limited time you have to change into your second outfits, you figured he’d want more than just hot and steamy nights in paris and peaceful quiet mornings in athens in your sundress and off white spring hats.

he either hasn’t figured out that he’s just a tool for you to gain public opinion or he doesn’t particularly care as long as he’s getting some.

“you’re leaving?” the voice that asked the very obvious question bears a sort of despondency to it.

when you turn to face the man lying naked - and looking like a well sculpted greek god at that - in the bed, you curse yourself for forgetting the one simple thing that you promise yourself not to do: look at him in the eye. by god, you’ve never seen anyone -  any man - who could be so good at weakening your resolution and making you want to climb into bed and cuddle him like a puppy.

“didn’t soyeon tell you i have a meeting?” you manage to sound casual about it for the most part as you put on the earrings that lie abandoned on the vanity when jeongguk came in just before you were almost done with your make up and bent you over the vanity to fuck you once before carrying you to the bed and fuck you in your sensitive state.

“i know,” he mumbles.

and when only silence follows suit, you can’t help but let your hands rest on your hip as you raise your eyebrows, “but?”

it takes a moment of the man trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and leaving it with a sort of pinkish shine when he releases it, “can we have another go?”

“you’re hard?” this time, the surprise in your voice is unconcealable, “again?”

“i know - i’m sorry - it’s just... that dress looks really good on you,” he doesn’t even bother to hide his ogling.

so to answer the question of whether you fucked him that time at your suite when you were supposed to change, yes you did.

“sounds like a you kind of problem,” you wave with the hand that picked up your purse - all your essentials already there, “go out and have a look at athens before we fly for london tomorrow - oh and maybe grab some dinner for yourself.”

“when will you be back?” as much as you like to think you’re indifferent to your husband, you can’t help but think he looks endearing for shying away from your gaze and rubbing the back of his head hesitantly, “i thought maybe we could have dinner together.”

there’s a strain in his voice but you brush it off, shrugging, “what do you think meetings like this are held over? i am going for dinner,” you want to take that back as soon as it escaped your lips but instead, you turn around, “anyways, don’t wait up.”

that’s one habit that he seems to have - waiting for you until you climb into bed with him after long hours of frying your eyes in front of the laptop in the common area.

either way, you strut out of your suite, leaving your husband with a semi-hard cock, you didn’t miss the way it twitched at your blatant rejection just before you turned your back on him.

and so you go about your day, the meeting coming to a close flawlessly as with a signed contract and a meal worthy of the restaurant’s reputation. by the time you thought the approaching figure from the corner of your eyes is the waiter bringing your desserts, kim taehyung was in the middle of thanking you “for meeting me on such a short notice, on your honeymoon at that.”

“i should thank you for reaching out to my secretary when you heard i’d be here too,” you chuckle, hand pushing a stray hair to the back of your ear before your gaze travels up to meet the man’s, “my grandfather always says, there’s no security on this earth, only opportunity,” raising the wine glass mid air, you offer him a smile, “and god does not help anyone seize it unless they do so themselves.”

“the late chairman was a wise man,” he raises his own glass, only to freeze at an awkward angle when the waiter finally approaches you.

except it isn’t the waiter. 

it’s-

“___,” a voice fills your ears like velvet on skin, you already know who it belongs to before you even look up at the man whose out-of-character furrowed brows and pressed lips all but makes you want to shoot up from your seat and spout out explanations you don’t even owe him, “i thought i’d pick you up since it’s,” he checks his rolex - it was the first thing you bought him after assessing his lack of accessory after you’d both signed the contract, “half an hour till midnight and the polignotou isn’t going to wait for us.”

taehyung is the one to break the silence, “it seems i’ve taken up too much of your time.”

before you can even refute it, he’s already standing up and fixing his blazer before stepping to the side to properly face your husband. 

“congratulations of your marriage, mr. jeon,” then he turns to you, his smile just as excellent at yours when it comes to hiding your emotions and that could only mean that tonight is drawing to an end on a bad note thanks to your husband’s interruption, “mrs. jeon.”

and with a final words of ‘i’ll have my secretary send you the papers soon’, he’s gone like the wind.

“what are you doing here? i told you i had a meeting! not gallivanting with some greek men!” the words come out in a low hiss when he takes the abandoned seat across from you as you gaze around the vicinity in case there are other business acquaintances that happen to know you.

“i’m sorry -” he mumbles out, “i was walking down the streets and i saw you at the balcony of the restaurant and-” he stops short of his words, tongue darting out over his lower lip for the briefest moment.

“and?” you echo, brows arched.

“i got jealous of seeing you with another guy,” his voice is barely above whisper but you hear it loud and clear.

you’re almost sure that you’ve slipped but and let your eyes narrow at him like a puzzle that you can’t figure out but it’s gone in a heartbeat as you pick up your purse and clear your throat. possibly in search for the right words to say but perhaps also an admittance of your caught-off-guard situation.

either way you stand up, “let’s go, the street starts getting scarcer by 2 and i’d rather stay safe and walk with more people than less.”

x

you did end up walking.

it was a halfway walk but it’s still a walk, that was, until you saw jeongguk pulling on the material of his pants every two minutes. the lack of lights did well to hide it but even then, your eyes automatically pans towards the noticeable protrusion in between his legs. as if your body has completely adapted to his scent - that subtle but evident scent of masculinity, his gaze - the pure, unadulterated desire within the shadows in his eyes and his touch - the way his hand seems to inch lower down your ass before he traces back up to settle on the dip of your spine before it left you cold and unattended when he started to tug on his pants.

“jeongguk -ah, fuck,” you bite back the moan that spills over your lips, “you’re making too much noise.”

“yeah?” his voice bears a lull to it as he thrusts in and out of you in the way that makes your legs come together and your heart leap all the way to your throat as your hands grip onto the dampened cart jeongguk pushed you against in the closest alleyway you were walking towards before he bent you over, lifted up your dress and pulled your panties down.

not even a minute passed before you felt him inside you. and by god, did you feel filled to the brim. the sheen of sweat coating your skin is cold against the chilly night air, the sinful sounds echoing off the walls makes you pray for the first time in a long time that no one is nearby and the way jeongguk is hitting all your sweet spots has you gritting your teeth in hopes that it’d be one less sound to get you arrested for public indecency.

in a country that you’re not a citizen of, at that.

you’re not sure how you got back to your suite and how the hell did you switch into your night dress but you have an inkling that it has something to do with the man whose arm traps you against a hard, muscled body when you started shifting to wake.

his breath fans the back of your neck as he slurs his words but you can make out a ‘five more minutes’ after a grumble and a faint ‘chaeyoung’ at the end.

“no,” you’re not sure what or who you’re saying the words of rejection to, but you slam a fist into arm that’s holding you, “let me go! jeongguk! let me go!”

he finally does at the bloodcurdling scream that could wake up the whole city. but somehow security hasn’t come bursting through the door and the streets in front of your room hasn’t halted its hustling and bustling.

“wh-what happened?” jeongguk’s wide eyes scan the room for the one, solid minute before they rest on you but instead of settling with the deduction that your scream was caused by his own entrapment - possibly the unfamiliar name he blurted out - he crawls over to you, “are you okay?” hand on your cheek as he checks for something.

they return to your eyes when you slap it away though.

you’re not even sure why you’re seeing red but you attribute it to the fact that- “how did i get in this?”

he takes one look and blinks, “i changed you because you fell asleep in the cab and i carried-”

“why?” arms crossed over your chest, you speak over him.

“i... i thought you might be uncomfortable sleeping in that dress,” you can almost hear the screws in his brain turning in search for answers.

“stop, okay? don’t act like you’re some award-winning husband - you’re not, you were broke and was about to lose your only source of income when i came to you and asked if you wanted to not have to work a day in your life,” he must’ve not known that his eyebrows twitch at the words, “it’s always been about the money - i get it, so you can stop now. we don’t have to play house when no one’s around because this isn’t an actual marriage and we don’t even love each other.”

you expected the stars in his eyes to dim out, expected him to avert his gaze somewhere to the most random thing like the ugly vase next to the door or the phone on the nightstand or the window where the sound of kids laughing and vendors across the street obnoxiously greeting his neighboring competition.

but instead, he looks straight at you, “what is it then?” he asks, “what are we if those good night kisses, cuddling into each other in the middle of the night when we woke up briefly before falling back to sleep, holding hands while walking and making love every night-”

“i don’t know where you got that because i never kissed you, i never asked you to wait for me to go to sleep together and i never touched you first - they were all you,” your head dips to the side just the slightest bit, “and we had sex every night. that’s it - it’s just sex.”

the last thing you see before you climb off the bed and lock yourself in the bathroom, dialing up your secretary’s number to book a plane ticket for yourself, is what you’ve initially expected to see.

stars that don’t shine as bright as the morning they twinkle and greet for the first time of the day. brows that knit together but not because he’s anxious or nervous about telling you something.

when you stepped out, he’s gone and you don’t leave any notes. not even a text after you packed up your belongings, hailed a cab and went straight to the airport in your darkest shades and brightest dress.

and so it goes, not a single rumor about your early arrival in seoul and your lack of spouse with you. mainly because jeongguk and you have put up quite a show for those watching eyes. a love story worth spectating and an ending keenly awaited. but you’ve made it clear, during your about-to-hit one month honeymoon that you’re truly, deeply, madly in love with your chosen husband, so much so, that you’re willing to leave the chairman seat unguarded. 

it’s a gamble but it worked like magic. the board members welcome you back into the company without any inquiry even though you’re one week too early. mr. yoo even seems relieved to see you when you’re on your way to your office on your first day back.

“it’s nice to see you again, miss ____ -” he stops himself, “i mean, mrs. jeon.”

you shake your head, laughing, “miss ___ is fine for me, everyone’s known me as that for so long.”

when you reach the end of the hallway where you have to part to go to your office, and him to his, you tap him on the arm once with a hand that lacks a wedding ring but he doesn’t seem to care as he dips into a bow and bids you a good day.

and so it goes, you start burying yourself in your pending works while also juggling surprise visits from two of your aunts, to which each does not fail to not-so-discreetly give your left hand a once over. but you’re faster, having kept your ring in the drawer and pulling it out and slipping it on under the desk before standing up to greet the elder women both times without fail.

on the day jeongguk and you were supposed to return, you’ve debated on booking a hotel just because you don’t want to face him - soyeon briefed him about your sudden departure back to korea and that there was no reason for him to come back with you. and so he stayed. travelled to london and then to glasgow with a black card and unlimited possibilities - just liked you promised him on the day you signed the contract.

things might have gotten off track but coming back to the familiar scent of ocean from your candlewicks and the bonzai that belonged to your deceased grandfather in the corner of the room, you’ve found your purpose again - the reason you would go so far as to sacrifice your heart for this position.

you’re never going to lose sight of it ever again.

but when the door beeps once after you punched in the code, the smell of something delicious waft in the air after you stepped into your apartment and jeongguk greeting you with a pink apron with printed with hearts all over it, you feel yourself freezing in your spot.

“oh, you’re back?” his back is on you as he redirects his attention to the sizzling goodness in the hot pan, “i’m making fried noodles, it’ll be done it 10 minutes - why don’t you go and change first?”

it takes a moment of you staring at the black tresses of his head and the broad shoulders with a pink string hanging over the back of his neck before you actually take a step towards the stairs. once you’ve showered and dressed in your pajamas - you prefer those than the lingerie jeongguk has only ever seen you in - it takes another moment for you to stare at the golden strings layered with button mushrooms, beef slices and prawns and a fried egg over them.

“okay,” you shake your head, as if to shake away the trance that seems to come over you - jeongguk’s already looking at you with a curve on his lips, “what is this?”

“friend noodles,” he says simply.

“no,” another round of head-shaking passes, “i mean, what are you doing? i literally insulted you and called you a bum and a gold digger.”

he takes a minute to mull over the matter, bottom lip jutting out as if to say, “yeah, i kinda am.”

“you must also not realize that i only talk to you when we’re in public or when we’re having sex,” you point out, fork gripped tightly in your hand to which he gives a glance at before reaching to pull it out of your grasp and setting it on the napkin next to your plate.

“love making,” he reiterates but before you can even get a word out, he holds up a hand and tilts his head in a ‘wait’ kind of manner, “and a relationship is 50-50, you work and i cook and clean.”

your eyes narrow at him for the longest moment before you pick up the fork again, this time dipping it into the strands of gold and twirling it before directing it to yout mouth. an appreciative moan leaves you as the spice and sweetness spread over you like a whole new experience.

“good right?” jeongguk mimics your action, digging in and smiling proudly with the first bite.

it’s only when you’re done and loaded the dirty dishes into the washer, as you watch him take off the apron with his back on you whilst you lean against the edge of the counter, do you finally ask, “who’s chaeyoung?”

the way he freezes up with hands middair, in the middle of hanging the strap over the hook - isn’t the least bit surprising.

“wh-who?” the hesitant way he looks at you and then to his feet and then to the sink with a hand rubbing the back of his neck - is familiar. welcomed even but you don’t show.

“you tell me,” you shrug, “must’ve been someone important - someone who you’re used to having wake you up.” you let the silence hang in the air for several heartbeats, watching as his adam’s apple bob whilst his wide-eyed gaze shifts from the sink to the block of knives to the stool before they rest on you.

“maybe a girlfriend you left behind in exchange for money - the money i offered you,” and with that, you watch as his gaze shakes and his pink move but no words come out.

it’s only a long moment later, that he finally manages to find them, “i... i haven’t seen chaeyoung ever since we got married.”

“well, congratulations!” you bring your hands together in a crisp applause, lips curving into one of your schooled smiles, “soyeon contacted her and guess what she said? she said you told her you were going to the city to find a job and didn’t want her to wait on you which was why you broke up but poor little chaeyoung is still waiting for you on the country side - you can go see her and your parents.”

and with that, you turn your back on him for the first time since you left him to an empty suite and a cold bed. 

“why are you so...” but just as thought you could walk out of this like a winner, jeon jeongguk somehow manages to pull you several steps back with just words and eyes that bears more emotions than you can handle, “mean?”

“you’re always smiling and laughing with your secretary like you’re best friends, you always look sad when you talk about your grandfather and you always kiss your parents on the cheek every time you meet them... why-” he stops short when he meets your gaze - you’re not sure what he sees that makes him look like he’s been punched in the face with a wild ball. 

“i’ve always been mean,” you feel your eyebrows rising before you blink once, “you just had your head in the clouds, dreaming about how you can make a girl with a rotten attitude change and maybe fall in love with you along the way - well guess what? i’m not her,” and just like that night in athens, something in the way he stands, stiff like a rock and eyes darkened with a sort of desire, your eyes travel down to his pants where a painfully obvious erection protrudes against the fabric of his pants, “...and you like it.”

“no, i - this - it’s...” he fumbles on his words as he clasps his hands over his crotch, but the way his eyes seem to find solace at the sight of your cleavage screams desperation and agony.

“___... you don’t have- fuck,” the first moan falls out of his mouth when yours wrap around him. 

“only because i can’t have a proper conversation when all you’re concerned about is how to take my blouse off from all the way across the room,” you say after a delicious ‘pop!’ when your cheeks hollow out just before you pull away.

it takes only a few more pumps before he’s begging you to “wait- please - i want you.”

it’s the ‘please’ that gets you.

“fine but don’t come inside,” you relent, hands fiddling with the zipper of your skirt before jeongguk’s polite ‘let me’ as he bends you over the counter, chilly air kissing your skin as a tear echo against the wall and you wonder if you’re free in the weekend to go shopping for-

“oh my god,” the moan slips out of your mouth in a pleasured surprise - you didn’t expect him to get your pantyhose, panties and skirt out of the way that fast.

thought with the barely noticeable discomfort of your panties digging into your hips, you figure he opted for keeping them pushed to the side instead of getting rid of them completely.

they do come off anyway, left in the trail of clothes strewn along the way to the stairs where jeongguk decides to have you bend over because “it’s a perfect place for a doggy,” and you concur as you moan and whine while he fucks you like he owns you. hand keeping your hair in a lock whilst he holds your upper body up whenever you’re about to lose yourself and bury your face in the steps. 

but you do manage to get to the bedroom, just not the bed. you made a mess on the carpet - it’s going to stain an ugly shade of sex and lust but soyeon will probably not even bat an eye once you ask her to schedule an appointment with an interior designer. might as well give your room a make over.

so it goes, jeongguk likes to call your eye rolls and offers to lend him a driver to drive him to his hometown to meet the love of his life - cute. alternatively, jealousy. which you simply roll your eyes at, again.

at times, he comes over to your office - mainly to take you out for lunch but ends up fucking you over your mahogany table. and later in the car on the side of the road where an officer came knocking on the fully tinted window - you had at least 60 seconds to button up your shirts and pull down your skirt while jeongguk zips up his pants with a whine before you roll your window down.

how the rest goes, you rather not say.

but you’ve sworn against car sex - at least in daylight and in an open space.

so when you end up walking past a mirror in your room, just as you’ve donned an off white blouse and a grey pencil skirt, you find yourself freezing in shock. hands coming to cup your stomach, you squint at the woman who’s squiting back at your belly.

“honey, breakfast is ready,” jeongguk pokes his head into the room, the infamous pink apron tied around his front and a pair of light orang oven mitts on his hands.

“do you think I gained weight?” you quiz, knowing full well that he’ll spout a heartwarming but blatant lie about-

“no, i think you’re a healthy weight,” a man that looks like him comes to hug the woman in the mirror, kissing her head before glancing at his reflection once and turning back to it, squinting his eyes at the part where your hands are.

“uh,” he hesitantly starts, “how much chipotle did you have last night?”

“not enough that’s for sure,” you turn to him with an incredulous look, “i went to bed hungry,” a light smack lands on his chest - to which he doesn’t even bat an eye, “cause you keep stealing my food!”

“maybe we should book an appointment,” he suggests, voice smooth but the glint in his eyes and the suppressed smile on his face gives away his exitement.

“no, i can’t be pregnant,” you shake your head, walking over to the vanity to pick up your purse and keys, “it’s not the right time.”

“but what if you are?” you hear the hurt in jeongguk’s voice but your interest overrides your emotiones.

“i just can’t be,” and with that, you place a kiss on his lips, “i’m sorry, baby.”

and with that, you left for the kitchen when jeongguk still tried to reason with you. he tried again for the next few days until you set your food down and told him a baby is never going to be in the picture.

but two months down, you barely fit your clothes and jeongguk has been kissing you good morning before bending down and pressing his ear to your belly, “and good morning to you, my little blueberry.”

and he’s been kissing you good night before pecking your stomach and wishing the life form growing inside you a ‘come out fast so mommy and daddy can meet you, okay?’

“good news and bad news,” soyeon said exactly one month ago after you’d fainted in a middle of a meeting and woke up in a hospital room, “you can’t be pregnant but you are and you’re gonna need an heir soon anyway so...”

“it’s bigger than a blueberry now,” you point out  - jeongguk’s been calling your child a blueberry ever since he rushed to the hospital after getting a call that his wife fainted and once he was there, got flashed with a sonogram the size of- “the doctor said it’s as big as a blueberry, not chipotle,” you’d been indifferent, mainly because a child wasn’t in your plan and you’d been taking birth control since way before you got married.

but jeongguk had been overjoyed. taking care of you everywhere you go, he didn’t even let you drive and instead searched up for drivers with a long list of the lowest rates of accidents in their records. he gets into the shower with you because he “can’t wait to have a family shower together” and packages of baby clothes have been pouring in with matching shirts and ‘mom’, ‘dad’ and ‘baby’ printed on each one and he shows them to you after you got back from work.

his love for your child had made you fall in love with being a mother. with having a family of your own - the two notions you never thought you could wrap your head around as you made your vows to each other two years ago. 

and it’s somewhere down the line, as you watch jeongguk rock your baby in his arm as she sleeps soundly amidst the beeping of the heart monitor, jeongguk’s voice like a lullaby as he murmurs ‘you’re so beautiful, you have mommy nose, and my lips, thank you for being born,’ and when he twirls around, probably feeling the heat of someone’s stare from all the way on the bed, he looks at you with that lost, wide-eyed wonder before his lips curl into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents.

-it’s then, do you realize that jeongguk has become the person you smile and laugh with, the person you greet with a kiss and the person your heart beats for.

he’s your husband, lover, soulmate.

x

note. i have another preview with the same title and characters but from a historical era which i haven’t managed to finish but if you see a marquis!jk and x heir!reader then yk hehe. also if you like arranged marriage au’s do check my masterlist! i have a lot of them apparently (i just realized while writing this fic lol)

i’ve been super stressed and feel like i haven’t actually been doing anything i really like in the weekend so i sat down and decided to finish this draft idea once and for all! 

first off, oc is a douche bag who cares about herself a lot but it’s written in her pov which i hope portrays a justification (which isn’t necessarily okay) to the things she do. but in other people’s story, she’s that woman who stole a person’s man, or she’s that hard ass boss that nobody really likes but pays good, or that graunddaughter that seems to think about her grandfather’s money only. but no one is easily good or bad, it’s more than that just like oc. and i hope to send at least that message through this story. not one can be just ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

in my opinion, there’s no development in her character bc of the word count and the fact that i didn’t plan for it to be long enough to include a development. i just wanted to write about an asshole who has feelings and can be nice to certain people. she’s probably still an asshole but her feelings for jeongguk changed and so is her treatment towards him (as per foreshadowed) and he became one of the people she loves - and i say probably because we’ll probably never know for sure and it’s also not up to my interpretation alone. you, the readers, may think she has or may think she hasn’t - either way, this is just a story about someone who you might know, maybe someone who you’d dupe as selfish. either way, i hope yall enjoyed it!

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

NAGĀ!SERO

Hey y’all! This is a part of the Citrus Server Hybrid!AU Collab! The masterlist is HERE, please please please go check everyone’s pieces out!

A/N: I am fully aware that this is all over the place, ya girl is off her meds and will edit later. Please don’t tell me it sucks, I already know and I hate it, too.

SERO HANTA X F!READER

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, angst, smut, double penetration, aphrodisiac, interspecies miscommunication, size kink, breeding kink, mating, idk tell me if i missed anything

You had always heard stories about creatures in the forest; ones that eat humans, ones kidnap children, ones that would hurt you if you ever ran off by yourself. You didn’t believe them… Or maybe you did, but either way, the creatures could never be as scary as the life you already lived.

You had been taken prisoner when your coastal village was raided by pirates. Your clan’s viking warriors were off on a journey, leaving all of you oh so vulnerable with depleted numbers. They were going to kill you, like they did most of the others, but the pirate setting fire to everything in his path halted when he found you trembling under the rubble.

“Tomura, come see the new toy I found. Don’t you wanna keep her?”

“You sadistic bastard, how you get off to them crying like that never fails to make me sick. I don’t care what you do with her, Dabi, but I’m not cleaning up after you this time.”

They hauled you back to their ship, stripped you of everything and chained you in the hull. People came in and out, always different but always vile. You never spoke, you knew they wanted your screams. Overhaul, the captain, was the worst. You never knew when he was coming, and once he was there, you wondered what he wanted from you at all. Chained up, never touching you with anything but knives and his boots, not looking for your reactions… You wondered if he’d even notice if you stopped breathing. You dissociated for most of it, choosing instead to safeguard your mind, plan an escape.

About a year later, you found an opportunity in the carelessness of one of your captors. You docked someplace warm, someplace humid, maybe tropical? Toga had left your chains too loose after your last “date”, and had tossed the keys just a bit too close. As soon as she left, you had slipped your wrists out of the restraints, strained for the keys, and unlocked the shackles around your ankles. Not taking a moment to revel in the surreal feeling of being unchained, you listened until the heavy footsteps above you all faded into nothing, leaving the ship and most importantly: leaving you alone.

You ran. You ran so steadily, somehow comforted by the sounds of destruction getting further and further away. You found yourself blindly sprinting into a forest that looked nothing like your own, so damp and bright and warm. You kept running until you heard shuffling behind you, causing you to find the first thick vine hanging in your vicinity and clung to it as you climbed. Looking back, you see a simple boar grazing the forest floor. Sighing in relief, you relaxed a bit too soon, as the vine you had wrapped yourself around began to move.

Before you could react, you were wrapped up tightly in bands of muscle and brought towards the head of the- wait…- man? You had heard of nagā before, but the ones from your village’s stories were never described as so… tan, muscular, handsome. He didn’t look all that mean from the waist up, just the black, orange, and yellow scales trailing down his massive, strong tail seemed intimidating. He looked confused, concerned even, by your nakedness and panic stricken silence. Forked tongue flicking out to taste the air, smelling the blood and the abuse on your skin, seeing your quickly defeated body give up, and your mind resign itself to the comfort that at least you died free of your captors.

“Are you… okay?” The giant snake rumbles, human hand reaching towards your face and recoiling when you flinch.

You haven't spoken in months, your silence having been a security blanket, and you’re not ready to give that up. You do nothing, just look into his eyes and search for any sort of indication as to what he’s going to do. He loosens his grip a bit, just enough to slip down from his tree and head towards his hide- an old cave covered in ivy, moss, and little orange blossoms. He brings you in, and places you down on the ground before turning away to rummage through his things. He brings out water and bandages, along with some kind of salve that looks like a mixture of plants. You don’t reach for the water when he sets it near you, so he resorts to using the tip of his tail to bring it to your lips while his hands are busy tending to your wounds and gently rubbing the salve over your poorly healed scars. He offers you food, very confused when you don't seem to know what to do with the forest rodent he’s brought you, and decides on fruits he’s found. You don’t seem to want to do anything, not even going to sunbathe even though you’re obviously shivering.

THAT’S IT!!! SHE’S COLD! He thinks to himself, before wrapping his tail around you once more and bringing you outside to the rock where he typically warms himself. He gently places you down, uncoils you from his grasp, and gives you enough space to move as you please. You blink a few times, slowly realizing you’re free. He helped you? For no reason? He doesn’t know you…

“H-Hi… Thank… Thank you.” You mutter, looking away and blushing.

Cute… He thinks. “YOU TALK!!! What’s your name? I’m Sero, but you can call me Hanta! I was worried about you! Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get here?”

The line of questioning makes your head spin, and you try your best to answer before looking down and realizing you never found clothes. Blushing once again, you meekly gesture to your body and ask, “C-Clothes. I need clothes.” Hanta looks confused, but retreats to the cave and returns, bringing you a large piece of cloth that somewhat resembles a hemp blanket. It smells like oranges and spice, and you unconsciously snuggle into its comfort. Sero notices your calmed reaction to his scent and approaches you, gingerly grasps your ankle and picks up your leg, never having been so close to a human, and explores the strange angles your appendages bend.

“What are you doing?” You seem embarrassed, despite the number of people who've touched you before. This is too familiar, too intimate, almost too gentle.

“Tiny… Humans are… Small…”

You let him bend your limbs and play with your squish, strangely calm and trusting in his presence. He seems so enthralled by your body and how you move, so intrigued. That is, until he makes his way to massaging your plush thighs, causing a rush of arousal you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. He prys opens your legs to continue his ministrations, not knowing the smell of your lust would have him flicking his tongue out and his eyes turning to hyper-focused slits. He suddenly releases your legs, slithers around your back, and presses against you. He taps the top of your head with his chin and waits for your response. Not knowing what this means, but wanting him to continue his exploration, you lean back into him and whine quietly.

You have no idea what you’ve started.

Hanta leans down, pressing sweet kisses down the column of your throat and leaving scathing bites in all the right places. Aphrodisiac venom coursing through your veins, you don’t even register his muscular arms wrapping around your body and lifting you, carrying you back into his cave and up into his hammock. He wraps his strong tail completely around your torso and takes his time kissing and groping your soft body, mumbling “mate, mate, mate” into your heated flesh. He finally makes his way down to your mound, prying your thighs apart and diving straight in before you could question his reverent gaze.

“HANTAAA~” You practically screamed as his long tongue slipped between your folds, running along your clit and down to your clenching hole, his saliva increasing the heat coursing through your core. “M-More, please… More~”

“More, what?” He smirks against your heat. “Say it. Tell me I’m your mate and I’ll make sure you’re fucked dumb, yeah? My pretty little mate.”

You stutter for a moment, getting more desperate the longer his fingers drag along your wetness. “Mate… Please! I need you… I’m yours!”

“Good mate~” His tongue wriggles back into your cunt, and his fingers slowly move further down to stretch your tight ass, making you squeal in surprise. Your orgasm takes you by surprise, all thoughts abandoning your mind as you ride out your high on his face and fingers.

“Are you ready, little one?” He growls lowly, lining up two long, thick cocks with each hole. Your eyes widen in surprise, head clearing for a moment after your climax.

“T-two?! Wait wait wait, I’ve never… I can’t! Two?!”

“Oh, little mate, but you can and you will!” He punctuates his statement by spitting down onto your cunt, thick venom slipping down to your tight rim. You moan and grind against his cocks, aphrodisiac leading your body into a blissed out state of submission. “Gonna fill you up so good. I promise you’ll be so full, feel so good, little mate. Trust me?”

“Y-yes! Wanna be full, want my mate!” You beg and plead for him to push into you, hips bucking against him, trying to get him to satiate the burning want he’d created. It isn’t until you thread your fingers through his hair and wrap your legs around his waist that he thrusts into you completely.

“That’s it, wrap around me like that. So tight, so warm… Fuuuck!~” Sero pants, chest pressed tightly to yours and face tucked into the crook of your neck, licking and sucking deep marks over your pulse point.

You’ve never felt so full, your body strangely welcoming the pleasurable stretch of your holes, pulling him deeper and deeper until you can feel him in your belly with every roll of his powerful hips. Your whimpers and tears only seem to spur him on, drawing orgasm after orgasm from your body.

“S-Shit, keep squeezing around me like that. Come on, little one, I know you have one more for me. Cum with me, I wanna feel you cum one more time. Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so good. Come on, pretty mate- fuck- cum for me~” He reaches down and pinches your overstimulated clit between two fingers and bites down on your neck one last time, sending you over the edge with a cry of “breed me, breed me, breed me!” and nails digging into his back.

“Mine! My mate, pretty little mate. Breed mate, all mine!! Gonna- gonna… Ah~” Hanta’s words steadily fell from his lips as he released deep inside your holes, belly bulging from the sheer amount of seed he spilled into you.

Utterly exhausted and dreamily floating off, you cling to him. Sero wraps you up in his tail and lays back into his hammock, keeping you as close as he can. When you snuggle into him, he whispers little praises into your hairline, a constant stream of “so good, pretty mate, all mine, i love you, so perfect, did so well, took me so well, such a good mate”.

The next day, you wake up surrounded by soft cloth, feathers, fruits, fluffy furs, a dozen shiny objects and pretty dried flowers. You sit up, looking around frantically for your mate before your eyes settle on a sheepish-looking Sero, wiggling nervously around the cave.

“Um… Do you… like it? I made it for you… I just- please tell me you like it!” He shrinks himself a bit, arm coming up to palm the back of his neck.

“Oh, is this a… nest? It’s- It’s very nice. Thank you, Hanta!” You smile softly at him, curling up into your nest and reaching out for him.

“MATE!!! I’m so happy you like it, I was so nervous!!! My mate. You can stay here all the time, so I can protect you, forever! My pretty little mate.~” He climbs into the nest and coils himself around you, content to guard you.

Maybe this time, being kept isn’t so bad.