#she lost a bunch of weight and is breathing a bit hard

[fbwzoo]

I was busy after work yesterday until 8pm, doing various critter things - feeding Ed, then the cats, stapled carpet to new cat shelf, then went to feed the crabs and discovered moths in the tank. Cleaned the tank out, fed crabs, fed me, fed the dogs... then made new gel food for Ed, and a dry powder mix to add baby food to for a sick rat.

I meant for today to be lighter, but I failed at that. 🤦 Arte & I went to Sprouts, and I got fresh greens for Ed & some new snacks for the rodents. Came home & fed Ed, then made a batch of Chop for the rodents with the extra greens + some other things!

I swear, I'm actually not doing anything after work tomorrow. 😂

[ineedpaigebuckets]

can we have another fic?

so i lost the ask

but here's post cruise smut...

i hate you

paige doesn’t say a word when azzi walks in the door.

she just watches. jaw tight, shoulder blades sharp under the fabric of her hoodie, standing like she’s trying not to move too fast. like if she does, she might snap.

azzi’s dragging her suitcase behind her, skin kissed bronze, a little salt still clinging to her hair. she looks like a painting. like a problem. her shirt is cropped, her shorts are linen and loose, her gold anklet catches the light with every step.

paige doesn’t even try to hold back.

she closes the space between them in seconds.

there’s no hesitation. no greeting. just movement—fast and sharp, like something inside her finally snapped.

her hand shoots out, fisting the front of azzi’s shirt right where it ties above her stomach, yanking her forward with more force than she probably means to. the fabric bunches in her grip. azzi stumbles into her chest with a startled laugh, lips already parting like she knows what’s coming.

paige doesn’t even look at her mouth before she’s on it.

she kisses her like it’s punishment. like azzi did something wrong. like every sunlit photo, every smug little caption, every bikini top and perfect tan line was a personal attack.

their teeth clash. paige doesn’t care. she kisses her with her jaw locked, breath short, like she’s mad azzi tastes this good after a week apart. she licks into her mouth, rough and messy, one hand still twisted in her shirt, the other slipping low—fingertips grazing bare skin at her waist.

azzi gasps into her, arms coming up on instinct to clutch at paige’s hoodie. she tilts her head to deepen it, lips sliding against hers wet and open. she kisses back just as hungrily—just as needy—but lets paige lead, lets her take what she wants.

because she knows this isn’t just a hello.

this is everything paige’s been holding in.

the anger. the jealousy. the loss. the want.

and paige kisses her like she wants to erase all of it. like if she pushes hard enough, bites hard enough, takes enough—she’ll stop aching.

azzi pulls back for a breath, lips swollen, eyes dazed.

“fuck,” she whispers. “you really missed me.”

paige doesn’t answer.

she just grabs her again and kisses her harder.

she’s not gentle. she doesn’t want to be.

because azzi left for seven days.

seven days of waking up in a cold bed, rolling over to empty space and the blue glow of her phone screen.

seven days of pretending her loss didn’t matter. that the games didn’t feel heavier without azzi’s voice in her ear. that the weight in her chest wasn’t her.

but it was.

every night it got worse.

every night she opened instagram and scrolled like she was chasing a high, like she wanted it to hurt.

azzi on a boat in a white bikini, head tipped back, laughing.

azzi with her hair braided down her back, sunglasses slipping down her nose, tan lines glowing against her chest.

azzi with her legs crossed in a lounge chair, gold jewelry catching the sun, captioned with a stupid little palm tree and a wink.

paige stared until her stomach twisted.

and then she’d shut the lights off and press a hand between her legs in the dark, shame hot in her throat, fingers moving fast and frustrated like she was trying to chase something she couldn’t name. like maybe if she came hard enough, it’d stop the ache.

but it didn’t.

not when she pictured azzi saying her name like she says it when she’s wrecked. not when she imagined azzi slipping that bikini top off slowly, one strap at a time, whispering you miss me, baby? in her ear. not when she bit her own wrist to stay quiet and came anyway, pulsing around nothing, just her own hand and her own want and the memory of azzi’s mouth.

and then the guilt would crash over her.

every night the same thing.

frustration. need. release. shame.

and repeat.

by the end of the week, she was so tightly wound she couldn’t think straight. she snapped at her teammates. barely slept. barely breathed.

so when azzi finally walks through the door looking like that—like she knows exactly what she did—paige doesn’t stand a chance.

she grabs her like a problem. kisses her like a consequence.

because her body’s still humming from the echo of those nights.

and azzi’s the only one who can take the edge off.

who should’ve taken it off.

and now she’s gonna feel it. every second of it.

paige takes her by the hips like she’s done it a thousand times before—fingers digging in, thumbs brushing bare skin just above the waistline of azzi’s linen shorts. her grip is rough, impatient, like she’s not interested in pretending she has time for gentleness.

and azzi—smiling, smug, sun-warmed azzi—doesn’t even try to resist. her breath catches in her throat as she’s lifted clean off the ground, a tiny yelp escaping her lips, more surprised than scared. her hands go to paige’s shoulders on instinct, nails catching in the soft cotton of her hoodie. her weight shifts, legs flutter slightly in the air, and then—

paige drops her.

not hard. not careless. just decisive.

like she needs her on the bed now. like the ache won’t let her wait.

azzi lands with a soft thud against the comforter, her suitcase knocking loudly to the floor beside them, long strap tangling in her ankle before she kicks it away.

her hair fans out against the pillow. her shirt rides up a little. she blinks up at paige, breath already short, lips parted in something between a gasp and a moan.

and she’s flushed. not just from the motion—

from the way paige is looking at her.

from the weight in her eyes. the sharpness of her jaw. the way her hoodie hangs loose but her body stays tense, like she’s holding back from ruining something. or someone.

azzi’s chest rises fast.

she bites her lip. her thighs fall open just a touch.

“jesus,” she breathes, stunned and smiling and absolutely turned on. “okay.”

paige doesn’t smile back. doesn’t soften.

she crawls over her instead—slow, low, like she’s about to devour her.

and azzi’s whole body responds, hands reaching, back arching, eyes wide with a look that says she’s not just ready.

she’s waiting.

“you had fun,” paige says, crawling on top of her. “posting thirst traps. being everyone’s favorite little princess.”

azzi hums. “i am everyone’s favorite little princess.”

paige bites down on her lower lip in response, pulls at the knot in azzi’s tiny top until it falls open, leaving her bare and breathless. “you’re mine,” paige growls. “and you looked like you were begging for attention.”

azzi moans—real, honest, soft at first. her thighs part without thinking, her body responding before her brain does.

“i was,” she whispers. “but only from you.”

paige freezes, breath catching in her throat. something shifts in her eyes. something darker.

she leans in close, mouth grazing azzi’s jaw—just barely, just enough to make her shiver. her breath is hot against her skin, teeth brushing the curve beneath her ear.

“take your shorts off.”

the words land heavy between them. low. controlled. no space left for pretending this is still casual.

azzi blinks up at her, lips parting. and for a second, she doesn’t move—she just looks at paige, eyes wide and dark and full of that barely-hidden hunger. not just want. not just need. willingness.

then she smiles. slow and soft. not cocky anymore—obedient.

not teasing. eager.

like she’s been waiting to hear that voice again.

like she booked the cruise knowing how badly paige would want to make her pay for it.

her fingers move to the button on her waistband, fumbling just slightly with the rush of heat crawling up her chest. she holds paige’s gaze as she undoes it, one slow flick at a time, dragging the fabric down her hips with a little lift of her waist.

paige watches every inch of it. her breathing slows but gets heavier, like she’s trying to keep control. like azzi’s bareness is testing every last thread of restraint.

the shorts slide down her thighs, soft and crumpled, until they’re caught around one ankle. she kicks them off without a word, and now she’s laid out beneath paige in nothing but that tiny bikini-cut underwear she wore under her travel clothes—bare legs, golden skin, all of her soft and open and ready.

“better?” azzi whispers, voice breathless, lashes fluttering. her smile curves upward again, but there’s a reverence in it now. like she knows who she belongs to.

paige just exhales—tight and hungry—and cups her jaw, thumb brushing over her lips.

“not even close,” she says.

and azzi melts.

when paige opens the drawer and pulls out the harness, azzi’s pupils dilate. her legs spread wider. her breathing goes shallow.

she doesn’t speak.

not a word leaves her mouth as she lies back against the pillows, hair splayed, chest rising with each shallow breath. her lips are parted, eyes fixed on paige—on the way she moves, the way her jaw’s locked tight in focus, the way her fingers tremble just slightly as she fits the strap around her hips.

it clicks into place like something inevitable.

paige doesn’t look up at her—not yet. she adjusts the straps with practiced motions, slow and sure, her shoulders tense, her arms taut from how badly she wants this to go right. how badly she wants to feel something after a week of chasing her own shadow, chasing azzi’s ghost through a screen.

the toy hangs heavy between them now, jutting out from the harness, dark against the soft cotton of paige’s hoodie—still half-on, sleeves pushed to her elbows, like she couldn’t be bothered to strip, too desperate to wait.

and azzi just watches.

her thighs fall apart almost unconsciously. her body hums like a live wire, breath catching in her throat every time paige shifts. and still, she doesn’t speak. doesn’t tease. doesn’t play coy.

because this isn’t a game anymore.

when paige finally climbs back over her, it’s slow. deliberate. the mattress dips beneath her knees, and azzi’s back arches before she even makes contact, hips lifting like her body already knows what’s coming—what it’s been waiting for.

paige braces herself with one hand beside azzi’s head, the other trailing down her bare stomach, over the soft give of her hip, until it settles just above the waistband of her underwear.

and azzi whimpers.

quiet. choked. barely there. but real.

her hands find paige’s sides, fingers digging in like she’s anchoring herself. like she needs to hold on or she’ll fall apart.

and finally—finally—paige looks down at her.

and everything in her face is written there, clear as day:

you made me wait. now you’re gonna feel it.

azzi swallows hard.

“i want you,” she breathes.

and this time, it’s paige who doesn’t speak.

she just pulls her underwear down and presses down.

“you’re gonna let me?” paige asks, voice wrecked.

azzi nods. “please.”

“you like being good for me, huh?”

“i love it,” azzi says, and she means it. god, she means it.

paige doesn’t waste time. she presses in slow at first, watching azzi fall apart by degrees. watching her squirm, breath catch, head tip back. it’s a punishment. it’s a tease.

“paige,” azzi whines, desperate now, “harder. please.”

paige grits her teeth. “don’t beg.”

“then make me stop,” azzi shoots back, voice breaking on a gasp when paige thrusts deeper.

it’s rough. it’s perfect. paige holds her down with a hand on her throat—not choking, just there, a reminder. azzi moans louder, hips rolling, body pliant and ruined under her.

paige leans close, breath hot against her cheek. “nobody touches you like this but me.”

“no one,” azzi gasps. “just you. i’m yours.”

that’s when paige really starts to move—fast, rhythmic, sharp. azzi takes it all, legs shaking, eyes glassy. she chokes on a moan and cries out, “baby—oh my god—baby—”

the name hits paige like a match to gasoline. she buries herself deeper, one hand tangled in azzi’s hair, the other gripping her thigh so tight there’ll be bruises. azzi sobs through it, wrecked and begging and grateful.

she comes hard.

it crashes over her without warning—sudden, sharp, a full-body surrender that rips the breath from her lungs. her thighs shake around paige’s hips, heels digging into the backs of her legs as her whole body locks up, spine arching off the bed like it’s trying to get closer, like it’ll never be close enough.

her hands are in paige’s hoodie, fists curled tight in the fabric, clinging like she’s scared she’ll float away if she lets go. her head tips back, lips parted around a cry that barely makes it out—just a broken, desperate sound that gets swallowed by paige’s mouth against her neck.

and paige doesn’t let up.

doesn’t pull back.

doesn’t let her fall without catching her.

she keeps moving, deep and steady, her hand braced against azzi’s stomach to ground her. her other arm wraps around her back, keeping her close, holding her in place through every shudder, every gasp, every helpless tremble. like she wants to feel all of it. like she needs to be the one who brings her there.

and azzi just clings.

moaning, shaking, whispering her name like a prayer. like it’s the only thing left she remembers how to say.

paige presses her forehead to azzi’s jaw and whispers, “i got you.” over and over, voice low and tight and full of something that sounds suspiciously like love.

and she doesn’t stop—not until azzi’s body finally goes slack beneath her. not until her legs fall open and her hands loosen and her lips part on a long, slow exhale that sounds like relief.

only then does paige still her hips.

only then does she ease back just enough to look down at her.

azzi’s glowing. flushed and wrecked and absolutely beautiful, eyes glassy and mouth kiss-swollen. her lashes flutter as she blinks up at paige, dazed, lips twitching into something like a smile.

paige smiles too. just barely.

then leans down and kisses her—soft now.

gentle. reverent.

like the storm’s passed.

and she’s still here.

//

it’s later, much later—after azzi’s caught her breath and curled into paige’s side, after the sweat’s cooled and the room smells like skin and something sweeter. the strap lies forgotten at the edge of the bed, loose now. harmless.

they’re quiet for a while. just breathing. paige strokes azzi’s back with lazy fingers, and azzi listens to her heartbeat. everything feels full and warm and right.

but then azzi shifts. lifts her head just slightly. doesn’t meet her eyes at first.

“can i ask you something?” she mumbles, voice low and a little uncertain.

paige hums. “anything.”

azzi chews her lip. her cheeks are already turning pink. “…can i try?”

paige blinks. “what do you mean?”

azzi lifts her gaze, and her eyes are wide and nervous but steady. she gestures, barely, toward the strap still hanging off the bed.

“i mean… me. on you. just—just to see.”

and paige goes still.

not in a bad way. just… surprised. unsure. they’ve never done that before. azzi’s always been the one undone, the one trembling under her hands.

paige hesitates, and azzi sees it.

so she scoots closer. brushes her thumb over paige’s stomach. kisses her shoulder, soft and nervous and hopeful.

“only if you want,” she whispers. “i just… i wanna take care of you, too.”

and it undoes paige completely.

she exhales, slow and shaky. nods once. “okay.”

azzi peels off paige's hoodie—careful, reverent. paige lifts her arms, and the sleeves drag up her forearms, over her wrists, until the fabric’s bundled in azzi’s hands. she tosses it somewhere to the side and pauses again.

her eyes trace the lines of paige’s torso, bare and strong and soft all at once. there’s a reverence in her gaze, like she’s seeing something sacred. and maybe she is.

“you’re beautiful,” she whispers.

paige rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush darker. “put the damn thing on before i start crying.”

azzi grins and grabs the harness from where it’s draped across the sheets. she holds it up, studies it like it’s a puzzle, then promptly turns it backwards.

paige watches, one eyebrow raised. “you’re gonna break it.”

“no i’m not.”

“you already put it on upside down.”

“shut up.”

she tries again, twisting it around, stepping one foot through and then the other—only for the straps to tangle between her legs and the toy to angle way off-center.

“okay, wait,” azzi says, squinting. “how do you—?”

paige’s laugh is sharp and delighted. she sits up, reaching for her. “here. give me that. god, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

together, they get it right—paige adjusting the straps, azzi holding still with her hands on paige’s shoulders, standing bare except for the harness slowly tightening around her hips. the toy juts out awkwardly at first, and azzi glances down at it, then up at paige, wide-eyed.

“i feel like a superhero,” azzi says once it’s on properly, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed, the strap bouncing slightly as she shifts her weight.

paige snorts, arms behind her head. “you look like one. a very confused one.”

“shut up.” but azzi’s grinning, heart hammering. “okay. um. how do i…”

paige reaches for her hand. pulls her gently between her legs, all teasing gone.

“just come here,” she whispers. “i’ll show you.”

paige slips out of her boxers without even having to be asked.

azzi’s hand trembles as she steadies herself, one palm planted beside paige’s ribcage, the other awkwardly guiding the strap between her legs. she bites her lip, eyes flickering from the toy to paige’s face and back again.

“is this…?” she whispers, and she’s already pulling back a little, nervous.

paige cups the back of her neck, thumb brushing slow against her skin. “you’re okay. just come closer.”

azzi nods, exhales like she’s holding her breath, and tries again. the first attempt is clumsy—her angle is too low, and the toy nudges just above where it should. paige lets out a surprised sound, more startled than anything, and azzi immediately pulls back.

“shit. sorry. i didn’t mean—”

“hey.” paige’s voice is calm, warm, grounding. “it’s okay. just try again.”

azzi nods again, slower this time. she shifts her hips, adjusts her knees against the mattress, and lines herself up more carefully. she moves forward, but too fast this time, and the pressure is sudden—too much.

paige tenses.

azzi freezes.

“did i hurt you?”

“no, didn't hurt,” paige says, through a tight breath. “just… not ready yet. slower.”

“okay. okay.” azzi leans back on her heels, palms flat on paige’s thighs. her eyes search her face like she’s memorizing her. “you’d tell me, right?”

“course honey.”

and that’s enough.

azzi leans in again, this time with more care. she slides her hand between them to guide herself, wrist brushing paige’s stomach, and goes slow—so slow. when the tip finally slips inside, paige gasps, breath catching in her throat. her eyes flutter shut, brows drawn, body taut with sensation.

azzi stills. “okay?”

“yeah,” paige breathes. “keep going. just like that.”

and azzi does.

inch by inch, she pushes forward, hand never leaving paige’s hip, eyes fixed on the way her chest rises and falls. her movements are shaky, uncertain, but they mean something. every slow thrust is laced with care, with want, with reverence.

paige moans softly, fingers gripping the sheets. “you’re doing so good, azzi.”

and that makes her smile—small, shy, but proud. she leans down, kisses paige’s shoulder, then her collarbone, then her mouth. their bodies press together in a new kind of rhythm—tentative and warm, still finding the right angles, still laughing through little bumps and awkward moments.

but none of that matters.

because they’re in it together.

learning each other.

loving each other in a new, tender way.

and when azzi finally figures it out—really figures it out—paige moans.

loud. sharp. completely involuntary. her head falls back against the pillow, neck arched, eyes shut tight.

azzi freezes, startled. “was that good or…?”

paige grabs her wrist, breathless. “don’t stop.”

and so she doesn’t.

she finds the angle again, hand braced against paige’s stomach to steady herself, hips moving in slow, unsure rolls. the harness still feels foreign, the weight of it tugging slightly as she moves, but all she can think about is paige—how her body reacts, how her mouth falls open, how she keeps making those sounds.

it’s messy. awkward, even. azzi goes too deep once and immediately pulls back, murmuring apologies against paige’s shoulder, but paige just whimpers and whispers “you’re okay, baby, just keep going.”

so she does.

slow.

then a little faster.

then slower again.

she watches paige the entire time. the way her lashes flutter. the way her hands bunch the sheets, then loosen. the way her hips rise up to meet her, like her body’s chasing every movement azzi gives.

and god, she’s never seen her like this. undone in a different way. soft and flushed, open. trusting.

“that’s it,” paige whispers, voice wrecked. “just like that, azzi. you feel so—fuck—so good.”

the words hit something deep in azzi’s chest. she leans over her, forehead to paige’s, breath mingling. her rhythm stutters, and she laughs quietly, shaky and high.

“you’re making it really hard to concentrate.”

paige grins through a moan. “you’re doing perfect.”

and that’s all azzi needs.

keeps going, small gasps escaping her lips now too—not from pleasure, but from the sheer overwhelm of it. the intimacy. the closeness. how it feels to give everything she has and have it be enough.

and paige is close—so close. azzi can feel it in the way her thighs tighten, the way her fingers dig into her shoulders, the way her breath starts to stutter.

“don’t stop,” she says again, barely above a whisper.

and azzi doesn’t.

she keeps going—slow, steady, lips parted like she’s breathing through it too. her eyes never leave paige’s face, watching every flicker of sensation, every tremble that works its way through her body. her own thighs are aching from holding herself up, knees pressing into the mattress, but she doesn’t stop. won’t stop. not when paige sounds like that.

paige’s jaw goes slack, brows drawn together like the feeling is too much to hold. like it’s folding her in half from the inside out.

and then it happens.

she comes quietly, the way she always does when it really gets her. no screaming. no drama. just this soft, raw sound that breaks out of her throat—like a gasp, like her chest is cracking open around it. her whole body curls up, tightening around azzi, arms wrapping around her shoulders as if she needs to hold onto something, anything.

and azzi lets her. wraps her up in shaking arms and holds her through it, not moving, not speaking—just there. heart pounding. breathing uneven.

paige’s lips find her shoulder and stay there, damp and warm, as her body slowly relaxes. her fingers loosen from azzi’s back. her legs fall open around her. and for a while, they just breathe in the same rhythm—soft and staggered and completely undone.

then paige lets out a shaky laugh.

“holy shit.”

azzi lifts her head, smiling despite how heavy she feels. “yeah?”

“that was—” she exhales again, eyes still closed. “you’re so getting a medal or something.”

azzi giggles, collapsing fully on top of her now. the strap presses awkwardly between them and they both groan.

“okay, wait,” azzi wheezes. “maybe let me take this off first before we cuddle. it’s literally stabbing my stomach.”

paige hums, still wrecked and smiling. “fine. but come back after. you owe me forehead kisses.”

“always.”

azzi sits up, fumbling with the buckles like she’s trying to disarm a bomb, her hands still shaky and uncoordinated. she pulls it off and tosses it off the side of the bed without even looking.

when she turns back, paige is watching her with soft, heavy-lidded eyes. like she’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“c’mere,” paige whispers.

and azzi does—settling into her arms, bare and warm and so full of love it’s spilling out of her pores. she presses a kiss to paige’s forehead. then her cheek. then her mouth, lazy and sweet.

and neither of them says anything else for a long time.

they don’t need to.

after, they lie tangled together, legs sore, cheeks pink, bodies still buzzing.

“we’re doing that again,” paige says breathlessly, eyes closed, voice rough around the edges like she’s still trying to recover.

azzi grins into her shoulder like she’s proud of herself. “really?!” she whispers, fake-shocked. “so all that fumbling and apologizing actually paid off?”

“you mean the part where you put the harness on backwards?” paige cracks one eye open, smirking. “or when you kneed me in the thigh trying to adjust it?”

“you were laying weird!” azzi defends, laughing as she hides her face against paige’s neck.

“you’re lucky you’re hot.”

“you’re lucky i'm the best first-timer in recorded history.”

paige snorts. “okay, lebron.”

azzi lifts her head, eyes sparkling. “i’m just saying. you seemed pretty speechless.”

“i was mid-orgasm, azzi. of course i was speechless.”

azzi bites her lip like she’s trying not to look too pleased with herself. “mm,” she hums, trailing her fingers lightly down paige’s stomach. “sooo… now that we’ve crossed that milestone…”

paige raises a brow suspiciously. “what are you plotting.”

azzi’s smile turns wicked. “do you think…” she lets her hand drift lower, featherlight, just enough to make paige’s breath hitch again. “like. theoretically. could you?”

paige blinks at her. “what?”

“you know…” azzi leans closer, voice dropping like they’re sharing a secret. “squirt.”

paige groans, dragging a hand over her face. “jesus christ.”

“what?” azzi says, feigning innocence, though her grin is anything but. “i’m just asking! for science.”

“you’re a menace,” paige mutters, even as her stomach flutters.

“but like…” azzi’s fingers are moving again now, teasing the edge of a new reaction. “what if we just tried a little—”

paige grabs her wrist, laughing breathlessly. “give me five minutes to live, azzi.”

“five and then we see?”

“oh my god.”

azzi kisses her chin, all proud and mischievous and very clearly not finished with her experiment. “you said we’re doing it again,” she whispers sweetly. “you just didn’t say how soon we’re going.”

paige groans again, but she’s smiling. completely, hopelessly doomed.

big mistake.

because azzi commits.

she starts slow, sure. not like she’s rushing toward the finish line—more like she’s savoring it. hands gliding over paige’s skin like she’s tracing a route she already knows by heart but still wants to memorize again. like every inch deserves attention. reverence.

her palms skim along paige’s stomach, up over her ribs, then down again in gentle, circling patterns. fingers dipping into the curve of her waist, pausing at her hips, then smoothing along the outside of her thighs. and the whole time, she’s watching. head tilted slightly, lashes low over her eyes, tuned into every twitch, every shift of breath, every spot where paige’s body reacts before she can hide it.

when her fingers trail just above paige's center, paige lets out a breath that isn’t quite a sigh—but isn’t casual, either.

“you studying me now?” she murmurs, voice rough with amusement.

azzi grins, doesn’t look up. “mmhm.”

she dips lower, ghosting her touch over the inside of paige’s thighs, watching the muscles jump beneath her hand. paige swallows. azzi presses a soft kiss to her hipbone, just because. then another. then another, moving inward by degrees.

paige shifts, her breath catching a little. “you’re taking your sweet time.”

“scientific method,” azzi says, voice too innocent to be real. her fingers drag upward again, this time closer, her knuckles grazing heat. “gotta gather accurate data.”

“you’re a menace,” paige mutters—but she’s not laughing anymore. not really. her voice trembles at the edges.

azzi hums like she’s pleased with herself, then finally—finally—lets her fingers settle where paige’s body is already aching for her.

and it’s so careful at first. just a slow press. a shallow stroke. she’s paying attention to every tiny sound paige makes—every breath that stutters, every quiet gasp. testing reactions. adjusting. watching paige’s face like it’s the most beautiful map in the world.

and when she hits the right spot—just barely, just enough to make paige’s hips twitch—azzi pauses.

“there,” she says, almost to herself. then she does it again. again.

paige’s hand flies to the pillow beside her head, fingers curling tight. her lips part. her eyes flutter shut.

and azzi smiles, all slow and focused and a little wild now, because oh yeah—she’s got it.

“you’re taking this way too seriously,” she says, even as her thighs part a little wider.

“shh,” azzi murmurs, kissing along her ribs. “i’m a scientist now.”

and then it’s quiet again.

not the still kind of quiet—charged quiet. the kind where every breath matters. every shift. every soft, broken sound that slips out no matter how hard paige tries to bite them back.

her fingers twist in the sheets. her body’s fighting her—hips lifting, searching, reacting like it’s out of her control now. like azzi’s touch has short-circuited everything she thought she could handle.

and azzi’s so focused. it is a challenge now. like she’s trying to win something, prove something. every move of her hand, every angle she changes—it’s deliberate. relentless without being harsh. patiently devastating.

paige gasps out something that’s almost a curse, voice hoarse, sharp at the end. her back arches. her free hand flies up, catches azzi’s wrist like she might stop her—but she doesn’t. she can’t.

her thighs tremble. her head turns into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut.

“god,” she whispers, broken. like it’s already too much. like she’s seconds from losing it completely.

azzi just leans in, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, soft and grounding. her hand never falters.

and paige keeps climbing, breath by breath, moment by moment—like she’s teetering on the edge of something she didn’t even know her body could do.

“azzi—”

“almost,” azzi whispers, breath hot against her skin, fingers curling in a way that’s way too effective for someone who claimed she didn't know how to do this ten minutes ago.

paige’s back arches. her breath catches. her thighs tense around azzi’s wrist.

and then it happens.

quick. sharp. unstoppable.

a flash of heat, then pressure, then—

“oh my—”

it hits like a wave. sharp. overwhelming. full-bodied.

her legs tense, then shake—a violent, involuntary ripple that rolls up through her spine and bursts out of her mouth in a ragged, startled scream. her hand slaps over her lips a second too late, eyes wide, wild, stunned.

because it’s not just release. it’s everywhere. a rush she couldn’t stop if she tried. liquid heat, flushed cheeks, trembling thighs, her whole body convulsing with it.

and then stillness. the kind that only happens after something uncontainable finally breaks.

paige stares at the ceiling, chest heaving, one arm flung over her eyes like she can’t quite face what just happened.

like she’s trying to process it while still floating.

azzi blinks up from between her thighs, lips parted in awe, hands still cradling paige’s hips like she’s afraid she’ll float off the bed if she lets go.

“…holy shit,” she says, voice hushed. reverent.

paige groans and rolls half onto her side, dragging the blanket up and over her head mortified.

“do not look at me.”

azzi grins, wide and breathless. “too late.”

azzi pulls back fast, eyes huge, hand still wet and glistening.

“do not say a word.”

azzi stares for another stunned second. and then she loses it. full, wild laughter spilling out of her, barely able to sit up straight.

“oh my god, paige. you squirted like a super soaker.”

“shut up—”

“i’m serious. you almost took me out. i need goggles next time.”

“azzi.”

“i feel like i just won an olympic gold medal. do they give trophies for this? i need to call someone. i need a plaque.”

paige peeks through her fingers, red-faced and scowling. “you are so annoying.”

azzi grins, beaming with pride. “but i just made you soak the bed.”

paige groans and yanks her down by the arm, burying her face in her shoulder. “i hate you.”

“you love me,” azzi says, smug and breathless and very pleased with herself.

and the worst part is—paige can’t even argue. not when she’s this wrecked, this blissed out, and still, somehow, wanting more.

she just mumbles, “shut up.”

azzi does. still smiling.

they don’t move for a long time.

paige stays half-buried under the blanket, face hidden, skin still flushed and a little damp. her breathing’s mostly even now, but every few seconds she lets out a small, mortified groan.

azzi, of course, is thriving.

she’s curled around paige like a satisfied cat, head propped on one hand, grinning down at the lump of girl under the blanket. her free hand traces lazy shapes across paige’s bare back—hearts, probably. or stars. or something equally obnoxious.

“you know,” azzi starts, voice syrupy sweet, “you kind of screamed. like, whole-neighborhood-heard-you screamed.”

“i hate you,” paige mumbles from under the blanket.

“no you don’t.”

“you’re right, but still.”

azzi leans down and presses a kiss to the curve of her shoulder, still warm. “and then you just—” she dissolves into giggles, burying her face into paige’s side.

“stop talking,” paige groans. “i’m never showing my face again. you’re not allowed to look at me. anymore.”

“you literally squirted,” azzi whispers dramatically, as if it’s the most sacred revelation in the world. “on me.”

paige yanks the blanket tighter. “i’m going to pass away.”

“you were so shocked,” azzi keeps going. “like you thought you’d broken the laws of physics or something.”

“i didn’t know my body could do that!” paige explodes, muffled. “i thought that was a myth. like��like a unicorn!”

azzi’s laughter is bright, uncontrollable. she tugs at the blanket until paige finally lets it slip down just enough to reveal her pink, embarrassed face.

“hey,” azzi says, a little softer now. “that was… really hot, and i love unicorns.”

paige narrows her eyes. “you’re just saying that because you’re a weirdo.”

“maybe,” azzi says, grinning. “but you’re the one who soaked the sheets.”

paige tackles her with a pillow, and azzi shrieks, laughing as they roll tangled together in the sheets, all warm skin and tired limbs and ridiculous joy.

and somewhere between the teasing and the breathless kisses and the way azzi tucks her into her chest like she belongs there, paige forgets to be embarrassed at all.

[tellingtell5]

Stand by me. 《Invincible, Mark Grayson 》

A short story about the multiple Invincibles, a bunch of Mark Graysons.

I don't know what this is, I just know I had it in my head and needed to write it down.

¿part 2?

Mark Grayson x oc!fmale

Smut bellow the cutt, MDNI, be warned. Unprotected sex

She could definitely die like this and go happy.

Every nerve in her body was burning, pleasure coiling and tightening low in her belly as she rocked her hips back, pressing against him just to feel the way his breath stuttered. He was holding her close, one thick arm wrapped snug around her throat, but not tight—just enough to remind her who was behind her.

She loved that.

Olive bit her lower lip hard, swallowing the moan that threatened to slip out. She was slick with sweat, her hair a mess against the pillow, body trembling and slick from how long they'd been at it. She'd lost track of time. Hours, maybe. Maybe days. She didn’t care. If she went out like this—pinned, ruined, blissed-out of her mind—she’d go with a smile.

Normally, she was the one in control. She liked it that way—liked teasing him, keeping him on edge, giving just enough to drive him crazy and then pulling back with a smirk. But today? She hadn’t needed to lift a finger.

Mark was obsessed with the way she writhed for him.

"Liv..." he groaned against her ear, the gravel in his voice sending shivers straight down her spine. "You keep doing that, I’m not gonna last."

She smirked against the pillow. He’d been saying that for hours. And yet—he was still holding on. Still torturing himself to make it last longer. Maybe it was Viltrumite stamina. Or maybe he just liked giving her everything.

She shifted just slightly, dragging her nails down his forearm, letting her voice drip with teasing. "Then don’t."

A rough noise rumbled from his chest. She felt it before she heard it—then suddenly, all his weight came down on her. His chest pressed tight to her back, his thighs heavy over hers, hips flush.

Crushed. Owned. Trapped.

Her breath hitched. It wasn’t painful—far from it. She could take it. She was strong. But the sheer force of him pressed against her like he could split her in two. She whimpered, not from fear, but from the heat it sent spiraling through her. The idea that he could crush her if he wanted to—that if she didn’t have powers, maybe he would’ve—sent a dangerous thrill racing through her.

Mark moved, slowly, deliberately, grinding against her just right, and her body betrayed her with a high, helpless sound.

“You okay?” he asked against her neck, voice thick with tension, trying to hold back again.

But she didn’t answer with words—just clenched around him, hard. His reaction was immediate. A ragged gasp. A tremble. He faltered, losing rhythm for the first time all night.

"Shit—Liv..."

She turned her head enough to catch his eye. "You like that?" she whispered. "Poor baby... You’ve been trying so hard."

Mark let out a wrecked laugh, somewhere between adoration and frustration. “You’re evil.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, pressing back again. “And you love it.”

His hand slipped between her thighs—because of course it did—and she nearly came undone again right there. He knew exactly what to do with her now. Which spots made her cry out. Which ones made her knees give out. Which ones made her legs tremble.

Her fingers curled into the sheets as her release slammed into her again, sudden and electric, her back arching involuntarily. She didn’t even have the strength to curse. Behind her, Mark was cursing plenty. Still holding back. Still not letting himself go.

He hadn’t even finished when her body gave out beneath him, boneless and soaking in the afterglow, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.

And then... bzzz.

Mark growled when his phone vibrated. The sound was shrill, sharp, unwelcome.

"Fuck. Seriously?"

He shifted, and Olive groaned in protest under his weight. She was still pinned beneath him, breathing hard, limbs loose and useless.

"Don’t move," she murmured. "You’re heavy. It’s nice."

He glanced down at her, half-scowling, half in awe. "You’re insane."

Mark let out a frustrated growl, releasing his hold on Olive’s throat just enough to steady himself, his other hand shooting out blindly to silence the damn thing.

"Alright," he exhaled, voice wrecked, "where were w—"

Olive was completely limp against the bed, her body sprawled out like she had turned to liquid. Her chest rose and fell in slow, heavy breaths, her face turned into the pillow, eyes closed, sated.

Mark frowned. "Did you seriously just—"

She hummed lazily, stretching out like a cat, her smug little smile hidden against the sheets. "Mmm… you should answer that. Could be important."

Mark scowled. "But I didn’t even finish”

"That’s what you get for showing off."

The teasing lilt in her voice sent a violent shudder through him, making his entire body tense because fuck, he was still inside her, and he was still aching for relief.

His jaw clenched. "Liv—"

"You had plenty of chances, big guy."

Her smug, satisfied tone was too much. He knew she was right. He had been so focused on making it last, on keeping control, that now she had completely undone him, and she knew it.

Mark let out a low, suffering groan, reluctantly pulling out of her, gritting his teeth at the loss of warmth.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, grabbing his phone with all the irritation in the world. "This better be the fucking end of the worl—"

It was indeed the end of the fucking world.

Despite his protests, Olive had gone with him to deal with the disaster unfolding worldwide. She and Mark had split up after realizing multiple alarms were going off at once. Even if it wasn’t the best idea, they had agreed to cover more ground by handling different locations.

A mohawked head emerged from the rubble, cursing at the sky. Olive hovered above, waiting for him to get up. The prison was already in ruins when she arrived, and the moment she saw the maniac in that all-too-familiar suit, she didn’t hesitate—she slammed a punch straight into his spine, sending him flying.

In the blink of an eye, she found herself grabbed by the throat, dragged across the ground, carving a trench into the asphalt from the sheer force of the impact.

She lifted her hands, clasped them together into a fist, and started hammering down on his forearms, ripping pained grunts from her attacker.

"Let me go, asshole."

Then suddenly, everything stopped. The debris and dust froze in the air. And she locked eyes with a stunned face.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Mark.

But this wasn’t Mark.

It couldn’t be him.

"Olive?"

His face twisted in shock, like he hadn’t expected this.

"That fucking nerd was right—you’re alive."

He took a step toward her, radiating danger, hesitation flickering in his gaze. As she debated what to do, her eyes drifted to the mangled bodies he had left in his wake. She repeated to herself over and over that this wasn’t her boyfriend. This wasn’t the man she loved with every fiber of her being. This was just a copy, a failed attempt to replicate him.

With that thought, she punched him square in the face, sending him flying.

The mohawked Mark started laughing like a maniac, kneeling on the ground, gripping his head with both hands, muttering to himself.

"Shit, I know he said she’d be here, but I didn’t expect—"

He cut himself off when he saw Olive staring down at him. Power radiated off her, and a shiver ran down his spine. God, he wouldn’t hesitate for a second to drop to his knees and do whatever this Liv asked of him.

"Who the fuck are you?"

She grabbed the fabric of his suit, lifting him nearly off the ground. Mohawk Invincible didn’t resist. He went slack in her grip, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He had missed her so much that, suddenly, all this destruction started making sense.

"I’m Invinc—"

“I know who you’re pretending to be.”

She reinforced her words with a punch straight to the face. The impact made him turn his head, spitting out blood. This shouldn't be turning him on as much as it was... right?

“Now tell me the truth.”

He grabbed her hands, caressing them gently despite the pain she had just inflicted. Olive recoiled in disgust at the look of satisfaction on his face. Shit, it was the same expression Mark wore when…

“God, it turns me on so much that you have powers in this reality, Liv.”

There it was—confirmation. She hit him again, this time letting go so the force of the blow sent him flying away from her. What the hell was happening? She replayed his words. In this reality. Was she really beating the shit out of Mark?

“Ohohoho. You’ve always liked it rough, haven’t you, sweetheart?”

He was staggering to his feet, wearing that same infuriating smirk she had once loved but now only wanted to punch off his face.

“You’re a fucking ass—”

She choked on her words when a hand wrapped around her ankle, yanking her off balance and spinning her through the air like a hammer. With a swift flick of his wrist, he hurled her away, sending her crashing into one of the few remaining watchtowers. Fuck, that hurt.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a figure hovering above the battlefield, fighting against the fake Mark. As her vision steadied, she focused on the source of her pain.

Omni-Man.

She swallowed hard, trying to dissolve the fear knotting in her throat. He was arguing with the mohawked Mark. She struggled to her feet, disoriented. With a single leap, she shot into the sky, fist extended, aiming straight for Nolan's jaw. But he moved at the last second, and she shot past his face. Her breath hitched in her throat because that wasn’t Mark’s father.

Jesus, another fucking Invincible.

“You almost killed her, dumbass,” Mohawk Mark scolded the Omni-Man lookalike, while Olive could only stare at them in shock.

“Swearing doesn’t make you cooler, just so you know.”

He remained impassive, arms crossed over a much broader chest than her Mark’s. Taking him down was going to be way harder than dealing with the pervert.

“I didn’t realize it was Olive. I just saw her beating the crap out of you.”

“I was letting her, for your information.”

“Bullshit.”

She stepped between them, cutting off their pointless conversation, weighing her options for getting out of this completely insane situation alive. And to think, less than an hour ago, she had been having one of the best org—

“Liv, sweetheart. Even if you have powers in this reality, I could break you if I wanted to. But lucky for you, there are so many things I want to do to you first. Like trying that position you were too scared of because you thought I’d crush you. Or maybe that other one wher—”

She hit him again, this time darting after his flying body to strike him over and over, playing ping-pong with his limp form. She pressed her palms against either side of his head, ready to crush his skull—but a hand clamped around her wrist, yanking her away with brute force.

She was dragged through the sky, far from the other Mark.

“Tell me, did he hurt you?”

His face was cold, calculating, but a flicker of concern shone in his eyes. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she slapped his hand away. Using his brief confusion, she grabbed his shoulders and shot toward the ground at full speed.

The impact shattered the concrete, creating a crater beneath them. Before he could react, Olive climbed to her feet and planted a boot on his throat, pressing down hard.

“Tell me, Mark. Did that hurt?”

His face twisted with fury as he struggled beneath her. How the hell is he this strong? This makes no sense.

She pressed harder, cutting off his air—but a sudden impact sent her flying. Expecting to see the perverted Mohawk Mark, she was instead met with yet another Mark. This one looked much more like hers, though his mask lacked goggles and his suit was still yellow.

“Finally, a fight worth having, Liv.”

With a wicked grin, he slammed her through the prison walls, dragging her through them with such force that the entire structure crumbled around them.

For the first time since this nightmare began, fear clawed at her skin. She needed to break free; her ribs were snapping under the pressure. She had fought with Mark before, but never against him. And she had no idea just how much each version of him was holding back.

When he reached for her throat, she whipped her head back and smashed it against his skull. He let go, and Olive tumbled across the rubble. She stayed on the ground for a moment, trying to catch her breath, searching for strength she didn’t have. Bracing herself on her hands, she lifted her upper body, just in time to see the goggle-less Mark approaching her.

“You always seemed so weak to me.”

He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up so their faces were inches apart. She screamed in pain, which only seemed to amuse him further.

“If you couldn’t keep up with me, why did you start dating me?”

He lifted her higher before slamming her into the ground. He was about to repeat the motion when another Mark tackled him away.

“Don’t touch her, asshole.”

Even through the ringing in her ears, she heard the sickening sound of a fist connecting with flesh.

She was dizzy again, the metallic taste of blood making her gag. Blinking rapidly, she saw a Mark who looked exactly like hers. Identical. When he knocked his alternate self unconscious, he flew straight to her.

“Liv, are you okay?”

Before he could touch her, she swung her leg, kicking him in the jaw and sending him flying.

Gasping for breath, Olive watched him pick himself up, confusion etched across his face. Her heart clenched, terrified she had just hurt her Mark. She shot toward him, grabbing him by the collar just like she had with the mohawked one.

“Liv, it’s me.”

His voice was hoarse, likely from all the blood he was swallowing.

“How do I know that’s true?”

He let out a tired scoff.

“If we hadn’t been interrupted, I would have given you the best afternoon of your life.”

Her eyes welled with tears, and she crushed him in a hug, whispering apologies over and over. Mark's arms wrapped around her, holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping the world together.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through this alone. I wanted to get here sooner, but they’re everywhere and—”

She silenced him by cupping his face, repeating again and again that it wasn’t his fault.

“How touching.”

Several Invincibles hovered above them, watching with varying expressions. Olive’s mind raced, searching for a way out. But most of all, she couldn’t stop wondering—how the hell could they all be so different?

“Liv, seriously? You’re choosing this loser?”

She stood up with Mark at her side, their backs pressed together, preparing for the fight ahead. Her fingers brushed against his, and he gripped her hand tightly, refusing to let go.

“What do you want?”

“To ruin your fucking life, dumbass.” Mohawk Mark was definitely the talkative one. Olive made a mental note of it.

“I just want to take Liv and Mom home. I miss them.”

The Mark who spoke wore a dark mask, his face completely covered. She knew he wasn’t from her reality, but his voice—the sorrow in it—crushed her heart.

"You're such a crybaby."

The two of them started fighting among themselves. They didn’t look like a team—hell, they didn’t even look like a group. Olive’s mind raced, trying to come up with a solution, but she needed time.

"Why this dimension? What’s so special about it?"

"You." One of the Marks, dressed in full Viltrumite gear, spoke over the others, silencing them.

"Me? You’d destroy an entire world for one person?"

Another Mark scoffed, this one wearing a mask that didn’t quite fit his face.

"You’re not just anyone. You’re Olive."

"The one who always cared about us," the one who looked like Omni-Man added.

"In any dimension," continued the one without glasses.

"No matter what we did," finished the one with the mohawk.

Oh, God. Olive felt sick. This was all her fault.

"Looks like you have a type." That last comment came from her Mark. He wanted to laugh, but humor had completely abandoned him.

"The one who brought us here told us to destroy this dimension. As a reward, we’d find you—alive."

Something finally clicked in Olive’s mind. She squeezed Mark’s hand, as if warning him of what she was about to do. He glanced over his shoulder at her and gave a subtle nod.

"Mark?"

They all turned at the same time, speaking his name in unison. A shiver ran down her spine.

"Who am I supposed to stay with once you’ve destroyed the world?"

A chorus of "With me" erupted all at once, and the Invincibles glanced at each other. Their stances shifted, preparing for a fight—not against Olive, but against one another.

"Obviously, she’s staying with me. There’s a ton of filthy things we haven’t tried yet. And come on, she’s got super strength." The mohawked Mark was the first to speak. Of course he was.

"You’re disgusting. She’ll be with me. We have duties to fulfill for the Empire."

"You’re talking about her like she’s a damn toy." The masked Mark’s voice rose above the others. "She’ll be with me. I’ll protect her. Her and Debbie."

"You’re such a fucking weakling."

Olive took advantage of their rising tension, slipping out of the circle they’d formed above her. She grabbed Mark’s hand, pulling him along as he struggled to process what he was hearing. Without hesitation, Olive took off into the sky, and Mark followed closely behind.

"This should buy us some time while we figure out how to take down a bunch of versions of you."

Mark felt awful. His brain spun in circles. He loved Olive more than anything—they had always been together. He couldn’t imagine life without her. But he thought about what all those other Invincibles had done just to have her back.

Would he do the same?

If he lost Olive, would he go mad with grief? Would he do anything to have her by his side again?

He gripped her hand tighter as they flew away and gave it a small squeeze.

"Olive?"

She hummed in response.

"I love you too."

Her heart did a somersault in her chest. She felt whole… but a sliver of fear ran through her. Did that mean he would also destroy an entire world just to have her back?

She stared at their intertwined hands and tried not to think about it too much.

Meanwhile—

"Where the hell are they?!"

"You fucking idiots. They played us."

And then, a blood-curdling scream from one of the Invincibles:

"OLIVEEEEE!"

[latteunwoo]

[7:55 PM]

The backstage area is buzzing with energy as DK paces back and forth, his heart pounding with excitement. This is it -- his big time musical debut. He's been talking about this day for months, hyping it up to you, his best friend (and maybe the actual love of his life), the one person he's been counting on to be there in the audience for him. He can already picture your smile, your enthusiastic thumbs-up from your seat near the front, and the way you always cheer him on louder than anyone else.

The crew members are adjusting costumes, finalizing lighting cues, and giving last-minute instructions. But DK's mind is solely focused on you. He opens up the curtain a little bit from the side to see that the spot he had asked to be reserved for you was still empty before he checks his phone for the hundreth time, but there are no messages from you, no word of any delays. It's almost showtime.

He runs his hands through his hair, trying to calm his nerves, but a part of him is getting restless. He knows you wouldn't miss this for the world. So why hasn't she texted?

"DK, you're up in five!" A staff member calls out, breaking him from his thoughts. His stomach flips.

The curtains are about to rise, and as he taks his first step toward the stage, he glances toward the audience one last time. His eyes scan the crowd eagerly, searching for your familar face, the one he knows like the back of his hand. But as the spotlight hits him and the buzz of the audience fades, he doesn't see you.

His heart skips a beat. Panic bubbles up inside him. Where are you? He swallows hard, trying to focus, but all he can feel is the weight of the absence.

The countdown begins, and his cue is fast approaching. He stands backstage, frozen for a moment, his mind racing. This performance is everything he's worked for, but his thoughts keep going back to you -- where could you be?

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city you're glancing at your watch as you sprint down the crowded street, panting from the run to the subway station. "I'm going to miss it," you mutter to yourself, panic creeping up. The message you received from DK's team said the show would start in a few minutes, but you're still miles away.

You try to calm your racing heart, but the anxiety only grows as the minutes slip by. This can't be happening. You've been planning this night for so long, hyping DK up for weeks about how you'd be there, cheering him on in the crowd. And no here you are, racing against time and every possible obstacle.

At the subway station, you rush to tap your transit card, but of course the machine denies you entry and you have to get someone to help you. By the time you get to the platform, the train had just left and the next one would take another few minutes. You're pacing back and forth, muttering under your breath.

The subway finally arrives, but as the doors open, they're packed -- so packed. You let you a big sigh before you push your way in, trying to make room, butt he train purches forward just as you're about to reach the center. You nearly stumble as the doors close, trapping you with a bunch of strangers This is hopeless.

You check the time on your phone again -- 7:58 PM. DK's show starts in a few minutes, and you're still so far away. Your heart sinks further.

As 8:00 PM rolls around, the spotlight shines bright on him as the music swells, and DK steps onto the stage, but something feels off. His mind keeps flashing back to the empty seat he thought would be filled with your face. He forces a smile, determined to give the performance of a lifetime, but there's al ingering unease inside.

He gets lost in the performance, his training taking over, his body moving through the steps almost mechanically. But no matter how hard he focuses on the show, his thoughts keep drifting back to you.

A few minutes after the show had already started, you stumble out of the subway station and look around, your eyes frantically scanning the streets. You don't even care about the chaos around you; you just need to get to the venue. Your legs ache from all the running and climbing up stairs, but you push through it, weaving between people as you get closer and closer.

Finally, you burst through the doors of the theater and the usher glances at you, raising an eyebrow at your disheveled state. But you barely register the judgnet, your eyes locking on the stage where DK is performing.

You rush to your seat, apologizing frantically as you pass over people, heart also racing from the sprint, and in the middle of his number, you lock eyes with him almost tripping into your seat. His expression softens when he notices you, and in that moment, everything else fades. You smile at him and give him a small thumbs up, and he softly smiles back at you.

Meanwhile from DK's perspective, the sight of you gives him the boost he needs, and suddenly, all the nervousness, all the doubt, melts away. He grins, his heart swelling with relief and joy. The show can go on now -- because you're here.

main masterlist || svt masterlist

[boneapplet]

From Rust and Bone pt.4

Chronicles of the Lost Primarch

Relationship: Rogal Dorn x oc/afab!reader

Warnings: recovering from an injury

Word Count: 2060

Requested tag:@noncon-photobomb

Masterlist

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7 | pt 8 | pt 9 | pt 10 | pt 11 | pt 12 | pt 13 | pt 14 | pt 15 | pt 16 | pt 17

The days blur together—pain, broth, sleep. Breath, ache, repeat. But time doesn’t stop just because a Primarch needs to heal. So, Dorn moves. Starting with his own things: folding the pelt, wrapping his bandage, learning how to tie knots again, one-handed. It’s maddening. The fingers of his remaining hand are calloused and trained for war, not subtlety. They don’t yet trust this new pace, but he persists at it.

Fabric catching against the ridges of an old scar. He yanks too hard and the hem twists around his neck. His one hand scrabbles for purchase, trying to get leverage. The whole thing bunches at his shoulder like it’s mocking him.

“You’re fighting a shirt,” Kessa says, watching as he fumbles with a loop in the collar of his scavenged tunic.

“And losing,” he replies without irony.

Gripping the collar again, he wrestles the shirt back down over his chest, breath hitching as it snags on a half-healed gash along his side. The movement pulls at muscle that still feels like someone else’s. Finally, the shirt finally drops into place, crooked but on. He doesn’t say anything. Kessa watches him for a second longer, then tosses him a belt.

“You might win the trousers.”

He catches it one-handed, expression unreadable—but there’s a faint flicker in his eye. Not amusement. But… relief that she’s letting him do this without stepping in. He finishes dressing slowly. Carefully. Like a man reassembling something long broken. Tying the belt with stiff fingers.

“There,” she says, not smiling, but not quite neutral either. “Now you look like someone who lives here.”

Kessa turns back to her work, crouched over the grindstone nestled into the corner near the vent-heat. There’s a shallow ceramic bowl in her lap and a spread of dried rootbulbs beside her, yellowed and tough. The knife marks across the chopping block say she’s been at it for a while already. Her back is tense, shoulders hunched, fingers moving slow—slower than usual. She reaches for another root. Winces. Just barely—but he catches it.

He walks over, steps measured, quiet. Lowering himself beside her on one knee, stiffly, wincing as his joints protest. Still not used to moving without pain. Without the expectation of armor.

She pauses mid-slice, eyes flicking toward him “You get tired of celebrating your victory over cotton?”

He doesn’t rise to it. Just looks at the roots, then at the heavy mortar.

“Show me how to do it.”

“You’ve never ground ventroot before?”

“I’ve ground bones. Metal. Plasteel. This can’t be worse.”

Kessa snorts, not quite a laugh. But something close.

“Alright. Don’t mash it. You bruise the flesh before it cracks, it gets bitter. Circle pressure, not brute force.”

Taking the pestle in his hand, grip awkward—his palm is still learning how to feel again, how to rotate, apply weight without overshooting. He sets the root in place and starts. It’s clumsy at first, the pestle skids and the edge of the bowl grinds against stone. He keeps going, adjusting his grip when needed.

Kessa sits back, watching silently for a moment. Her shoulders easing slightly.

“You’ll need to do ten of those,” she says. “And I’m not fixing it if you botch the batch.”

“Understood.” He says it like a soldier. But something in his posture—calmer, more grounded.

By midmorning, the wind picks up. Sulfur stings the back of the throat. Somewhere far off, one of the larger herd-beasts bellows—long, guttural, full of slow, frustrated weight. The season is changing. They can feel it in the bones of the cave. Kessa’s sitting on a folding stool near the entrance, gear piled at her feet. Leather harnesses, hauling straps, bits of iron chain. The dust glints off their worn edges. Most of them are in bad shape.

She tosses one of the larger sets at Dorn’s feet with a thud “There. Try not to scratch it up.”

He raises an eyebrow at the heap of tangled leather and rusted rings “You want me to scrub leather?”

“I want you to shut up and use your fingers.”

It’s not a joke. It’s not cruel. It’s just her way of saying: you’re ready for this. He doesn’t argue. Instead, he lowers himself onto a flat crate, takes the old brass brush she slides across to him, and dips it into the can of warmed beast-fat oil she'd been simmering near the vent-flame. The smell hits him instantly—rancid, sour, oddly alive. It clings to the back of his tongue.

“Smells like something died,” he mutters.

“It did,” she says. “Two weeks ago. You’re late.”

He gets to work, the leather’s stiff, cracked along the edges, and crusted with old salt and grime. Bits of dried fur cling to the seams. He scrapes them free, then oils. Scrapes again. Works in slow, even circles, pressing the fat into the deeper cuts. It’s meticulous work. Simple, but not mindless. Like all things that live long under strain, the harness only yields when treated with patience.

His fingers are clumsy at first—used to wielding swords, not softening straps. But as minutes stretch, the rhythm takes hold. Circles. Pressure. Wipe. Oil. Again. He loses track of time, that, in itself, feels strange. Good. Kessa watches from her stool, hands busy untangling a lead rein.

When he finishes, he sets the harness down—cleaned, pliable, stitched where the seams had split. A quiet offering. She tests it, tugging at the buckle, pulling the main strap taut. Runs her fingers along a clean ring.

“Good enough not to get me killed,” she says flatly.

A pause before she follows it by saying softly “That’s better than most.”

Dorn blinks. No grin. No pride. Just the stillness of someone who hasn’t heard a kind word in years and doesn’t quite know what to do with one now.

He nods once “Then I’ll do the next.”

Quietly, they work alongside each other. Finding a harmonious workflow. The last harness hangs neatly on the wall peg now softened, oiled, and whole. Dorn wipes his hand on a rag, the beast-fat still slick in his skin’s creases. He flexes his fingers. Sore, but functional. For once, the ache feels earned. Kessa glances over from the supply rack, head tilted slightly.

“Come on,” she says, tossing her coat over her shoulder. “You’ve done your penance. Time to meet someone.”

“Someone?”

“Someone with better balance than either of us.”

She leads him past the back alcove of the cave, through a narrow passage that splits into a sun-split chamber half-open to the cliffside. There, tucked against the stone wall beneath a stretched tarp and bone scaffolding, lies a massive reptilian creature—coiled, dozing, and humming. It’s hard to describe the sound. Not a growl. Not a hiss. It’s melodic. Like a low, resonant flute note echoing from inside a canyon. Calm. Measured.

The creature is massive—its bulk closer to a low crawler-tank than any steed he’s known. Armored in ridge-plated hide that glistens with shifting hues from deep indigo to forest green with each subtle movement, powerful legs folded beneath its bulk. Its tail is long, ridged, and still. Its flank rises and falls in slow, steady breaths. Thick, scaled ridges run along its neck and shoulders, some plated, others soft-looking, like moss-draped armor.

Its eyes open as they approach—slit-pupiled, intelligent, unblinking.

“This is Arravox,” Kessa says, voice almost reverent. “Had him since I was thirteen. Found him half-dead near a vent basin. Raised him myself.”

The beast shifts slightly, lifts its head, and makes another of those haunting calls—soft and echoing, vibrating through the cavern walls.

Dorn, for once, is quiet. His eyes study the creature. Every movement. Every detail.

“It sings.”

“Yeah. Most of his kind do. Only when they feel safe.” stepping beside the creature, brushing her hand along its enormous side.

The creature leans gently into her touch, rumbling again—a deeper tone this time, closer to a lullaby than a warning.

“He’s acid-hardened,” she says, almost absently. “His scales slough off the toxic rains. Breathes through bone vents in the jaw. Smarter than most locals I trade with.”

“And he trusts you.”

“Trust isn’t given out here,” she says. “You bleed for it. You sleep next to it. You keep it warm when the vents freeze over and feed it when there’s nothing left to trade.”

Dorn doesn’t speak.

“He helped carry you here,” she adds, more quietly. “When I found your pod, you were barely breathing. Couldn’t risk a sled drag through acid flats. So, I rigged him to haul you—sled, that bulky armor and all. Didn’t complain once.”

That catches Dorn off-guard. He looks at the creature again—this time with something deeper than awe, a trace of humility.

“He carried me,” he says, not a question.

“Every meter,” Kessa nods. “Twelve klicks through vent valleys and backslides. In the green rain. Would’ve died without him.”

Arravox lets out another note—softer this time. Almost a lullaby.

“You can thank him,” she says, stepping back.

She gestures toward the beast’s side.

“Go ahead. Just keep your hand open. Flat.”

Dorn approaches. Slowly. The wind outside howls against the rocks, but here in the chamber, everything is still. Reaching out his one hand, flat and open, the way she instructed him to. The beast leans in and rests its heavy, heat-radiating snout in his palm. Dorn doesn’t flinch; just releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“He remembers you,” Kessa says quietly. “Most beasts wouldn't. But he knew your scent when you woke. He hummed for days when you didn’t stir.”

The air between them hums too now—soft and strange. Shared. Quiet. Dorn lowers his head slightly, a silent acknowledgement. To her. To the creature. To the fact that he had not survived this by his own strength.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, barely audible.

Arravox rumbles in return. Dorn closes his eyes—just for a moment—letting the sound roll through him.

That night as the fire burns low. Only embers now—orange veins glowing in the black belly of the hearth, pulsing gently like the slowed heart of something once fierce. The air in the cave is cool, dust thick. Silent, save for the occasional crack of expanding metal deep in the vents.

Dorn sits near the wall, sharpening a bone needle with slow, even strokes. He doesn’t need to, not really—it’s more about the motion. The rhythm. The sense of doing something. Kessa’s on her makeshift cot, sitting up, blanket around her shoulders, chin resting in her hand. Her eyes are heavy, lids drooping, shoulders slumped. She’s exhausted—not from any single thing, but the endlessness of it all. Trap repairs, feeding two mouths instead of one, unknowingly healing a legend.

“You should sleep,” Dorn says quietly.

She shifts but doesn’t lie down, rubbing at her face.

“Can’t. Not yet. Something’s been howling at the far ridge. Could be a scraper pack. Or something worse.”

He looks at her. Really looks. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Her voice rougher than usual. She hasn’t rested properly in days. He’s seen soldiers burn out slower than this.

Setting the needle down “I’ll take the watch tonight.”

She snorts faintly, not cruelly—just surprised “You’re still recovering. You need the rest.”

“So do you.”

She opens her mouth, ready to argue, but stops. Blinks at him. There’s a weight in his voice that’s not command. It’s not pride either. It’s care.

“I’m not offering because I’m strong again,” he says. “I’m offering because you’ve been carrying both of us since I woke up. And I can carry some of it now.”

The silence stretches. Then she exhales, long and low, and finally lets herself lean back.

“You remember how the sensor alarm works?” she murmurs.

“Tripwire rig. Left of the cave mouth. Double ping if something big passes through.”

She nods slowly “And the signal flare?”

“Near the vent crates. Left side. I won’t miss it.”

“Alright.”

She doesn’t even make it a full minute before her body gives in, curling under the blanket, breath evening out. Dorn shifts to the cave’s entrance. Wrapping a pelt over his shoulders. Staring out into the darkness where only sulfur fog and stars remain. Attentively listening, for the first time since he woke—he watches over something.

[vecnawrites]

Jaune attempts NNN, only to fail at the last day when Pyrrha got herself stuck with her bubble butt in display for him and him only

Pyrrha huffed as she dug through her hamper, looking to grab her clothes for laundry, specifically, a certain piece of lingerie that she was hoping to seduce her boyfriend, Jaune, with. Why? That blasted No Nut November was finally going to be over by midnight!

So, she was planning on wearing said lingerie while waiting in bed for him, to entice him and make the moment that midnight hit that much hotter. She knew that Jaune was incredibly pent up, and knew that the sex was going to be wild, which was the only reason that she had even entertained not having Jaune’s dick for a solid month: she thought of the long reward, just like how she had gone with getting Jaune as her boyfriend.

She was already wet, soaking the thin material of her underwear (a thong, it was much easier to move around in during combat without pinching, twisting, or bunching up, and she knew that Jaune liked them, which certainly helped) just thinking about what they were going to be doing tonight…because they for sure wouldn’t be sleeping at all! If she had her say!

So deep in her thoughts of what was to come (or perhaps, to cum) as she dug for the specific lingerie she wanted, she missed the ominous low creak of the rather flimsy hamper, until it buckled inwards, making her fall inside it, the redhead squawking and throwing her hands out to stop her face from hitting the laundry, though she was forced into an awkward position due to it, her feet and legs being lifted off of the ground and being made to kick in a futile manner, her cheeks matching her hair as her nightgown flipped up, baring her thong-clad ass to the room.

‘This is certainly a predicament…’ she thought, thankful that she was alone, and there was no worries of anyone stumbling upon her.

~

Jaune huffed to himself as he headed back to the bedroom that he shared with Pyrrha, happy that it was finally the thirtieth, meaning he could stop this stupid challenge the moment midnight hit. The only reason he hadn’t given in at this point was Pyrrha promising the ‘reward of a lifetime’ for holding out.

And gods, that promise was the only tenuous thing keeping him afloat at the moment. As he walked, he heard a thumping against the wall and sighed, very thankful that second years in Beacon got apartments with separate bedrooms for partners, otherwise he and Pyrrha would have been ‘sexiled’ way too many times at this point.

As it was, he wondered how Ren survived dealing with Nora’s sex drive, since he and Pyrrha heard the thumping at least once a day, and at least three times on weekend days.

But for now, he was on the last day, and later on tonight, as the month changed over, he hoped to be free of the weight in his balls.

Entering the bedroom and closing the door quietly (he had noticed that Nora tended to like an audience of sorts, always getting louder when she knew that someone else was around), he turned to see if his girlfriend was there, only to choke on his own breath from the sight before him.

A wiggling ass and legs sticking out of the laundry hamper, a tiny string of red cupping the intimates and covering them from his gaze, though as it vanished into the split between the cheeks, hiding nothing of the firm rear end.

Jaune bit his lower lip as his cock surged, arousal flooding him and his balls reminding him that they hadn’t been emptied in a month’s time.

Was this the ‘reward’ that Pyrrha had teased? But she had to know that she was a day early…

…right?

He swallowed hard as he heard a muted whine from his girlfriend, her rear end swaying before his eyes, making his desires grow even more.

He tried holding on, knowing that he wasn’t too far away from completing the challenge, but as Pyrrha jerked in place, her ass bouncing, he lost control, his hands moving to his pants and beginning to undo his belt.

~

Pyrrha growled, hating that the hamper was practically stuck to the wall, meaning that there was no way to easily get free beyond breaking it off of the wall. So, here she was, four time champion of the Mistral Regional Tournament, stuck in a clothing hamper, ass up and exposed. She could hear fate laughing at her.

At least she was in her and Jaune’s bedroom rather than anywhere else. She shuddered at the thought of this happening last year, when the whole team had shared the singular room.

At least only Jaune would see this…

Smack!

Pyrrha jerked in place as two strong hands that she knew most intimately slapped down on her ass, fingers sinking into her rear end. Feeling her thong be torn off and the air rush over her wet pussy, she knew what was going to happen.

And despite her own thoughts on the long reward, she couldn’t deny the fact that she wanted this. A whimper spilled from her lips (and arousal drooled down her inner thigh) as she felt Jaune’s cock rub against her soaking core.

She whined, shaking her rear as best she could being held tightly in her boyfriend’s hands.

As he sank into her, a pleased groan escaped her, her pussy squeezing tightly around him as she heard an even louder moan above her, before he began to move.

~

Jaune began to thrust, hard and fast into his wiggling girlfriend, the sudden intense pleasure nearly knocking the air from his lungs, her clutching core squeezing tightly around his shaft, reminding him exactly what a dumb idea denying himself was.

A growl escaped him as he began to rock his hips, thrusting into her soaked core, his heavy balls swinging hard as Pyrrha kicked gently around him, her toes curled as he thrust firmly into her, hearing her moan and squeal as he picked up speed, feeling her wetness dripping down his body and onto his balls.

“Fuck~!” he groaned, his balls aching he heard Pyrrha’s sounds of bliss as he bucked into her, feeling her squeeze and tighten down around him, working to milk his balls of everything in them.

…which he was about to give her in abundance.

~

Pyrrha squealed as she reached an intense orgasm, her legs kicking wildly as her core clamped down hard around his shaft, her cheeks burning as she squirted, splashing the hamper and her boyfriend with her fluids as her body convulsed and squirmed from the pleasure that filled her.

~

Jaune threw his head back with a heavy cry as his balls jumped up, throbbing and pulsing as they forced large amounts of backed up cum pushed out and through his cock, spraying deep into his girlfriend’s core, his legs quaking from just how intense it was.

Great gouts of cum flowed down his shaft and erupted into his girlfriend’s pussy, his balls working overtime to vacate a great deal of what had been pent up within them.

Legs quivering and head hazy from euphoria, he lost his balance, falling backwards, gripping Pyrrha’s hips and pulling her along, both of them tumbling backwards onto the floor, gasping and shaking, still connected at the hip.

Jaune barely had a chance to catch his breath before Pyrrha’s hands grabbed his thighs and gripped them tightly, before beginning to bounce on his lap, taking control of the situation, sending waves of bliss through his body, making him shudder and moan as he pawed her rear end.

Well…he had already failed on the last day, so what did it matter at this point?

“We’re…never…doing…something…so…utterly…stupid…AGAIN!” she cried out, her rear smacking down against Jaune’s hips with heavy claps, her hands abandoning his thighs and moving between, rubbing his aching balls as he grabbed his girlfriend’s bouncing ass, squeezing it as well, working his hips up and thrusting into her, their moans getting louder and filling the room as they both started to lose themselves in their pleasure.

Jaune Arc:

Status: FAILED

Reason/Method For Failure: Pyrrha Nikos Stuck With Rear Exposed

Time Survived: 29 Days

[risingsoleil]

Another challenging WIP game for me haha Thank you @yell0wsalt for the tag!

My words were: black, electricity, blush, and stern

Black

Disclaimer: child death, implication of child abuse

Lin responds to an abuse case, unfortunately, it's not the outcome she wants.

The boy’s eyes clouded over and Lin’s grasp on him tightened a bit more. “I…I…”  “Try to breathe, in and out…there you go, kid. Doing a great job.”  His breathing began to slow with every passing second. “I wasn’t…good boy…”  Lin’s throat clenched and she swallowed the painful hard lump. Her own vision began to blur and she quickly blinked it away so she could focus on the little boy in her arms. “You’re a good boy, kid,” she wheezed.  “I am?” he murmured, his weight growing heavier and heavier.  Lin smiled down at him. “The very best.” The corners of his mouth twitched for a moment and chestnut brown eyes faded into black. 

Electricity:

The second part of Tenzin growing out his beard

“Ow!”  Lin kissed the spot, licking it affectionately. “I can’t control myself.” Her palm explored the terrain of defined abs and trailed up Tenzin’s chest. Two fingers playfully pinched his nipple and Tenzin sharply inhaled. Lin grazed his smooth skin with her teeth and bit him one more time.  While one hand appreciatively groped his chest, Lin’s other toyed with Tenzin’s waistband. The elastic snapped lightly on his body and then her hand dipped beneath the fabric, curls greeting her fingertips and then what Lin was looking for. A small, breathless exhale erupted from Tenzin’s throat and Lin rewarded him with open-mouthed kisses against his back, and gripping his shaft firmly.  “I have to trim your beard soon…” The heat of her breath raised pleasurable shivers of electricity up his spine.

Blush

Tenzin watching his wife swimming with their babies.

Swimming is not his wife’s favorite activity in the world. She doesn’t hate it, but she forgets how much she enjoys it until her head is submerged underwater. Tenzin remembers when his feelings for Lin began to grow and how he’d blush and try to keep his body in check once his eyes laid on Lin. A white bandeau binded her breasts together and teased him with a peak of cleavage. Matching white swim bottoms (more like underwear) clung to Lin’s hips, and Tenzin couldn’t tear his eyes away from all that exposed skin. Tenzin lost count of how many times he tried not to hide his body’s reaction to Lin, without her realizing it.

Stern

Suyin meeting her oldest niece for the first time

“Welcome to Zaofu, I’m—”  Su’s heart lurched and rose up to her throat. Her ignorant excitement immediately melted into a heavier metal that had yet to be purified. Instead of being in Zaofu, she was a schoolgirl facing her older sister’s anger for skipping school to hang out with a bunch of “losers”. All of Lin’s nagging still rang in her ears. That voice telling her to make good choices and what right did she have to tell her to do?! She’s not her mom, only Toph could make those calls!  Then Lin ended up catching her as the getaway driver for her friends. What fucking luck. Lin never looked the same from that day forward. And she never will, a voice in her head added.    Those same cheekbones, nose, and lips…except no scars. Just a smooth complexion that could erase the mistakes of the past. If her niece’s eyes weren’t grey, Su would be ready to dish out a few boulders at her. Even without a stern glare, she knew that her niece had the power of a Beifong flowing in her blood.

Gonna tag: @linnorabeifong, @oldandirrelevant @weirfan22 if y'all wanna try!

Your words are: bubbles, honey, glass, and heels

[chimerahyperfix]

Being frozen in time definitely does something to you. Physically it cages you. Mentally it throws you into the longest dream you could ever have. It's not comfortable-- far from it in fact-- but you've grown to look forwards to it, when you loose. It's better than being mashed to dark paste at least.

You're frozen right now, in fact. Waiting in silence for time to loop back. Stuck with your thoughts and a vauge feeling of a dream. The house is around you and you're moving through it. Empty rooms and endless hallways, curling and twisting in ways that make them feel alive despite the lack of any living thing that isn't you. No sad monsters, no frozen bodies, no dark stains. There doesn't seem to be an exit.

The dreams you have when frozen seem to correlate to how you're doing emotionally. Most of them have been lost to time, like most things in your life now. Dreams, wounds, emotional bonds; everything is turning back with you, and that’s started to do something to you, because now you can predict the actions of those around you with quite a bit of accuracy. You can recall little bits of things, but the further back you go is just static. There was a bunch of dumb things that you can’t piece back together anymore, there were times with those you love, there was endless rage flowing through your very being, and there was this. The desperation. The empty halls of the very House you’ve worked so hard to protect.

You want out.

You've kept count of how many times you've been frozen. How many times you've died. How many loops. 61 is the counter and it's far, far too many times to relive the same day over again. You grew tired of the monotony by the tenth go around. Twenty five felt like a stab wound. Forty, like you were being split in two. Big 6-0 felt like drowning. You don't feel real anymore.

But that's fine! You can still see the good in this, if you stretch your imagination like taffy, as far as it'll go. It's better to be just you, just one person, than everyone else! You can live with the weight of the country on your shoulders for a bit longer, if only to keep it off of Euphrasie's. You’re doing this for her! For everyone. You can do it for a bit longer. You just need to find the King’s weakness, or something. Make a more powerful potion, or scrap together the materials to make a second craft bomb, or, or something! You’ll find it soon enough. You’re smart! You can do this!

You have to.

You turn down the hallway. Find yourself on an entirely different floor. Just as much of a ghost town. Just ice and cold and tiredness, your breath forming clouds in the air. That’s fine. This is just a dream or something, anyway. You’ll wake back up at your desk any time, with the looming vials of all sorts of toxic stuff you keep drinking that you crabbing neglected to put away because you didn’t think time would crabbing loop, because realistically, WHY would you assume that would happen? Preposterous! Ignore the burning feeling in your throat and the smell of sugar and push on. Wait for it to start all over again.

Because it has to be you, doesn’t it? You wished for this, or something. You don’t remember. It was a long time ago. It has to be you, because only you have the power. It HAS to be you, because who else would it be? Euphie? She’s already got enough on her hands. Mirabelle? You’d rather die. It’s better you do this than the ones you love.

It has to be you.

it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be

It's sucks, having to be the one to do it. Your limit was a long time ago.

You can't do this forever.

[miabebe]

I Am What I Am (VII)

A man of the shadows and a woman who belonged in the skies - fate could not have brought two more different people together. But was this fate or was this a choice?

Pairing - Im Changkyun x OC, Kim Mingyu x OC

Word Count - 7.2K

Warnings - Mentions of death, murder, mafia, guns, bullets, violence

Chapter summary - Telling the truth is easy for more reasons than one - there's no need to fear keeping up with a facade, there's no need to carry a weight in your heart. But Na bi also learns, that without the burden of it, there's now room to feel a lot more.

| Previous Chapter | Masterlist |

Na bi looked around the room as the evening sun poured in.

Something about this space had always felt a little off to her, like it was strangely antiquated but now that she knew it belonged to Changkyun’s mother, she finally saw sense. It didn’t seem uninhabited though – all her things were arranged and laid out as though she never left, as though they were waiting for her to come back. Seeing the way he seemed to hang on to every small thing that belonged to her, Na bi realised how hard it must’ve been for Changkyun to part from her, from someone he loved so much. Na bi knew how that felt…..

She stared at the picture frame on the dressing table - A father, a mother, two girls who looked like they were the older ones, and a small boy with a shy grin, hiding in the protective arms of the whole family. They smiled so beautifully, so happily; Na bi felt jealousy rear its ugly head in her heart. Tearing her eyes away from it, she ran her hand along all the dresses that were hanging in the closet, feeling the soft material under her fingertips. As her eyes searched for the one she found herself in the day she came here, the door creaked.

Holding her breath, she leaned back to see Changkyun walking in, luckily not noticing her presence - he simply kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his jacket, walked straight up to the bed and fell into it, melting into the softness of the duvets. Considering she had been acting a bit cold towards him and was also trespassing a personal space, Na bi tried her best to seem invisible, staying hidden from sight by the wardrobe, determined to leave only after he did. But when minutes passed and he didn’t move, she crept out of her hiding place and walked over to him.

His eyes were shut, lips slightly parted, already dragged into a deep slumber, as he held on to a faded blue pillow tightly in his arms, like he was afraid it would run away. Na bi’s eyes skirted over his features as she pushed back the strand of hair falling into his face, eliciting a groan in his sleep, making him turn to his side, curling up like a child against his mother. Sighing, she quietly pulled the curtains shut, and slowly stepped out of the door, stopping by to take one last look at him, Mrs. Lee’s words echoing in her ears – The only woman Changkyun ever loved was his mother. Her name was Na bi too. 

“What do you tell him to let you come to the hospital so often?” Seokmin munched on a packet of nuts as Na bi settled into the couch across him. “Is it not strange to him that you keep coming here despite being suspended?”

“I don’t know, he doesn’t really ask.” Na bi confessed, lost in thought. “I did keep a bunch of believable excuses ready just in case he did say something but he never does? Besides..... we’re not on talking terms anyways.”

“Because he said you’re not friends?” Seokmin raised an eyebrow. “You’re being a child.”

“Because I don’t know what’s left to say to him anymore.” She muttered. “Admittedly I was being petty in the beginning but now, I don’t know. It felt a lot easier when I wasn’t sure what exactly was going on between us but now that I have the clarity that there is nothing, it just feels weird to be around him, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“And I don’t understand it.” Seokmin’s shoulders slumped. “And I also don’t know how to help.”

“You don’t need to, Min-ah." She leaned back into the couch. "I just need to figure out how to break the ice again, slip in that truth serum and get whatever information I need out of him.”

Seokmin nodded, grabbing another bag of snacks. “When you say information, are you talking about Ana or about what Mingyu wants you to find?”

“Both.” Na bi sighed. “I need to know what exactly happened with Ana. If he had no hand in her death-”

“-which you believe-”

“-then I will have to find some other crime or some other proof or some other way Mingyu can get to him.” Na bi ignored Seokmin’s interjection. “To be honest, I think I've cracked most of it, I just need to fill the gaps.” 

“You have?” Seokmin sat up, curiosity piqued.

“I tried to put myself in his shoes and wondered what I would do.” Na bi got up and paced around the room. “His identity is already a mystery, no one can find him anyways. In the off chance that someone does discover who he is or what he looks like, he's not easy to catch because he does not come out in the open. On the rare occasions that he does, I'm not sure how he manages to skirt about the city undetected but then again, considering he was attacked the last time he was out and about, maybe that's his weak point."

Seokmin hummed in agreement.

"But if he's not in the city, he's on his island, cut off from the world, making him hidden and unreachable."

“And do you think his headquarters are somewhere there too?” 

Na bi shook her head. “If he truly is smart, he wouldn’t keep everything in one place. I think…. I think there’s a neighboring island, one not too far away from where he stays…..” Na bi bit her lip thinking harder about all she had pieced together. “As far as where both these islands are is concerned, I haven’t figured out yet but once I do, if he wishes, Mingyu can even go there and get what he wants.”

“But you’re sure they’re islands?” Seokmin raised an eyebrow. “It’s just, you seem to travel by road every day, surely you would have noticed if you just looked out….”

“I never get to see anything outside; the glass is tinted and….” She trailed off lost in thought. How indeed did Wonho cross the sea in a car? Na bi didn’t remember seeing a bridge of any sort during her explorations? Then again she hadn’t scoured the full island yet. 

“Maybe because it’s not an island.”

Na bi turned at Mingyu’s voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe of Seokmin’s office.

“You think I’m wrong?” Na bi crossed her arms as Mingyu walked in.

“No.” He sighed, putting his hands on her shoulders softly. “I don't think you can be wrong but what I think doesn't matter. I’m not the one who you need to convince.” 

“If it’s Jihoon then I know he has a thick head but I can get through to him if he listens-”

“This isn’t just about Jihoon.” Mingyu spoke from between his teeth. “Na bi, if I.M really is on an island, the only way to find him is to launch a search operation in international waters. Do you have any idea how many protocols and government approvals that requires? We'll probably even need the navy to get involved-” 

“You don’t need to go so far.” Na bi muttered. “I can figure out the location on my own.”

“Really?” Mingyu’s voice was not as soft anymore. “It’s been 3 weeks and you’ve not managed much.”

Na bi’s lips set into a hard line. Before she could say anything, Mingyu’s hands ran down her arms, rubbing them gently.

“I’m not saying you’re not capable. I’m saying it’s perhaps beyond your hands now, considering he doesn’t seem to be communicating with you in the way we hoped.” He looked at her keenly. “Did the truth serum also not help?”

“I didn’t get a chance to use it yet.” Na bi looked up at him. “Let me give it a shot, I just need some time-“

“Time is what I don’t have Na bi.” Mingyu ran his hands through his hair frustrated. “I gave my assurance at the NIS that by the time your suspension is over, we’d have made a breakthrough in I.M’s case.”

“Well my suspension is not over, there’s still-” 

“Seven days.” Mingyu glanced at his phone as it chimed in his hand, frowning at it before he looked up at her. “Fuck I need to go but Na bi, seven days…. that’s all you have.”

Na bi watched wordlessly as he planted a quick goodbye kiss on her forehead and rushed off to whatever urgency he had to cater, busy mumbling at his phone. 

“Seven days.” Seokmin walked up to her, still munching on his snacks. “How are you gonna do it if you won’t even talk to him?” 

“I will.” Na bi took a deep breath determined. It wasn’t just for Ana or Mingyu that she needed answers. 

The only woman Changkyun ever loved was his mother. Her name was Na bi too.  

“There’s a lot of things I need answers for.” 

It was the sound of rustling papers that woke Na bi up.

Eyes fluttering open she raised her head, frowning at the newfound weight of a quilt on her. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, they fell on the man sitting at the table beside her, his focus intent on the papers scattered all over the surface. He squinted at them in the subtle light of the candle beside him, and the occasional bursts of luminescence from his trademark lighter. As she sat up, he turned, face instantly softening at the sight of her. 

“Sorry, was I being too loud? I was trying not to…”

“No, that’s fine, it is your room….” Na bi swung her legs off the daybed, slightly confused as to how she ended up here. Last she knew, she was sitting on the chair waiting for him to come back. “I’m sorry, it was warm, I think I just dozed off?” 

Changkyun gave her a short nod, turning his attention back to his sheets as Na bi walked up to him, grabbing one of his strewn pencils to do her hair up in a bun, not noticing the way the edges of his lips curled into a smile at an old memory. As she peered over his shoulder mirroring his squint, her stomach let out a terribly timed, ungodly sound of hunger and before she could cover it up, Changkyun pushed the glass of orange juice on his table towards her, eyes still focused on his work. 

Na bi panicked knowing exactly what was in that glass and why she brought it here. 

“Oh no that’s ok, I brought that for you.” She fumbled, speaking fast. “I realized I was being rude yesterday, I brought it as a, sort of peace offering.” 

“Then you should have perhaps brought me my favorite, not yours.” 

Mentally slapping herself Na bi let out an unconvincing chuckle. “Perhaps I should have but that was the only drink available….” 

“Have it.” He pushed it further towards her. “You slept through dinner.” 

“It’s ok.” Na bi insisted, her muddled brain unable to think of a quick escape. “I’m not really that hungry.”

“You forget your stomach has spoken for you Ms.Baek.” Changkyun finally tore his eyes away from his work. “It's not much of a peace offering if you reject me twice for the same thing.” 

Gulping under his intense gaze, Na bi forced a smile and a soft thank you as she reached for the glass, trying not to let her hands shake as she downed it like a shot. Knowing Mingyu's truth serum would show its effects on her any time now, Na bi knew it was best to leave as soon as possible.

As she readied herself to bid goodnight and bolt, Changkyun spoke. 

“Is there any other reason I find you in my room in my absence yet again?” 

Na bi shook her head quickly before she slowed down, turning it into a nod. There was at least one answer she could try to get out of him tonight. 

“Yeah, there was something I wanted to ask…” 

Changkyun raised an eyebrow prompting her to continue but she trailed off, frowning at the dozens of maps laid out on his table. 

“That’s my hospital.” She pointed as Changkyun followed her line of vision. “And that’s the club that’s around the corner but…. I didn’t know there was a path between there?” 

“No one does.” Changkyun dragged his finger along the route. “It’s underground.” 

Na bi’s lips parted in surprise. No wonder these maps seemed foreign to her, filled with lines and routes of different colours, spanning across the city.

“Is this underground too?” Moving closer to him, she pointed at another unfamiliar one marked in red. 

“Not yet.” Changkyun’s hand reached for the pencil in her hair, spilling her locks over her shoulder as he drew over the lines. “I’m having it made as we speak. Wonho disagrees but I think having one near the Han river would help.” 

He looked up at her, eyes briefly roaming over the features of her face, down to the way her hair curled at her collarbone. Na bi was too focused on what was before her to notice the way his gaze lingered on her. 

“It looks like it leads to the Incheon port?” Her eyes followed the path. “A route like that must make it easier to transport things.” 

“And faster.” Changkyun added. “And undetected.” 

Na bi stared at him, a realization dawning. “Is this how you and your men move in the city without getting caught? Underground?” 

“Everything in the underworld happens underground, Ms. Baek.” Changkyun smiled. “It’s quite literal, I don’t know how no one has realized.” 

“How indeed.” Na bi wondered, muttering. “It’s plain but brilliant.” 

Changkyun smiled like he was pleased with himself.

“Over a century ago, when the Japanese had begun to infiltrate Korea, thousands of secret routes had been dug up all over the city for the Japanese army to move with discretion. After they left, many of those were discovered and shut, but rumor is, some of those are still hidden out there.” He pulled the map closer to himself, placing it beside another much older one. “For years my men searched for these abandoned routes but they’ve not been easy to find. Which is why I’m having new ones built under the city - it’s not easier but it's been more feasible than pointless searches.” 

“So you… search for and build roads?” Na bi tucked her hair behind her ear, confused at the prospect of Changkyun doing such odd jobs. “I had no idea.” 

“That’s because you never asked.” Changkyun leaned back against his chair. 

Na bi turned to him, leaning against the table, crossing her arms.

“Because you would have answered anything I asked?” 

“Anything.” 

It wasn’t just how quick he was to say that but also how confident he sounded. She raised an eyebrow, 

“Anything?” 

“Anything.” 

In the sudden, loud silence that fell upon the room, Na bi blinked at him, wondering how to test the waters. 

“Are we on an island?”

“Yes.” 

Na bi blinked stupidly at how calmly and quickly he answered a question she took over seven days to figure out. All she had to do was ask? 

“Does that mean this island is connected to the city….. underground?” 

“Underwater.” Changkyun corrected. “The tunnel from here to Seoul was the first route we laid. It was what birthed the idea of bringing our business underground.” 

Oh. 

“Are your headquarters also somewhere underground?”

“Not exactly.” Changkyun cocked his head like he was disappointed at the assumption. “It’s foolish to put all your cards in one place, Ms. Baek. The headquarters is on another island, about 5 miles from here.”

Bingo. She had been so right. 

“And that’s where all your men are? When they’re not constructing roads?” 

Changkyun scoffed, amused. “Yes but that’s just one of the many things my men are involved in. The least significant one in fact, as a favor for an old acquaintance. There’s a lot more we do.” 

“Like what?” 

“You are quite familiar with my line of work already Ms. Baek. You’ve been in the middle of it all.” 

“So stalking, kidnapping, threatening” Na bi counted on her fingers. “What else?” 

“Killing.”

Changkyun spun the lighter in his hand. 

A shiver ran down Na bi’s spine, words struggling to leave her mouth. 

Chankgyun noticed, cocking his head at her. 

“Do you know what power is, Ms. Baek?” 

Na bi shook her head in response. 

“The underworld is made of a lot more people than you imagine - people of high social standing, people with influence, people with money.... but they are powerless. Because anything in this world can be bought, Ms. Baek but not loyalty…. loyalty is earned.” Changkyun played with the small flame of his lighter. “And I earned it. It’s the loyalty of my men which gives me power. I have people willing to do the job, any job, be it build a road, take a life, or give their own to protect those important to me.”

Na bi felt her heart race behind her ribs.

“Do you now understand what power is Ms. Baek?” Changkyun smiled. “I am.”  

“Is that why…..” She racked her brains, putting everything together. “Everything about you is so hidden? Your identity, where you live, all of it? Because... you're sort of the winding key to the underworld?” 

Changkyun nodded. 

“Is that also why Ana figuring things out about you is such a concern?” 

Changkyun nodded again. 

“Did you…” Na bi stared at the ground, trying to sound as natural as possible. “You left that day saying you had a lead on her. Did you find her?” 

“I did.” Changkyun confessed. “Not the day I left though, we found her a few days after. She….” He shifted, voice softening a little. “I'm sorry but she was dead by the time we reached her.” 

“You found her dead?” Na bi frowned. “You mean she was dead already?” 

“There were bullet wounds on her back but we’re not sure who’s responsible. There was no one at the scene; no clues either.” 

Changkyun gazed keenly at Na bi’s face lost in thought. 

Na bi stared back at him wondering why the stories she was told were not aligning. She had seen the pictures Mingyu showed her, she had seen the wrist cuts….but Mingyu had also unknowingly mentioned bullet wounds. One of them was lying….

“You seem unfazed.” 

Na bi cleared her throat, pulling out of her thoughts. “In Seoul when someone is missing for this long, it's only sensible to consider this outcome.” She slid onto the table behind her. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” 

“I was worried about the kind of toll it might take on you.” 

Na bi’s lips parted in surprise. No one had ever said something like that to her before. 

“I’m strong enough to handle things like this.” 

And she truly was. Na bi knew she was tougher than most and she was used to being treated so too - like when Mingyu told her about Ana’s death without caring how it affected her. Or when Jihoon told to infiltrate Changkyun’s world without considering how hard it might be on her. Or when Seokmin gave her idea after idea to do the job but never once asked her how she was doing. She wasn’t used to being treated like this, like someone…..like someone capable of being hurt. 

“You are strong, but you don’t have to be Ms. Baek.” 

Na bi looked away before she gave in to the urge to throw herself into his arms. 

“Though what’s interesting is that you’re not as affected by her death as someone close to her would be.” Changkyun stood up, drawing her attention to him once again as he stepped closer. “Yet you did all you could to help her, including putting yourself in danger. Another person might think it's because of your humane nature or because you’re brave enough to go through with it but I don’t think so….. So if its okay to ask, why do you care so much Ms. Baek?” 

He was doing it once again. Reading her perfectly right like always. Asking her questions to which she couldn’t bring herself to give answers. 

She would be a fool to let it get to her again.

“What if I asked you the same? Why do you care about me?.......” She gripped the edge of the table to stop her hands from shaking, finally voicing the one thing she had been dying to ask him. “Is…. is it because I share the same name as your mother? Do I..... remind you of her?” 

Changkyun paused for a little, like he was trying to process the fact that she knew. 

“Yes.” He confessed. “And no.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It’s one of the reasons you got my attention,” He slid his hands in his pocket. “But it’s not the only reason I care.”

What other reasons do you have?

Na bi wanted to ask but she didn’t. Perhaps because she knew if she asked, he would tell her and Na bi wasn’t ready to hear the answer just yet. Not when she already had a hundred things on her mind. Like the fact that he didn’t kill Ana. He didn’t do the one thing she had constantly been using as a reason to push herself away from him. He didn’t break what he promised her. On the contrary, he offered her protection, he offered her safety, he cared more than anyone ever did….. And it wasn’t just because of the sentimentality attached to her name. 

“Are you okay Ms. Baek?” 

Changkyun peered at her, frowning. 

“No.” Na bi shook her head, genuinely not. “Why is it that though you answer everything I ask, it only makes things harder to understand?” 

Changkyun didn’t say anything to that. 

All this while Na bi had thought it was difficult to figure him out but now she realized, deep down, she didn’t really want to. Yes, given that she was so attracted to him, she was terrified of learning things that would make her ashamed of her choices and drive her away, but she was even more scared of learning things that would make her succumb and want to stay. Because all that heart racing in his presence, that she could pass off as a phase, that she could live with, but if it began to ache in his absence…..that she could not bear, that she could not afford. She had to end this before it went somewhere she could never come back from. 

“I’ll be gone in a week and I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again after that.” She slid off the table pulling away from him in more ways than one. “There’s no reason to and even if there is, I don’t think we should see each other again. I….. I think it’s best if we kept our distance Changkyun.” 

And he didn’t stop her as she walked away. 

Na bi felt like an idiot sitting in a box. 

She was surrounded by the tinted glasses of Wonho’s car, making yet another trip to the city, hoping it was her last one. She was supposed to feel proud of herself for all that she had figured out yet somehow she knew it wasn’t enough - Changkyun might have confirmed her theories, but she still had no proof of it, the kind of proof Mingyu had asked. Her plan was originally to record his answers on the phone Mingyu had given her but Na bi just could not find it. Deciding that she had perhaps left it in Seokmin’s office she made a mental note to take it from him for future use. 

When the car slowed down, Na bi knew they had reached the hospital, preparing herself as she slung her bag around her shoulder, taking a deep sigh before Wonho opened the door. He held out an umbrella as he stood under another, half drenching in yet another one of Seoul’s uncharacteristic rains. Na bi took it as she stepped out, muttering she would be back soon, before trotting away towards Seokmin’s office, navigating through the crowd of the hospital. It wasn’t uncommon for the hospital to be more packed on rainy days but it was somewhat strange that so many people were gathered right at the lobby, making Na bi slow her pace to look around at what everyone seemed to be whispering loudly about. She followed their eyes to the tv screen above. 

“Seventeen people have been found dead in the suburban area of Itaewon, prompting higher vigilance of police authorities after nearly 12 years of a crime free city. This is the first time since WipeOut in 2011 that violence of such extremity is being reported in Seoul, with this being the third incident of an attack in just a week. All citizens are cautioned that a dangerous criminal might be on the loose and are advised to stay indoors after nightfall. Please report any and all suspicious activity to 99….” 

Eyes shaking, Na bi took a step back and another, running out into the rain, approaching Wonho who was taking a smoke near his car, frowning at the sight of her.

“Where is Changkyun?” 

Wonho hissed. “Don’t take his name-” 

“Where is he?” Na bi raised her voice impatiently. “There was an attack in Itaewon earlier today, where did he leave to in the morning?” 

“To Itaewon…..” Wonho trailed off, quickly grabbing his walkie talkie from inside the car, speaking into it, pacing around. 

Na bi watched him recalling the last time she saw Changkyun, right before he left in the morning. As she descended down the stairs, he raised his head up from his breakfast, giving her one glance and leaving before she even reached the last step, before he even finished his meal. Mrs. Lee called out to him but he left wordlessly, giving Na bi the distance she had asked him. When Mrs. Lee glared at her as she approached, Na bi shrugged.

“We’re not fighting anymore.” 

“I know.” The older woman sighed. “This is worse.” 

“No one is responding." Wonho returned to her, breaking her reverie, looking just as troubled as she was. "The network around the city is down, perhaps because of the rain….” 

Swearing under her breath, Na bi opened the door of the car and sat in the passenger seat unlike her usual place in the rear, much to Wonho’s hesitation. 

“Get in Wonho, we need to go.” 

Knowing he had better things to worry about, Wonho obeyed, walking over to the other side and shutting the door as he sat, pressing the pedal hard. 

Na bi had been in way more stressful situations in her life but this was perhaps the most terrifying hour she had ever spent - an hour not knowing. Not knowing where Changkyun was, how he was and most importantly not knowing why she cared so much. That was why the moment Wonho slowed down the car to park at the driveway, Na bi opened the door and left, ignoring his disgruntled scolding from behind. It was only when she ran over in the pouring rain, burst into the house and caught sight of Changkyun standing in the middle of the living room, perfectly fine that Na bi finally took a breath of relief. 

Mrs. Lee called out to her as she turned to see the older woman rushing with a bunch of towels, wrapping her drenched, shivering body. Wonho followed close behind, not nearly as wet as she was but enough to be a target of Mrs. Lee’s annoyance for drenching her carpets. Changkyun immediately turned to Wonho, who rushed over to him, the two of them discussing something in deep tones as Na bi’s eyes found the bags by the door. As Mrs.Lee thrusted a glass of warm milk in Na bi’s hand, she turned to her, frowning. 

“Is he going somewhere?” 

Mrs. Lee looked at the two men conversing busily. “It seems the situation in the city is bad right now. He’s moving to the base till things sort out.” 

Sipping on the milk Na bi wondered if that was the only reason he was leaving.

She got her answer when Changkyun gave Mrs. Lee a short nod of goodbye but didn’t spare her even a glance as he left, Wonho following him closely. 

Na bi gazed at the waves of the ocean playing its own little game of catch with the sand of the beach while the sky began to morph into shades of pinks and oranges, the sun rising out of its home in the waters. Walking along the coast, feeling the cold sand beneath her feet, Na bi submerged herself in the thoughts heavy on her mind. 

She hadn’t slept all too well in nearly three days, spending most of her time sprawled on the sofa of the living room mindlessly. When Mrs. Lee asked her why she didn’t go back to her room Na bi simply claimed it was too cold for her. The older woman must know it was a lie but she didn’t say anything, letting Na bi stay miserably on the couch, secretly hoping to just get a glance of Changkyun if he ever passed by. 

And she did too, in the wee hours last morning as he stepped out of his room and headed straight out of the house. And also once the afternoon before, as he grabbed a bite from the kitchen and quickly spoke to Mrs. Lee about something before he left. Na bi knew she was the one who asked him for space, that he was doing exactly what she asked of him yet she was strangely hurt by the distance. 

It was even worse when Wonho told her he couldn’t take her to the city for the next few days given how risky things were right now. That meant neither could Na bi meet Mingyu and dump all that she knew so far onto him, nor could she talk to Changkyun and find out anything more. Hence over the last three days, in the event of her joblessness, the couch had become her best friend. She only finally got out of it a few hours ago, around midnight, to the sound of an annoying, continuous hiccuping.

Raising her head from the warmth she had sank into, Na bi’s eyes fell on Mrs. Lee sitting in the kitchen, a bottle of wine in her hand, her expression dazed. Both shocked and surprised, Na bi quickly pulled herself up and walked over, slowly sitting next to the clearly tipsy woman. Mrs. Lee looked at her with red, wet eyes. 

“I don’t understand why people enjoy alcohol. It's horrid.” 

Na bi gently removed the half empty bottle from her grip and set it on the counter. “Why’re you drinking it if you don’t like it?” 

“This is the only day in the year I drink.” She slurred. “Helps me sleep.” 

“What’s keeping you awake?” 

“The date.” She pointed at the calendar hung on the wall. “The terrible things that happened 12 years ago.” 

Na bi remained quiet letting the other woman ramble away. 

“There were so many people that day, men in black uniforms storming into the house, bullets firing everywhere… the screams, the horror.....” She trailed away. “Being the one left behind, that hurts more than anything. I don’t know how Changkyun handles the grief of losing his whole family in a day… I don’t think he ever has.” 

Na bi recalled Changkyun's words about his scar. 

Hit the corner of the table when I was running away. 

Running away from what? 

The people who killed my family. 

12 years ago…. He must’ve been a mere boy. Na bi’s life too changed for good 12 years ago….

Pulling out of her thoughts when Na bi turned to Mrs. Lee, the wine had already knocked her out, her head rolled back against the chair, softly snoring. She grabbed her blanket from the couch and covered the sleeping woman before leaving the house quietly, walking over to the beach. Slipping out of her shoes, she buried her feet in the sand, walking along the waters as dawn approached. 

I don’t know how Changkyun handles the grief of losing his whole family in a day. I don’t think he ever has.

Neither had she. 

Reluctant to relive the memories she had stowed away deep in her mind, Na bi tried to walk mindlessly. She was successful for the most part, covering nearly the whole coast over the last few hours, returning where she had begun from, her shoes far away like two tiny white specks in the sand, except standing right beside, staring at them was Changkyun. 

Na bi’s tracks stopped as she looked across the distance at the suited man before her. He looked like he always did, calm and stoic, but Na bi knew there was a storm going on inside him. She could tell that a very happy family was broken years ago today, that he was broken yet she wondered how he seemed so put together - Na bi for one wasn’t this composed when she lost who she loved most in the world.

She remembered the night Changkyun had asked about her sister, the night they drank together, slowly realizing that was not the only time she might have mentioned her. As Changkyun tore his gaze away from her shoes and watched the ocean instead, hands tucked in his pockets, Na bi felt a frown creep on her face along with a very blurred, forgotten memory from the night he first dropped her home….. 

“Are you going to leave now?” Na bi stared at Changkyun who was still standing by the door. “Stay.”  "I can't Ms. Baek.” He shook his head. “I shouldn't, I must go."  "Why does everyone want to leave me?” Na bi’s lower lip quivered, eyes threatening to fill with tears. “Why does nobody want to stay? Am I that bad?"  "You're....”  Changkyun’s gaze softened as he walked in, stripping out of his dinner jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “You're quite an enigma Ms. Baek. Perhaps people aren't deserving of you." "Feels more like I'm the undeserving one.” Na bi sniffed. “I'm not even worthy of a goodbye, why else would my sister leave without even telling me?" She held his hand, looking up at him as he stood before her. "I hate goodbyes, but I hate not getting one even more…. Don’t leave without one." "I won't." "Promise?"  “Promises are empty words Ms. Baek.”  “Not for me.”  Changkyun stared at her for a bit.  Then he nodded. 

Na bi felt something tighten in her chest at the memory. 

“I’ll leave when you sleep.”

“I thought you left.” “Didn’t you ask me not to?” 

“I didn’t want to leave without letting you know.” 

She didn’t even realize when her lips curled into a small smile or when the tear rolled down her cheek, surprising her, pulling her out of her thoughts. Wiping it, Na bi stared at the stain on her fingers, hand slightly shaking. She wasn’t usually the kind to cry, she didn’t even know why she was so overwhelmed, why she was so at peace and disturbed at the same time. Sighing, she looked up to see Changkyun turned towards her, his face too far for her to read.

The second their eyes met Na bi felt like time had come to a strange halt where everything around seemed to move too fast but nothing seemed to move at all, like she wanted the moment to end right now but also drag to eternity, like his presence meant everything and nothing, all at once. 

As Na bi continued to lose the battle inside her, Changkyun broke his gaze, taking a step back to walk away when she finally took a step towards him, and then another. He stopped, watching her make her way to him, slip on her shoes and stare out at the sea, the way he was a while ago. When he resumed his act of leaving, Na bi spoke up at last. 

“My sister’s name is Bit na.” 

Changkyun looked over his shoulder as did Na bi.

“Bit na, Na bi, yeah that was on purpose.” Looking at the waves again, Na bi smiled at the memory of her sister and her playing in waters like these. “Baek Bit na, Baek Na bi, white light and white butterfly, that’s who we were.” 

Na bi took a step back, standing next to Changkyun, who continued to look at her.

“I don’t know where she is now. I don’t know where she’s been for the last, almost 12 years.” Na bi confessed, losing her fond smile. “And as for what happened between us…” 

She flattened the sand by her feet and sat down, looking up at him. “Do you have some time?” 

It felt like eternity passed before Changkyun finally sat beside her, shoulders barely touching, but his presence heavy, like a comforting weight. Yet Na bi felt her voice struggling to leave her throat. 

“Ms. Baek,” Changkyun started softly. “You don’t have to….”

Na bi shook her head. “People think it’s painful to share something that hurt you - it’s actually a whole lot more painful to keep it all in. And I’ve been doing that since I was four.”

She looked at him for a bit before she continued.

“Maryland orphanage - that’s where I was dropped off a few hours after my birth. They said it was a teen pregnancy – he wasn’t there, she was scared, the usual scene. My earliest memory is playing in that backyard. I was so happy there - there were so many kids my age, I had so many friends, we used to do everything together - it was like a never ending sleepover. That was until everyone slowly started getting adopted. Not me though. I didn’t get adopted for a long time, I don’t think I was the cutest kid.” 

“I doubt that.” Changkyun muttered, making Na bi chuckle. 

“Six years I watched people near and dear to me run at the name of a new home, leaving behind nothing but a goodbye. Back then I thought goodbyes were the worst thing ever, each one felt like a heartbreak.”

She smiled, thinking about how dramatic she was.

“When I was 10, a family finally wanted me….. I’m not sure ‘wanted’ is the right word, they just took me in. We lived in Jeju, somewhere near a sea like this, where it was quiet and isolated. My parents, the Baeks, weren't really the best adults. Yeah they’d feed me and clothe me but they’d also fight, all day and all night - verbal abuses, accusations, disappointments, sometimes things would be hurled across the room too. Every time they’d start, I’d run out of the house - it wasn’t like they cared about me enough to notice. I used to go to the sea and every time it was like a brutal reminder of that I went from being lonely to being lonelier. That I had found a house, not a home…… until the next summer.” 

Na bi looked at the waves creeping closer to them. 

“I didn’t even know they had another daughter till she came home during her vacation. She studied at a boarding school in Seoul - the typical rebel child they had given up on. They didn’t have any pictures of her anywhere, they refused to acknowledge her presence, they didn’t even tell her that they adopted me. I thought she would be like them, unbothered and unaffected by my existence but Changkyun she…”

She turned to him, recalling all the memories.

“I was looking for a sliver of someone’s heart, just a little space to fit in but she gave me all of it and more. She showed me what it was like to be loved in the best way possible. The ocean I once hated was where we would hang out for hours, home forgotten, the world forgotten - just the two of us and our little happy space of sandcastles and playing tag. She was so afraid of me being lonely again, she dropped out of boarding school and enrolled into the one I studied in. She never left my side, she was always there, we did everything together and then suddenly one day..... she was not.” 

Picking the skin off her fingers Na bi let out a deep breath. 

“It was a few days after I turned 15…..she was simply gone. No letter, no note, no explanation, she was just….gone. The Baeks said she ran away, like she always did when she wanted to act out. I thought she’d come back for me. I waited and waited and waited by the ocean but she didn’t. Days passed, months passed, years even, there was no trace of her. When I was 17, I no longer had to live in that house - the moment I enrolled into med school, I cleared my things, left them and moved to Seoul. To date, I don’t know where she is or why she left or if……” 

She’s even alive or not. 

“Goodbyes are hard but not getting one is heartbreaking. It means being stuck lifelong in a limbo of not knowing whether to wait or to move on, of not knowing whether it was your fault or not, if you could have fixed it or not. That’s why when it came to Ana I…..” Na bi sighed, playing with the sand by her feet. “You asked me why I care…. It’s because she reminds me of my sister - they have the same light, same brightness in them. That’s why I could never bring myself to get close to Ana - her existence is a haunting reminder of what I lost yet there was a strange comfort I used to get just watching her from a distance. That’s why protecting her, knowing what happened ....that's why it's all so important to me.”

Na bi hugged her knees, rocking softly.

“I’m sorry.” Changkyun finally spoke. “I wish things didn’t happen the way they did….”

“Me too.” She sighed. “Being left behind is hard, but it gives you a choice, between being a survivor and a living corpse. I tried so hard to be the former, maybe I even seem like one but only I know that I’m still stuck. That I’m still a 15 year old waiting on a beach, frozen in time, waiting for her to untag me.” 

Changkyun watched as she tucked her hair behind her ears, letting out a deep breath as she turned to him. “And as far as the case number of my first patient is concerned, I really don’t remember.” 

He laughed, shaking his head, as Na bi moved closer to him, looking at him softly. “I know there’s a burden you carry on your heart too. If you ever want to share it, I want you to know I’m there.” 

“Thank you.” He tucked back the hair that kept escaping in the wind, finger softly caressing her face. “Don’t worry, it may not seem like it, but I am the former; I'm a survivor.” 

Na bi nodded, not wanting to push him any further today of all days, choosing to slip her arm around his waist, burying her face in his neck. Changkyun wrapped his arm around her shoulder, holding her close as she felt his breath soft against her forehead. As the sun rose higher in the sky and the waves crept closer, Na bi who was always hyper aware of what she felt, didn’t realize one thing. 

Her heart, which always used to race in her chest in his presence was now beating steadily......like it had finally, finally found peace. 

Next chapter

[saria-the-phoenix]

Not So Invincible: ISWM Fanfic

Chapter 1 and 2

This is the first time I'm posting my writing, so please comment and like! Feel free to send me questions! ❤️

Chapter 1: Solid Ground

The multiverse is littered with the corpses of your failures.

She had been right about that. As much as she tried to forget the awful string of events that happened just to get them on this planet, every time she closed her eyes, the fear of finding herself in that damn cyro pod kept her from properly falling asleep.

In fact at this point she had been working until she could no longer physically keep her eyes open. While it helped her fall asleep, it didn't help with the nightmares. Even now her thoughts seemed to be pulled towards the memories of something that no one else on this planet even knew happened.

Well, everyone but Mark.

They had decided to keep the truth of what happened from the crew as there was no real reason to potentially stir up memories that they themselves may have. It wouldn't be fair to them.

They deserved to live in blissful ignorance of that nightmare.

"Cap? You hear a word I said?" A male voice pulled her from her thoughts, just as a gloved hand waved in front of the visor of the helmet she had yet to take off.

"Hm? Oh, sorry Gunther, got lost in thought. What was it that you were saying?" She turned her attention fully towards the gun man, shaking her head some to clear it of the clutter of thoughts that seemed to have settled within her mind.

Gunther mearly smirked "Damn Cap, here you go on about making sure we all get our rest and here you are, sleeping on the job." He teased lightly, she mearly shot him a look, though she wasn't sure how well it came across with the helmet hiding most of her features.

"What I was saying, is that the ADS is all set and ready to go. Gave it a few upgrades just in case any alien lifeforms rear their ugly heads, so base should be safe."

As much as she liked Gunther, the man still made her rather nervous, what with his outlook on extra terrestrials. She herself was one after all, not that anyone on the ship knew, which was why she hid herself behind her helmet and jacket, keeping any and all hints of her inhuman nature safely covered.

A small sigh escaped her and she mearly shook her head "Just make sure it doesn't shoot at every little thing that moves. Last thing we want to do is kill off a bunch of harmless animals."

She paused a moment, seeing the man pout at the extremely light scolding he had gotten "But good work. I suggest that we still keep guards posted however, just to be safe."

That seemed to be enough to keep him from getting into one of his foul moods in which he would grumble for the rest of the day "Sure thing Cap, I'll set it up."

She mearly nodded. "Right, well, I should probably go and see if anyone needs help around here. Can't have people thinking that I'm little to no help now that we're on solid ground. I'll see you around Gunther." She gave the man a small wave to which she got one in return before she headed off in search of something to do.

Each step away from the head of security had her tense muscles relaxing until she was finally a safe distance away to release the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

Okay, maybe it was a bit ridiculous to be nervous about her own crew, but after the shit she had gone through, could anyone really blame her?

She took a moment to look at her surroundings from where she had stopped, finding everyone hard at work.

Hell, even Danny and Brian weren't goofing off. Everyone was pulling their weight around here and they had been since they had landed, every crew mate more than excited to finally start settling in on the new planet.

They still had quite a ways to go before they could slowly start to wake the civilians. Last thing anyone wanted was fighting over lodgings. It had been her call to wait until there were at least some buildings avaliable.

Another thing she had decided on was limiting the amount of buildings that were built. Humans had a way of....overdoing things when it came to infrastructure. They built and built until there was nothing left. Until all the forests and jungles were destroyed. Until their very planet started to wither and die fron their own actions.

She had made a promise to herself to do what she could to limit such actions here on this new planet. The last hope for the humans as it was only a matter of tine before that one's that remained on Earth had died off.

The thought was a sad one, but the damage done to their planet had been too much to be reversed. She was just glad she was able to be a part of the mission to save some of them.

Again she had to shake her head to clear it, mentally scolding herself for getting lost in thought again, as she was apt to do.

She needed to focus, there would be time later to get lost in thought. After all, it wasn't as though she slept all that much anymore.

As she had told Gunther, she threw herself into any work that needed to be done. If a crew mate needed help, she was there to lend a had, even if a lot of the time it seemed like the person she was helping didn't even really need help at all, but mearly wanted to show off around her.

Humans were strange.

The day passed by rather quickly however, and before she even knew it, everyone was meeting up for dinner, sitting around and talking to one another, laughing joyfully. She joined in now and then, though she mainly stuck to listening as she scanned over her crew.

Everyone was there, unwinding and simply enjoying themselves, everyone but the Head Engineer. She noticed Mark sitting a little ways away on his own, picking at his meal, half listening to the conversations going on around him.

The sight was heartbreaking.

The few weeks she had known him before the Invincible ll set off, he always seemed to be one of the ones joking and laughing. Now he just seemed....

Tired

Could she really blame him? He had been through hell and back. They both had been.

She was about to excuse herself to go and speak with him, when he had gotten up, passing the rest of his food off to another crewmate before ghosting off to his apartment.

It had been a few days since she had been able to speak with him. If she were being completely honest with herself, she would say he was avoiding her for some reason. That was something she wouldn't allow. She was the captain for God's sake. He couldn't just avoid her.

Though she didn't want to come off as pushy. Insist that he speak with her. As far as she knew, he was just having a bad few days.

She decided then and there that she would approach him tomorrow. Just as a check in.

For now, she wouldn't bother him. Hopefully he would be in a better mood by then. Still, she hated the fact that he might be suffering.

After dinner, she bid the rest of the crew goodnight, wanting nothing more than to turn in early and at least try and get some form of rest, even if she knew it was highly unlikely that she would be able to. If anything, she would at least be able to take the suit off and relax a bit.

She trudged her way up to her apartment, finding herself more and more tired with each step, though she knew all that exhaustion would be gone the moment she tried to lay down and sleep.

With a small sigh, she placed her hand on the scanner to open her door, quickly slipping into her room before shutting it again, being sure that it locked before pulling her helmet from her head.

She was quickly coming to hate the uniform she wore, constantly having to use it to hide her less than human features. The only real time she was able to just...be her self was when she was in the comfort of her own lodgings. But again, she knew it was for the best.

She tossed aside her jacket and gloves as well, moving through the apartment, towards the bathroom.

A quick shower to wash the day away, the  prepare for bed. Hopefully she would be able to get at least a few hours tonight, before she was woken up by those nightmares.

Once in the room, she turned the shower on, cranking it up to nearly scalding, looking at herself in the mirror as she waited for the water to heat.

She was paler than she remembered being, making the intricate lines that made up her markings, seem darker.... More noticable. 

Her red hair was pulled up into a tight bun to keep it out of the way while wearing the helmet, though this only revealed her pointed ears. Hell, she couldn't even smile properly thanks to her unnaturally sharp canines.

These were all little quirks that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to hide them while she took this form.

Oh, how much easier things would be if she could.

She stared at herself a moment longer, taking in the dark circles under her deep green eyes. Even before the events of the wormhole, she hadn't been someone that slept all that well.

She had seen more than enough shit in her lifetime.

With a small huff, she pushed herself away from the sink and the fogging mirror, moving back to the shower to make sure the temperature was good enough before she finished undressing and stepped in.

Her quick shower became a rather long one, as she stood there, lost in the many different thoughts drifting through her head, her right hand coming up to rub at the scar left on her palm from the warp crystal.

The area still ached from time to time, though that was to be expected, after all, the power from that crystal had been strong enough to drag her through countless of realities. She was lucky the only side effect was it aching now and then, and the color of her markings on that arm having been changed to that same blue color.

Dragging herself from her drifting thoughts, she finished up her shower only when all the hot water was all but gone, quickly stepping out onto the mat and grabbing a towel to dry herself off before changing into a pair of sleep clothes and finishing up with getting ready for bed.

She eyed the piece of furniture as she stepped out of the bathroom, a part of her finding it rather amusing how something that should bring comfort only brought a lingering sense of dread.

She hated not knowing what memory she would be thrown into the moment she drifted off, but she knew....

She needed to sleep.

Chapter 2: Not so Sweet Dreams

Confusion, panic, fear. A sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach tugged at her as she awoke back in the cyro-pod she had just stepped into what felt like seconds ago.

"Good morning Captain, we are currently ERROR years into our journey;" The computer chirped happily, quickly snapping her out of the haze she had been in.

"Computer, clarify...." she ordered, though her request was ignored as it continued to speak.

"Coffee is on route, current ship status is.... Absolutely Catastrophic." The normal calm, blue glow of the computer became red as sirens started to blare. Panic set in once again as she tried to look for a way out of the pod "I-I-Initalizing Wakey-Wakey Protocol." The computer began to glitch.

She knew asking for clarification would do nothing for her, so she braced herself as the door to the pod  opened and she was more or less shot out of it.

She managed to catch herself before slamming face first into the ground, but just barely. She didn't even have time to notice the pain shooting up from her wrist as she quickly scrambled to her feet over to the main controls. The whole system was glitching out as she desperately tried to set things right.

"Reviving Head Engineer."  She heard the computer speak again, though just barely as a loud explosion racked the ship.

Thank God. Maybe Mark knew how to fix this. He built the ship after all, and all her override codes were doing absolutely nothing. She looked to her right as she heard his cyro-pod hiss open, though the force in which he was flung out was a bit too strong, having him crash into the main window.

She flinched, though he seemed relatively okay, other than a bloody nose.

He swayed a bit on his feet, looking just as confused  as she was sure she did. "Captain, what the hell is-"

"They system is shot to hell, everything is glitching and as of right now, every code I've put in has come back with an error. I'm completely locked out." She answered quickly, just as another explosion racked the ship.

"On it, Captain!" Mark quickly started to move towards the controls when he paused, hearing the creaking of cracked glass starting to spread. She heard it to, noticing the damage to the main window just a second too late as she lunged for her Head Engineer "Mark!"

Just a half an inch too far. She couldn't grab ahold of him. She had been too slow and now watched as her friend was ripped away from her, into the unforgiving darkness of space.

"Hall breach detected, sealing bulkhead." She could hardly hear the computer now as a large metal shield blocked her view of her friend's corpse, floating away from the ship.

"No!" She ran towards the thick metal, pounding a fist on it, tears leaking from her eyes. She had gotten rather close to the Head Engineer. He had been the first to welcome her,  the first to actually offer friendship rather than just loyalty as crewmates should have to their Captain, and now....

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a dream. That's it. A nightmare of some kind.

She whipped her head around when she felt heat on her back, the control panel erupting in flames

"Fire on the bridge."  Did that damn computer ever have any good news? In the event of this not just being some horrible nightmare she wasn't going to just let this place burn. There were lives at stake.

Quickly she rushed over towards the fire extinguisher, pausing just in reach of it when the computer spoke again.

"Error, life support systems failing"

She didn't know what to do. Surely putting the fire out first was the best choice. If it was left unchecked, it would spread. There had to be enough oxygen left for her to be able to get to life support after handling the flames, right?

She gripped the extinguisher and pointed it towards the fire, being sure that the flames were completely out before rushing off towards the door.

Something wasn't right. The walls were warping around her, it was getting increasingly hard to breathe. But why? There should be more than enough oxygen left. There had to be. She could hold her breath longer than a human anyway, so why was she struggling?

She pushed forward, stumbling towards the door to life support, reaching for it as little black dots began to dance in her vision "N-No...." She muttered, falling to her hands and knees in front of the door.

"No...."

No, things couldn't end like this. She couldn't fail again, she couldn't let all these people down.

She collapsed onto her side as she took in the last few breaths she could. The blaring of the alarm starting to sound so distant....distorted as though it were underwater. Darkness encroached on her vision even more before it was fully taken over by black then....

Nothing.

She was so sure that was the end, that she had failed another race of people and lost her own life in the process.

That was until swirls of blue surrounded her, followed by a sensation of being pulled by something. She could hear several overlapping voices, all familiar to her, though she was unable to make out what was being said.

Then everything went dark again.

"Don't give up...."

That was the single voice she heard before she once again awoke within the cyro-pod, gasping for air and frantically looking around her.

She was alive? So it had been a dream? Nothing had actually happened. She was safe, so was Mark and the others on the ship.

"Good morning Captain, we are currently ERROR years into our journey;"

Everything came to a screeching hault then, a sense of dread washing over her, making her stomach drop like a stone in water.

This couldn't be happening....could it? 

She ignored the computer for the most part, trying to calm her breathing and focus on what the hell was going on. Maybe this was just a sense of

Déjà vu. That had to be it, right? As far as she knew, her people couldn't see into the future.

"I-I-Initalizing Wakey-Wakey Protocol."

Again she caught herself as she was ejected from the cyro-pod, though this time she was able to land without hurting her wrist.

So far, everything seemed to be the same. She attempted to type in the codes again, with the same results. She was completely locked out of the system.

"Reviving Head Engineer."

Panic. She couldn't watch Mark be ripped from her again. She wouldn't.

If her mind wasn't running a thousand miles a minute, she would have noticed that even Mark had managed to hit differently when he was thrown out. His nose wasn't bloody like last time, though he was rubbing at his shoulder

"Captain what-"

She didn't give him a chance to say anything, lunging at him and grabbing ahold of his hand tightly just as she heard the glass cracking. She gripped tightly onto the control panel with her free hand,  anchoring the both of them as the window finally shattered.

The force that was pulling on him was almost enough to make her lose her grip, but she refused to let go. She wouldn't lose him. Wouldn't fail him.

"Hall breach detected, sealing bulkhead."

Mark hit the floor and she stumbled backwards as the metal shield was lowered.

"Thank you...? Captain, what the hell is going on?" Mark asked as he forced himself to his feet. She mearly shook her head at the question.

"Don't know. Go and check on life support, quickly!" She moved towards the fire extinguisher, grabbing and aiming it at the control panel.

"But-" He started.

"Go!"

Mark jumped into action just as the control panel erupted into flames.

"Fire on the bridge. Error, life support systems failing."

She unloaded the extinguisher onto the fire, dropping the canister only when the flames were finally out.

It was then a voice that had the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, spoke out.

"Captain...."

It sounded like Mark, but when she spun around to see what was wrong, the ship seemed to warp and change.

The alarms were gone, the flashing red lights.... In fact, all the lights were gone other than a dim glow coming from her cyro-pod. The ship itself seemed to be in complete disrepair, scribbles and drawings plastered to it's walls.

'Don't wake the captain'

'Sleepy head'

'My air'

She found herself slowly approaching the pod as the glow grew brighter. Something began to move within it, turning to face her as two glowing eyes looked back at her and a hand slammed against the wall.

Her head throbbed, it was hard to make sense of things. The ship warping around her again. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to will away the nausea.

When she opened them again, it was back to normal.

"Captain! There you are!"

Mark

She looked towards him, a part of her unsure if he was even there at this point.

"I got life support back on line and I still don't know what the hell is happening, but we seem to have this situation all under control." He grinned, giving her a thumbs up.

"Good, we'll need to get to work looking into how all this happened, and why I'm locked out of the system. We don't need something like this happening agai-"

The ship rocked with another explosion, making her stumble into Mark, who quickly caught her. Those damn red lights and alarms going off again.

"Impact detection."

"Computer, activate the Astroid Defense System!" She shouted, steadying herself on her feet.

"Analizing.... No."

She blinked, opening her mouth to ask it to clarify, though Mark beat her to it "What do you mean no?!"

Another blast shook them "Computer, what's wrong with the ADS?" The engineer asked

"ADS Offline"

"Why?!"

"Offline"

A rather irritated look crossed Mark's features "Computer, what is wrong with the-"

"Offline"

He glared up towards the speaker the computer spoke through.

"Forget it, come on, we still have the guns, we can do it manually." She grabbed Mark's arm, rushing off towards ADS.

"It doesn't make any sense. Astroids are hitting the ship but our guns aren't shooting them down."

She reached out towards the scanner once they reached ADS "Well, at least we still have guns, it can't be too hard to just point and shoot.... Get down!"

She quickly pulled Mark down to the ground as the drones started to shoot towards them. The rapid fire continued until the door slid shut again.

"That's new.... Somethings gone wrong with the computer."  Mark spoke as he got back up to his feet, holding a hand out to pull her up with him.

"Oh, you think?" She shook her head, looking towards the door "We need to get in there, and quick. I'm not sure how many more hits we can take." She looked down at the tablet on her wrist, pulling up names of the crew. "Gunther should be able to handle it. It's his area after all."

She typed in a few things, waking Gunther from cyro, relieved that she was at least still able to do that.

"Should be here in a few-" She started 

"Got a problem Cap?"  She turned  to see the head of security, giving a small nod towards him. "I hear you've got a bit of a problem on your hands. Well don't you worry, I've been through hundreds of battles, fought through hundreds of traps. A few rogue drones ain't gonna get the best of me."  He spoke as he waltzed towards them.

"That's great, now I need you to get in there and fix-"  The ship around them began to shift and warp again, and in a blink of an eye, Gunter was no longer there.

In his place was an old woman, who honestly didn't seen to surprised to be there, holding a plate of cookies. "Ms.Whitacre?" Last person she expected to show up was the woman that took her in and helped her get this position on the Invincible ll in the first place.

"Not my first choice, but we need you to go in there and-" Mark started as though Gunther hadn't just been there and was replaced with the woman.

"Hold on a second, we're not sending her in, she isn't even qualified! What-" Another hit to the ship.

"It's alright dearie, there is nothing a plate of cookies can't solve." The old woman spoke, tapping on the hand scanner to open the door.

"Wait, what? No, they're drones they can't-" She started, staring at the door as it slid closed.

"Hello darlings!" She heard Ms.Whitacre spoke cheerfully from the other side of the door.

The drones, of course started firing, followed by a 'thump'  of the old woman's body hitting the door, that blood was now seeping out from under.

Both her and Mark stared  at the blood for a long moment, she could feel Mark turn his gaze to her as she continued to stare, mouth agape as she tried to process what had happened. "No, this....this doesn't make sense. Gunther was here and...."

"Captain...."

She looked over towards Mark about to say something when the computer spoke up again.

"Warning. Large object on collision course with the ship."

"Fuck." 

A large explosion rocked the ship, followed by an overwhelming sense of heat, burning her skin, then again....nothing.

[queserasora]

CW: alcohol consumption, nudity, mild/minor profanity, oral sex male giving female receiving, spanking, choking, blood, biting, fingering, and vaginal penetration. A BADLY WRITTEN SUMMARY: [Toji is Toji Zenin for the sake of this AU] The one where Y/N is an assassin for hire and not only is she infamous for her methods, but also  infamous for faking all her orgasms. After getting sick and tired of these cry babies bitch and complain, Toji takes it upon himself to find out the truth. Is Y/N really faking all her orgasms or were her partners just a bunch of only good for murder fuckers. 

CLICK FOR NEXT PART

You worked alone. It was your choice. 

You hated responsibility outside of the one you owed yourself; the one that paid for your expensive habits. A mission was easy enough to follow. Given the right instructions you were a pleasure to hire. You delivered on time, minimum collateral, and sometimes with a little extra sprinkled on top for that delicious added tip to your wage. 

You worked hard for what you had. Your blood and sweat was splattered on too many walls and floors. You had lost count. You didn’t even bother to try anymore. They were unfavorable distractions; your preference leaned a little sideways for that.

Your current distraction was strutting around a silver pole wearing the most ridiculous pair of shoes. In your mind, you saw her snapping an ankle bone right through her pale skin, you saw her falling at such an angle her neck would immediately snap;  a dead rose on a stage.

Dark round eyes take in the inches tall stiletto heels and wonder—how fast could you drive that into someone’s eyeball? With enough force, could it punch through the orbital bone and into the brain? 

A part of you wanted to try.

You lean forward, one elbow digging into your muscular thigh. Your other hand reaches and curves two fingers, motioning for the dancer to come closer.

As she draws nearer, you lean back, and cross your legs. She knows the drill. It’s not your first time at this club. Your hands stay away from her at all times, only moving to bring the two fingers worth glass of Blanton’s to your plush lips. You were a murderer, sure, but you had manners, dammit; a goddamn lady.

“Hey Miss C,” she greets you by wrapping her arms around your neck as she straddles you. You shift your weight slightly to make her comfortable—and to feel her a little better too.

“Hey doll,” you speak against the side of her face. Your breath bounces back and you enjoy the sweet scent of vanilla and caramel that hangs like trickling honey on your nose. “Any news for me?”

“He’s been asking around again.” There is annoyance clipping her words. You smile crookedly, and bring the drink to your mouth to swallow back a laugh. “Thought you should know. He should be here any minute too.”

Your hand slides into the sewn pocket on the inseam of your high split maxi skirt. Long elegant fingers pull out two bundled bills and you tuck them, carefully, around the back string of her thong. You slap them down, a light smack making her ass jiggle.

“Thank you, baby,” you tell her as she pouts; it was evident she didn’t want to be done. You smile a little, mockingly. “Don’t look at me like that. You know the rules. I don’t go on the same ride twice.”

It was enough to embarrass her although it wasn’t precisely your intention. Still, it gave you the result you wanted and she went back to her pole, and the other clientele. 

It left you with enough time to finish your drink at ease before he came through the doors. 

Toji Zenin was every bit as commanding as people said he was. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud, you think, as your eyes refuse to tear away from his strutting figure. He wore a black long sleeved shirt, wide neck; enough to reveal a muscular chest and prominent clavicle. Dark gray tactical cargo pants, with too many straps and pockets, hid his lower half from further inspection.

You suck your teeth. What was he being so coy for?

If the rumors were true, the man was jacked beyond what one would consider humanly possible. You had heard myths about his physical prowess. Temptation lingered in the back of your mouth as it watered from the possibilities. 

As you contemplate your next move, he makes his.

The distance between you and him is breached by his long strides. You notice his large hands slip into his pockets and you feel your body tense. You sit up before  you can think further, loosen your jaw. Your hand slides to your thigh, fingering the blade strapped against it. 

He must have sensed your wariness since he raises his hands in the air in a sign of no resistance; a crooked grin hangs heavily from the scarred corner of his mouth.

“Easy,” he drawls when he’s within earshot. “I’m not here for a fight, unless you’re into that.” It was an inappropriate assumption. The way he paired it with a raise of a dark brow let you know that he knew this. You suck your teeth again–a terrible habit. This man was shameless.

You lean back, and drape your arms on the back of the loveseat you were occupying. Your legs spread, shifting the black fabric of your maxi skirt between your crotch, leaving your thighs exposed. He reeked of forced dominance.

You weren’t sure if you were turned off or turned on yet.

“You have no idea what I’m into,” you counter. Where his grin was full of what smelled of false promises, yours was a cold threat. 

It didn’t seem to phase him. He shrugged a shoulder before invading your space by dragging a chair towards you. Just seconds prior someone had been getting ready to sit on it–a lap dance likely on their minds–but Toji had moved without sparing the customer a second glance.

He sat now in front of you, straddling the back of the chair. Why couldn’t he just sit properly? You weren’t sure why it irritated you.

“Anyway,” he says, tilting his face upward. He glances down through his nose at you, as if he was trying to see past an invisible veil. “Is it true?” You don’t answer, so he adds: “Is it true what they say? You’re a fat liar. A faker.”

It takes you a moment, but you catch on to what he’s implying. There had been a preposterous rumor going around as of late; something to do with faking your orgasms. You hadn’t bothered clearing it up. You figured it was just another person in their feelings because you blocked and deleted their number after fucking them. It had nothing to do with you, at least so you thought. 

“I give the people what they want,” you say with a small smile as you shrug your shoulders. Your hands grip the back of the love sweat, your arms not moving from where they draped behind you. “I consider it a service for taking up their time.”

Honestly, in your opinion, they owed you an apology.

“Bullshit,” he says with an airy laugh. He leans forward, folds his arms over the back of the chair. His green eyes are meticulously roaming over your body. You wonder what he’s sizing you up for exactly? A sparring session? A meal? He licks his lips. “You don’t seem the type of person to do anything for free. Don’t fuck with me.”

It was your turn to laugh. At the very least he could keep up with conversation. It was commendable even if you wanted to rip the smirk from his lips with your own hands.

“And you don’t seem the type of person to persist after a single woman,” you start–getting to the point of your curiosity. You arch a well groomed brow; a proposal. “Yet, here…you…are.” You wait, with the very last dregs of your patience, for him to explain himself; for him to say anything.

Instead he watches you, his eyes growing dark. You notice a small amount of tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at least twice. You flick your tongue to dab the dryness of your bottom lip.

“Let’s make a bet,” he says, green eyes lighting up. You blink a few times, trying to clear the glare from yours. “I bet…” he continues slowly. “I can make you cum.” 

You snort before you can help it and this time you don’t try to cover it. He was being ridiculous. Ridiculous people deserved to be mocked.

“I bet you won’t be able to hold back.” He sits up, and moves his hands to grip his own knees. You watch large fingers cover the diameter of that bony structure; massive for no particular reason. “I bet every sigh, every moan, every scream…” He pauses as his eyes linger on your throat. “Every shiver I rip from your body, will be real and well earned.”

“And if you lose?” You ask quickly, not leaving room for secondary thoughts. Adrenaline vibrated in your veins at an impressive speed. You felt tingly; dangerously so. 

“I won’t,” he says, tilting his head to watch you with curiosity. “But let’s pretend I do–you can have a look at my arsenal.” He chuckles at the sight of your eyes widening ever so slightly. “I’ve heard you’ve been asking around. Curious little kitten, aren’t you?”

You were always learning, and you just had learned you loathed being called a little kitten. Your eyes narrow and you consider kicking him in the throat. It would have been deserved, you think, as your nails dig into the loveseat. Still, you resist. Still, you sit.

“Deal,” you say almost sweely before flashing a smile.

He gets up without you, and starts walking when he realizes you’re not following. You watch him, brows knitted together from where you sit. 

“Do you have no manners?” You ask him, legs spread wide, one hand winding in the air. The idea of appearing a hypocrite is barely a fluttering thought. He laughs as he turns to fully take you in. He seems pensive. You can almost hear him humming through the music playing in the club. His hand reaches towards you.

You know you shouldn’t take it. You know you should go home, make sure you never see him again, and pretend he doesn’t exist.

And yet, you allow your fingers to slide over his rough palm, as you pull yourself up.

The touch was miniscule; fingertips against callouses but he retracts his hand like he had been touched by fire. 

“You’re funny,” he offers with a laugh. You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker, scanning the crowd. He’s looking for witnesses. It was the sensible thing to do. This was an inadvisable meeting. In fact, if you were to be honest to yourself for once, this went past being inadvisable. This was reckless. You were both at a facility where your name and face was known. 

Was it really necessary to advertise this affair?

The answer was no, but still, it gnawed at your pride.

You don’t answer him as you move past him, shouldering his bicep. He bites back a smile. Damn. It was starting to get irritating how he kept doing that around you.  He turns quickly to follow you, bumping you out of the way lightly to take the lead. He is aware of your faltering steps but doesn’t slow down. If he does, he’d be admitting defeat; admitting that he was–somehow, some way–soft for you. That simply would not do.

“You don’t even know where my car is,” he says, finally walking past the doors, past security. You scoff, and he takes in your figure with a sideways glance.

“Who said we’re taking your car?” You ask him, a brow arched, mouth twisted with displeasure. Did he seriously think that you were that easy of a prey? He groans, and you can hear his brain clicking as he casts his green eyes to the night sky. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not taking two cars.”

“Why not? Get in the fucking car, Toji,” you tell him in a sing song tone, as you slide into the driver’s seat of your vehicle. His eyes are on you; you feel their heat boring a hole through the side of your head. You ignore this and instead take in the sound of the engine purring. “Your call. If you don’t make up your mind I’m going home. Get in your car or get in my car. Pick one. I’m not patient.” Your words are clipped as you struggle to keep composure. He had gotten you all riled up and all he had to do was stand there with a blank expression, hands in his pockets. “I’m not a fucking patient person.” Your volume is slightly higher than before and you lean over the passenger seat to peer through the window, snapping your fingers repeatedly.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying this little performance. He wills himself not to smile. He barely makes it through and as punishment he chews on the inside of his cheek. The truth was he was dying to get in her car. He couldn’t wait to have her drive off just so he could have her at his mercy but he didn’t like the idea of her driving him for a night of fucking.

It just didn’t taste right; acrid like an electrical fire. 

He shifts his weight from one large foot to the next. The night sky was partially cloudy, barely any stars visible. The crescent moon shines ominously behind the haze. He cusses at it as a hand reaches for the door handle.

He drops in the passenger seat, expletives flying out of his mouth. You laugh and don’t wait for him to put on his seatbelt. You felt like he isn’t the type anyway. He tells you the address, begrudgingly, and a small battle ensues over the windows.

He wanted them down—some bullshit about the night air clearing out the smell of perfume in the car. You wanted it up because the humidity made your curls frizz and you were petty; now you wanted the perfume to choke him.

At his apartment, another small battle took place. You both try to reach the front door first. You’re not even sure why you wanted to—why it was a fucking race. You simply liked the way he made it so easy to see how you got under his skin. 

“Open it,” you tell him, words full of breath. You feel giddy; bouncing on the heels of your feet. You’re standing close to him—too close. He scowls trying to shoulder you out of the way. 

“I will if you give me some room,” he spits through clenched teeth with pause. He is aware of the irony. He was the one who approached you first, proposed a salacious endeavor, had been trying to get close to you for weeks and now he was trying to get you to back off, at least a little. “I’m going to punch the code in.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before chuckling. “Are you stupid? If I wanted to break in I wouldn’t need a code. You know that.” You left out the part where you were aware it would be a stupid risk to take. You knew your strengths and knew your limits. Toji Zenin was just out of reach of them.

“For fucks sake,” you hear him mutter under his breath. You pretend to be very interested in the ceiling entryway as you hear the beeps and clicks. The door swings open and before he can invite you—you let yourself in, strong long legs carrying you in with ease.

“Wooow,” you enthuse with some drama; you spin to face him, take in his scowling face and smile. “Smells like booze and sex in here.” 

“Hmm, you don’t like it?” He asks, casually checking the surveillance cameras while you continue to give yourself a tour of the studio apartment. 

“I didn’t say that,” you correct him, letting yourself fall on his platform bed. You bounce once—twice—on your ass and watch him with a gleeful grin. You were finally here. You wondered how many conquests he had brought back. How many he had fucked on this same bed. Your hand runs over the navy bed sheets. No, he didn’t seem the type to use his bed much except for sleeping.

You were hoping he would prove you wrong.

He watched you wear that little grin, and bounce your plump ass on his bed. He watched you still, as he slowly undid his belt; watched your hands roam over his bedsheets, watched you rifle under his pillows as if you were looking for his secrets.

He sucks his teeth, wrapping one end of his belt around a thick hand. He was getting tired of just watching. 

“You better stop that,” he growls in a low tone, dark green eyes zone in your wiggling ass, as you scramble on your belly on the bed, running your hands on the back of the mattress. “What the fuck are you looking for?”

“I want to make sure you don’t slit my throat in the middle of things,” you answer him, acting meek as you look at him over your shoulder. You flutter your lashes for good measure. You’re well aware that he’s capable of strangling you with just his hands. These were unnecessary precautions. If you were that worried for your safety you wouldn’t have come here in the first place. Once again, you just liked to watch him react.

It was cute, in a very unhinged way.

He heaves a long and heavy sigh. You bite down on your bottom lip, anything to keep from smiling. Was he regretting it now? Maybe you should be so kind as to give him an incentive. You plop his pillows on top of each other and lean back, making yourself comfortable. 

“Shall we get started?” You ask him, legs bent at the knees. 

He was tempted to tie you up right where you were. It would make things easier but he wasn’t looking for easy. If he wanted easy he wouldn’t have put in the effort to learn your schedule; spent the money on information that would get him closer to you.

His knees hit the mattress, causing it to dip and creak under his weight. His free hand grabs one of your ankles and he drags you until you’re underneath him. You put up no resistance. Instead you take in the sight above you.

His dark hair fell like a curtain, framing the sharp angles of his face. His eyes were mesmerizing pits, piercing you as he observed you. His lips parted slightly as he let out a breath.

You breathe in—inhale his scent and let it run its course, almost eliciting a full body shiver. You fight back, as you realize he’s watching you. His mouth splits into a broad smile.

Dread pools with heat at the pit of your stomach. You’re in danger. You don’t hate it.

You love it. 

Thick thighs rub together and he brings a hand to slap them apart. It stings and you bite down on your lip, swallowing back a hiss. Quickly you move the fabric of your skirt to have a look; a red imprint greets you like a middle finger—mocking; his first mark.

You think about threatening him; to warn him about treating your body like unbranded cattle but his mouth clashes on to yours, silencing all your thoughts.

He fights for dominance, tongue invading your mouth without frills or pretenses. He is seeking yours out and you think about holding it against him but you’re yet again a beat too slow. He sucks on your tongue, a hand drifting to your thighs. He grips the flesh he finds without hesitation, digging calloused fingers into any softness that was pliable enough to bruise. 

You swallow a moan, a grunt, unwilling to give in. He tires of your mouth but only after biting and nipping, hard enough to draw a small amount of blood. He reaches out gently, and smears the blood with his thumb across your bottom lip  and chin. 

“There,” he said, tilting his head to admire his work. “Red is your color.”

His mouth is on your neck, finding your pulse. Your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer as he sucks with force. You know he’s leaving another ugly mark but you don’t stop him. 

You think about giving when you feel his hands on your breast. He grips them roughly, forcing your back to snap. You arch against his body and he laughs, face buried on the crook of your neck. You hate the way his breath tickles your skin, how warmth spreads like ink on parchment. 

“I don’t think you’re winning this, sweetheart.” He drops kisses  on your exposed shoulders, pulling spaghetti straps of your dress down. His teeth clamp into your shoulder, and you have to bite down on the back of your hand to keep quiet. Your panties are soaked, you realized with embarrassment. Your thoughts come slow under his assault. You think about strangling him as he exposes your breasts with a ravenous look in his eyes. You think about slamming your palm up against his nose as he bites down on a nipple before he grips your breast and torpedoes it into his mouth.

Again, you find yourself biting down on your battered bottom lip to keep from crying out. He’s sucking noisily, as if he never had any table manners in his life, as if he had never had a meal, never knew what feeling satiated was.

Thoughts become fractions. Sensations become colors.

Somehow, he has you on all fours, the dress down at your ankles. You feel a sting as the sound of leather against skin cracks in the air, then another. You look back and see him, tongue sticking out as he gets ready to whip you with his belt one more time. Your nails bite into the skin of your hand as you make fists, gripping hard enough to draw blood. It was all you could do to keep from crying out.

As his hands grip and knead your ass after abandoning his belt, his mouth is on your back leaving wet open mouthed kisses everywhere. He kisses towards your armpit and bites down on the soft flesh just underneath it.

You whimper, as your hand slams down on the mattress; a mild tantrum. Shame sinks in at the same time his chuckle comes against the nape of your neck. He breathes harshly against your ear, tongue running along the shell of it.

“Did I hear something?” He questions playfully. “Hm? Maybe not.” Sometimes he did have manners.  It would be too easy to stop here, and it would hurt her pride. He couldn’t let that happen; as a mediocre gentleman.

He kisses down your neck and you contemplate your options. Just how badly did you need to see his arsenal anyway? You hadn’t decided yet on what to do next when you feel him pull your panties to the side. You gasp, and flutter kick your feet. 

“Hey!” You call out, hoping to stall him. “What are you doing?” Surely, he’d wait to put it in. You realize belatedly that you misinterpreted when you feel a finger slide between your folds. He slides it back down slowly, and then turns his whole hand to smear the slick all over your puffy pussy. There’s no explanation. He kisses your cunt like he would rather eat it instead; big wet mouthfuls with lots of sucking. 

A ragged breath shakes your shoulders as you struggle to hold yourself up. He is savoring you without mercy, enjoying your taste dripping on his tongue. He slips in one finger and you whimper again, barely adjusting when he is putting a second finger. He starts scissoring into your squelching pussy, while he kisses and sucks on your clit, saliva mixed with you, dripping down his chin.

You realize with a gasp, as he adds a third finger—curving them as he is looking for something, he had been right. He wasn’t going to lose this bet. You cry out as he is victorious in his expedition. Black dots dance across your eyelids. You breathe in a loud gasp as he continues, feeling wetness drip down your thighs. They quiver, sore from holding you up–too weak to hold you accountable while Toji is hammering his fingers in you, tongue peeking out between white teeth.

Your arms are burning, and so is the air in your lungs. You moan, and cry and ignore the shame; the same way you ignore a tear running down your cheek as he rips another orgasm from you.

He moans against the upper part of one butt cheek when he feels you clenching around his fingers. He wants to continue so badly, finger fucking you until your legs give out, until you’re crying more. He bites down on an ass cheek, and you yelp; before you can cuss at yourself you’re softly moaning his name. He takes a deep breath and runs his tongue flat from the bottom of the ass cheek with bite marks, all the way to the top.

“How’s it taste?” he asks you, his fingers still working inside you, still curving and hitting that spot that has you delirious. You can barely hear him, much less process the words. He must know because he laughs at you before he continues. “My name on your tongue, I mean. Or are you too fucked out of your mind already to even answer me?”

The answer was obvious. You wanted to punch him in the throat but that requires energy you didn’t have at the moment. Plus, you want him to put his cock inside you so badly it is killing you every second he uses his fingers instead.

“Oh, God,” you cry out, feeling yourself close for a third time. The coil in your abdomen tightens, and tightens. Heat eviscerates you; at least that’s what it feels like. Your head is pulled back; you thought demonic possession but it was just Toji’s fingers gripped tightly in your hair. He pulls a little more and brings his mouth to yours, too much teeth and tongue but you’re too far gone to care.

“God?” he laughs against your swollen mouth. Fingers fiercely coming in and out of your pussy, the sounds of squelching thick in the air. It sounds so lewd, so dirty. You feel yourself getting even wetter.  “God Toji. If I’m God then why don’t you pray to me, hmm?” You’re dumbfounded. Your bottom lip is in your mouth as you whimper. You were so close, and his fingers still. Your pussy throbs and clenches, desperately asking him to continue. “Or, do you want to confess a sin? Ask for punishment? The benevolent Me is listening.”

He pulls your hair roughly, shaking you once, before he lets go. You almost collapse and barely manage to keep yourself up by your elbows. You’re out of breath. Your curls are sticking to the side of your face and the back of your neck. You feel sweat making the underside of your breasts slippery, feel the coolness of the air on your lower back.

“Please,” you whine, not too proud to beg this once. You lean forward and arch your bag, pushing your ass out further. “I can’t help but be a sinner.”

He finds it hilarious. He laughs as he spanks you a few times, and laughs louder as you cry out. He laughs as he watches you whine when he drops his pants, exposing his hardened cock. He laughs at you as you watch him pump his cock a few times  like a starved wild animal. He even continues to laugh as he teases your entrance with his pink tip, precum smeared all over your clit before he finally puts it in.

You swear you see stars; the galaxy even. Your breath flies out of your lungs as his hips slam into yours. Your eyes are unfocused, mouth agape. There is drool on the corner of your mouth as he slams violently again, not giving you much time to adjust. You feel him filling you up, thick and hot. It feels like he might be too deep when he starts thrusting into you at a quick pace. You grit your teeth, your nose crinkles as you suck it up. It hurts, but the ecstacy after it is too damn delicious for you to give it up just yet. Not yet. Just a little more.

One hand is around your throat as he chokes you and pulls you back into him. His other hand has a tight grip on one of your wrists, your arm bent over your back. He has you trapped; like a prisoner of war. You are a fugitive he has been trying to track down, and now that he has you in his grasp he has no intentions of letting you go–not even for the bounty on your head. He takes instead your moans and cries as trophies. He decorates himself with them; hangs them on the muscles of his back, allows them to slide low with the sweat on his pelvis.

He continues to pin himself with the wanton sounds coming from you. He smiles at the sound of his balls slapping against your wet cunt. His head is thrown back, eyes unfocused on the ceiling; thrusts become sloppier, harder, faster. He chases his high at your expense. You cry out, tears clouding your vision as you bypass the pain and accept only the pleasure–that one more orgasm. He feels you clench around him, milking him; demanding from him. He cums with a trailing moan that he quiets by biting across your back.

There is nothing left of you to even whimper at the force of his bites. You know there will be bruises in the shape of his teeth left there. You smear your hands on his bedsheets, hoping the left over blood from earlier stains them.

A mark for a mark.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when he slaps your ass with the belt. You feel him slide behind you, and he wraps one large around you. He pulls you close, enough to tuck you into him. His hands are brushing your curls away from his face, his hot breath is against your ear as he whispers sweet praises. You think you must be delirious. Toji Zenin is not the kind of man to praise anyone, but he grips one breast gently and grounds you to reality. His mouth brushes against your lips lightly.

“If you want to see my arsenal, maybe we can think up another bet for next time.”

You scoff. If you could you would have laughed, but it was already too much to be in his presence and form thoughts. You never went on the same ride twice but you had a feeling that with Toji Zenin every twist and turn was a little more hell-raising than before.

[blade-that-was-broken]

Where’s Barb in Wrath and Rain AU?

What happened to her?

To be honest I kind of miss half life AU- :’D

I understand it’s hard depending on your motivation and your ideas with AUs.

They all are awesome! :D

Barb... is generally kind of similar to canon but also not really?

She'd be with her dad. Idk how old she is in canon but here she's probably not that much older than Branch, so she'd be a teenager by the time the war starts up again. Nothing has really "happened" to her, although considering how she was in canon... she's probably a little crazier here and I imagine gets more involved in the resurgence with a whole attitude of feeling she has to take resistance down, get everyone to be rock zombies, etc.

She'll probably end up with a specific grudge against someone lol

Although since her dad hates JD so much, she does too.

Half Life is like... always in the back of my mind. Literally always. I got stuck on the next chapter of Breathe Again cause I lost my outline (sobbing) and I'm not entirely sure how the things were supposed to go in the chapter and it was kinda driving me crazy. Couple that with my burn out... (as you can tell, I have been able to outline stuff but not really write, write, sadly) it's been a whole mess. Wrath and Ruin is just an outline at this point but I'd like to finish Breathe Again... maybe gets some more shorts and oneshots cause there is plenty I'd love to talk about

Anyways, I know it's not much but I have this little Bowling oneshot wip that isn't finished so here is a snippet from Half Life....

John paid the attendant and moved towards the shoe counter, gathering everyone’s sizes and ordering them up before distributing them around to Spruce, Clay and Floyd. Clay took his shoes greedily and raced over to their assigned lane to put them on, not even sparing the rest of his family a glance before he ran towards the bowling balls to pick his. He found a green and yellow swirled one that seemed a perfect weight for him. He turned around, almost running into a bunch of red hair. 

Delta Dawn, his brother’s best friend, turned to face him, her expression lighting up at the sight of him. “Clay! I didn’t know you were here.” 

“John said we were going to go bowling,” he replied, plainly. “What are you doing here? Did JD invite you? Cause you can join us, obviously. I don’t think even Spruce would mind.” 

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Spruce had the tiniest bit of a crush on Delta but Clay was pretty sure it was because of her red hair. Or the fact that she had the most amazing, voluminous hair any of them had ever seen. Spruce definitely liked his hair. Clay found it weird. He hated brushing his hair or even doing anything with his hair. 

“I’m actually with…” 

A guy came up by her side, looking down over her shoulder. Clay frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked at him a little closer. He was tall, a bit spindly, with dark hair and an angular face. He reminded Clay of someone but he wasn’t sure exactly. “Who are you?” 

“Jim,” he replied slowly. “Who… are you?” 

“Jim, this is Clay, my friend’s little brother. Clay, this is… this is my boyfriend, Jim,” Delta introduced, gesturing with her hand between the two of them. 

Clay looked unimpressed. “Your boyfriend? I didn’t realize going on three dates meant that you were… going steady or whatever they call it these days.” 

Jim snorted, amused. “You’re funny. I’ve heard a bit about you; Delta says you are quite the up and coming horse rider.” 

“Equestrian,” Clay corrected immediately. “She’s… told you about us?”

[lapful-of-fics]

United by Love, War, and Butterflies

Summary: Aemond and his twin are reunited after her arranged marriage fails, and Aemond realizes his feelings for her are far more than brotherly. Unfortunately for him, now that she has her freedom, she never wants to be in a relationship again. But she's very physically affectionate, and it's driving Aemond out of his mind. Meanwhile, their mother is keeping secrets, there are rumors of unrest in the Riverlands… and seriously, why does Helaena keep mentioning butterflies?

Word Count: 34.5K (so far)

Warnings: Past DubCon, Past Emotional Abuse, Team Green, Canon-Typical Violence, angst with happy ending, p in v, Twincest, PTSD-Type flashback, Anxiety, mention of voyeurism, oral sex

CHAPTER 2

"I’d rather be stabbed by every single sword in the Iron Throne than sit through this supper,” Aegon said.

Aemma blew out a deep breath as she glanced at Aegon. She couldn’t agree more. “I’d rather chase down every single cat in the Red Keep and convince them to stop catching rats.” She tugged at the unfamiliar weight of the heavy gold locket around her neck. She wore a dark green dress, one of her mother’s, since she didn’t own one herself.

Earlier that day, Alicent begged her to dress “like a proper lady,” for just a few hours, if not for Viserys, then for her. For some reason, she’d agreed, a decision she was currently regretting.

Aemond stood silently next to her, his entire body a ball of tension. He was hypervigilant as always on the rare occasions when the other side of the family was around.

“I’d rather count the stitches in Helaena’s embroidery,” Aegon declared glumly.

Aemma smiled as she imagined him with one of their sister’s blankets in his lap, swearing as he lost count of the stitches in a grasshopper and having to start counting over again. She hooked her arm around Aemond’s and grinned at Aegon. “I’d rather count Aemond’s freckles.”

Aegon snorted. “He doesn’t have any freckles.”

“Yes, he does.” She smiled at the look of horror on Aegon’s face.

“Please, please don’t say anymore.”

She snickered as she glanced at Aemond, who had the usual semi-arrogant, semi stone-faced expression he wore most of the time. If he’d heard them, he made no indication. She wondered if he even noticed she was holding his arm, he was concentrating so hard on everything else going on around them.

Aemma turned her attention to their sister. The three of them were standing near Helaena, who stood with Alicent, deep in conversation.

“Aegon?” Aemond said suddenly.

Aemma saw him narrow his eye and look at Aegon like he’d never seen him before.

“What? I know you don’t want to be here,” Aegon murmured.

“No. I’d rather count Vhagar’s teeth from inside her mouth than sit with this bunch of cunts,” he said dryly. “I’m simply trying to understand…”

“Understand what?” he asked impatiently.

“Oh my god!” Aemma exclaimed as she examined him. “You’re right, Aemond. How did we miss it?”

“What is he right about?” Aegon demanded. “Would you two learn to use words?”

“What have you done?” Aemond asked. “And why?” He looked baffled, and Aemma bit her tongue to keep from laughing at the crack in his façade.

Aegon stared at him without responding.

“Who made you do it? Mother? Who fixed it for you?” The more she tried to imagine it in her head, the funnier it became. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice until now.”

“Your servant did it. And yes, Mother insisted. What’s wrong with it?” he snapped. The top of his hair was pulled back and secured with a ribbon in the exact style Aemond and Aemma wore. He crossed his arms and glared at both of them.

Aemond’s face returned to its usual expression. “Nothing. I don’t remember ever seeing your hair look so--”

“Nice?” Aemma finished for him. Her always serious and stressed twin almost smiled, she was sure of it.

“Wipe the cum out of your eye once in a while. Maybe you’ll be able to see better,” Aegon said as he poked Aemond in the chest.

“Stop shooting cum across the room while I’m trying to eat,” Aemond answered impassively.

“Shut up, both of you,” Aemma hissed. “I think it looks good. You should do it more often.”

She turned to look at Helaena, who was listening to Alicent quietly trying to calm her nervousness about being in the room with so many people and so many intense emotions.

“Father knows the Stranger waits in the shadows,” she told Alicent. “That’s why he wants to see us together.”

Alicent looked taken aback at the sudden revelation, a look Aemma didn’t often associate with her mother. Perhaps she, too, felt that soon Viserys would take his last breath. Aemma didn’t care what happened either way, and she knew her brothers and sister didn’t either. They could hardly mourn a father who was never a father.

Aemma looked at the other end of the table at Daemon, who was smirking haughtily at Aemond. Aemond and Aegon were both smiling back with expressions that were anything but pleasant. In a perfect world, where everyone got along with each other… oh the pranks the three of them would pull. No place in the entire realm would be safe. Especially if they involved their dragons. She felt a tiny, unwanted bit of longing for a family that would never be.

Alicent continued to assure Helaena that it would just be a couple of hours. “Everyone will pretend not to hate each other to give Viserys comfort… before he dies.” She looked up to Aemma. “And the three of you--you must also behave.”

“We’re adults, mother,” Aegon said, rolling his eyes. “You needn’t tell us to behave.”

She looked at Rhaenyra for the briefest of moments. Aemma wondered about the undecipherable emotion in her mother’s brown eyes. It was obvious to her that something was happening between the two of them. And it made her nervous.

That was a worry for another day, however. Right now, she had to worry about getting through tonight.

Rhaenyra watched her boys with affection filling her eyes. She either didn’t see Alicent’s glance, or she was ignoring her.

Their cousins and nephews talked among themselves, which was just as well.

Helaena asked Alicent what was going to happen to them when Viserys died, drawing Alicent’s attention back to her daughter. She assured Helaena they’d be fine, they’d be safe, they’d be happy. Aemma felt uncomfortable watching her. She saw her eyes flicker away from Helaena, her lips quiver, her fingers wander to pick at her cuticles.

“We will not be any of those things,” Helaena answered.

Aemma swallowed, looked at Aemond, hoping he was listening, but he and Aegon were now deep in conversation about their dragons. Aemma couldn’t help but wonder who had won the staring competition with Daemon. She looked to Otto for his reaction to Helaena’s words, but he was watching Alicent in the utterly still way Hightower men, including her twin, had mastered to an artform.

Viserys was brought in, carried on his throne as he was too weak and unsteady on his feet to walk by himself. Everyone stopped speaking out of respect, or in many cases, out of fake respect, for the King.

Aemma was surprised to see that Rhaenyra’s gaze had now focused on Alicent, not her father. She and Alicent seemed to be locked in a silent conversation using only their eyes. She knew they’d been close as children—maybe very close. Aemma sometimes wondered if she married Viserys to stay near Rhaenyra, but whenever she brought it up, her mother changed the subject.

Once Viserys was situated, the others took their seats.

Aemma’s eyes grew wide as Aegon pulled Helaena’s chair out for her instead of letting the servants do it. Helaena stared at the table, clearly wishing she was anywhere else on earth. Aemma felt an immense wave of empathy for her, especially since she was clearly burdened by a vision where something happened to them after Viserys died. She glanced at Aemond, but he didn’t meet her gaze. He was staring at Viserys.

Aemma met the gazes of her nephews and cousins as they walked around the table. They were gazing at her with a mixture of sympathy (Baela), curiosity (Rhaena), self-righteousness (Jace), and amusement (Luke). Aemma got the sense they’d been discussing her inability to produce Lord Robert an heir; it was certainly the most popular topic of gossip in the castle at the moment. Her stomach twisted unexpectedly, but she decided to ignore it.

She took her seat by Aemond, who was not ignoring it. He seemed to have surmised the same thing, and he was not going to let it go. Aemma tapped his leg with the toe of her boot and shook her head slightly.

He ignored her, staring at the group of four with a tiny bit of a smile and slightly crazed look in his wide-open eye. They all looked away when they saw his expression, except Jace, whose gaze lingered just a bit longer, until Baela put her hand on his arm and whispered in his ear.

Aemma chewed on the side of her tongue and looked in her lap. Aemond looked threatening and a little insane when he made that face, and he knew it; Aemma loved it, and so did Aegon, who had been watching the silent exchange while shaking as he tried unsuccessfully to hide silent giggles behind his wine goblet.

Gods how she’d missed her siblings.

Viserys, oblivious to the conversations taking place entirely with facial expressions, labored to get to his feet. He looked around at all of them, and the sudden silence was deafening.

“I don’t expect to see everyone again in the same room,” he began. “But remember, you are all family. Don’t let your differences destroy you. You must keep our House together. You have no idea how important—” at this he paused and looked at Rhaenyra, who nodded. “—how important it is that you stand with each other. Put aside your differences. A time is coming where the entire world will be threatened, and without house Targaryen it will fall to a terrifying enemy.”

After that, he droned on about family, and himself, and while he spoke of Alicent, he said nothing to or about Aemma or her siblings. After he sat, no one spoke for what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute or two. Rhaenyra broke the awkward silence when she stood and made an unexpected toast praising their mother and her commitment to Viserys over the years. Alicent, in turn, gave a toast to Rhaenyra. Aemma wasn’t entirely surprised to see the naked longing in Rhaenyra’s eyes as she watched her mother, although she’d never seen it before. She wondered if anyone else noticed the looks between the two of them, the eye contact held for too long.

Alicent looked away first, offered a prayer to the Seven, then thanked Rhaenyra for her kind words. No one else spoke, so the servants brought out the first of the food.

Viserys turned and spoke to Rhaenyra and Daemon, ignoring his wife entirely.

Typical, Aemma thought.

Her twin was facing away from her. He sat absolutely still, with the blind, scarred side of his face turned toward the table. Whether that was to make sure everyone remembered what had been done to him, or simply not to have to look at anybody, she wasn’t sure.

Viserys had a violent coughing fit, and Alicent called for the Kingsguard to take him to his chambers. Aemma wondered if she was glad to be rid of him so she could focus on Rhaenyra without guilt.

Quiet conversations slowly picked up as wine was poured and goblets refilled. Aemma thought maybe, with a little bit of luck, they’d get through this night without incident after all.

Her optimism didn’t last long, and neither did her patience.

A stuffed boar was brought out and set in front of Aemond. Aemma heard laughing from the other side of the table. She wondered why Luke was looking at Aemond, but then remembered how they’d dressed up a pig and delivered it to Aemond, telling him they’d found him a dragon. Aemond turned to them as she glared at Aegon, who had the decency to look ashamed. She looked back to Luke, who now had Jace chuckling about it too.

“Just wait, bastard,” Aemma mumbled, blood boiling. “I’ll stab your eye out with this fork.”

Before she finished speaking, Aemond was on his feet, pounding his fist on the table as he stood. He held up his goblet, looked around to make sure he had everyone’s undivided attention (he definitely did), and delivered a scathing toast, subtly mocking Lucerys and Jacerys. Even Aemma’s mouth hung open a little.

“Aemond!” His mother whispered his name, both as a plea and a warning.

Aemma met Aegon’s eyes, and he nodded slightly. They raised their goblets.

“To our Strong nephews!” Aemma and Aegon said together, echoing their brother’s words.

“Say it again,” Jacerys said, his threat hanging in the air as he stood.

“It’s okay, Jacerys,” Lucerys said, standing next to him. “We’re fortunate to have our uncle.” He held up his glass. “We know he’ll always keep his eye out for us.”

This time it was Aemma who pounded her fist on the table, with enough force to slosh the wine over the side of her goblet. She glowered at Luke, who smiled back. Over the buzzing in her ears, Aemma heard Rhaenyra admonishing her boys.

“Aemma!” Alicent exclaimed. “Get a hold of yourself.”

Heleana, who’d watched the exchange with wide eyes, stood and raised her goblet. “Congratulations on your betrothals,” she said sincerely.

Alicent, Rhaenyra, Baela and Rhaena raised their glasses, smiling in surprise at Helaena.

“Thank you, cousin,” Baela said.

“Here, here,” Otto said.

Aemma and Aemond looked at Helaena like she was insane.

Aegon looked up at her when she hiccupped.

“Marriage isn’t so bad,” Helaena continued unexpectedly. “Except for when you want to have sex and can’t wake him up.”

“Helaena!” Alicent exclaimed, shocked.

“To marriage,” Daemon offered, with a serious face but poorly concealed joy in his voice. He raised his goblet and called for more wine.

“To murder,” Aegon said, raising his glass and glowering.

“Seven hells!” Alicent looked around the table at her offspring. “What has gotten into all of you?”

Jacerys, still standing, looked between Aemond and Aemma. “We refuse to be mocked,” he said, raising his head.

Lucerys added, “And we don’t want Aemond to be blind to that fact.”

Aegon and Aemond traded a look, and Aegon was on his feet immediately, shoving Jace to the floor and slamming Luke headfirst into the table. Jace sprung back up as Aemma and Aemond got there. Aemma grabbed Jace before he could come to Luke’s aid. Luke tried to shove Aegon out of the way, but he had a height disadvantage, and Aegon shoved Luke instead. He landed against Aemma. Jace swung at Aemond, who was reaching to grab Luke. He landed a solid punch to his uncle’s mouth, but Aemond was so intent on getting to Luke that he barely even noticed.

Aemond grabbed Aegon and moved him away so he could get to Lucerys. Jace was up to defend Luke, but Aegon grabbed him and pulled him away. Aemond grabbed Luke and wrapped his hands around his neck, while Luke grabbed at his arms, trying to free himself. Aemma, seeing the uncontrolled rage in her brother’s eye, scrambled to pull him off Luke. He shrugged her off with almost no effort. Luke was turning blue as Rhaenyra called for Daemon to help him, but he was still focused on keeping Aegon away from Jace and didn’t see what was happening. Aemma reached under Aemond’s outstretched arms from behind and pulled back on his shoulders, but he was strong, stronger than she remembered. Or maybe she was weaker.

“You have to let go!” she yelled, and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling back as hard as she could. He stumbled back into her arms, losing his hold on Luke. He easily broke free from her, though. Ser Criston grabbed him from behind and wrapped his arms around him. Aemma backed out of his way. Aemond growled in fury, struggling against him, but Criston held his arms immobile. As strong as he was, there was nothing he could do. He was so furious he wasn’t thinking straight. He didn’t take his eye off Luke, as if all the rage he’d built up over the years had finally consumed him. Ser Criston moved with him as he struggled. When they faced Aemma, she didn’t even recognize her brother. Frightened, she slapped him across the face as hard as she could. He flinched, shocked out of his rage.

“Aemond!” she screamed, her face inches from his. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to focus on her but couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing. “What are you doing?”

Lucerys was coughing and rubbing his bruised throat.

“This is how you would garner peace?” Rhaenyra demanded, glaring at Alicent.

Alicent clearly hoped to smooth things over, and it made Aemma sick. “I’m sure he’s very sorry. Aren’t you Aemond?”

Gods, does she even know him? Aemma couldn’t look at her.

Aemond looked from her to Alicent, and Aemma could feel his emotional walls slam down around him. Her stomach sank as he relaxed his muscles and stared at their mother for a moment. “I’m not sorry,” he said. “I have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You don’t think strangling your nephew is something you should apologize for?” she asked angrily.

“He’s never apologized for taking my eye. What’s the difference?”

“Luke,” Rhaenyra said quietly, nodding at him. “You owe him that.”

“I was defending myself.” Lucerys snorted as he glared at Aemond. “But I’ll have your other eye if you insult me again.”

“And I’ll have your head,” Aemma snarled.

Daemon shook Lucerys, once. “It’s done! Both of you. It’s over!”

Jace ignored him and stormed toward Aemond and Aemma, but Criston stepped in front of him.

“Enough! All of you will return to your chambers,” Daemon commanded. “Now!”

Daemon’s mouth twitched angrily, and his eyes focused on Aemond. Aemma looked at him with a passive expression. As he started to stride away, Aemma reached for his arm.

“Aemond?”

He brushed past her without a word, and she saw the deep red blotch on his face from where she’d slapped him. She realized she’d slapped him close enough to his sapphire eye that she had likely hurt him.

Aegon walked over to Helaena’s chair and helped her up. Alicent said, “She had no part in this. She may stay.”

Aemma caught her eye, curious about the look of desperation. She had to know how nervous Helaena was around all of them, even when everything was calm. This fight had to be a nightmare for her. She was so pale right now Aemma was afraid she’d faint. Yet their mother wanted her to stay?

Helaena turned to her and said, “I wish to leave.” She took Aegon’s offered arm.

Aegon raised the goblet he still held and said, “Here’s to family.” He laughed as they disappeared for the night.

Aemma looked toward the door where Aemond had left.

“Aemma,” Daemon called. She turned to face him.

What now?

Daemon stood too close to her, and she had to look up to listen to him. “Understand that if you take Lucerys’s head, I shall have yours before his hits the ground.”

Aemma refused to be intimidated. “Then I suggest you keep him away from Aemond,” she said coldly. “Because I will not hesitate. And I think you’ll find that, even if you do manage to kill me, I will certainly take you with me.”

Rhaenyra was suddenly there, turning Daemon to face her. “I think we’ve all had enough of this,” she said.

Aemma walked out of the room without another word to anyone. Once she was out the door, she ran for their chambers.

When she burst in the door, slightly out of breath, she found Aemond pacing. His hands were behind his back, his gaze was on the floor, and his lips were pressed flat. He turned to her and stopped.

“You used to back me in fights, not use my hair as a leash to pull me away! Did your time as a common wife rob you of your courage?”

She ignored the jab. She could hear the undercurrent of hurt in his voice. The look of betrayal on his face split her heart in two.

But it also infuriated her that he could ever think she would act against him.

“I always back you in fights,” she said, trying to hold her temper. “And I would happily die to defend you, which you well know! But fights and murder are two different things! It was the only way I could think of to physically keep you from doing something incredibly stupid! Something you’d regret forever!”

“Something incredibly stupid,” he repeated, turning away with an ironic chuckle. “He has never suffered any consequences for what he did to me.”

Aemma laid her hand on his shoulder, her anger melting away. Closing her eyes, she said softly, “Aemond—”

He shrugged her off. “He mocks me for having one eye when it is he who took the other.” He paused and turned to her. “Am I to assume that even you don’t believe he deserved punishment?” he asked in a soft, flat voice. “I should forgive and forget, is that what you think?”

“Of course he deserved to be punished! And no one expects you to forgive and forget, Aemond!” She threw her arms up in exasperation.

“But you don’t believe I have a right to be angry.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re being ridiculous.”

He scoffed. “Am I? Maybe you agree with our father and our loving older sister.” He spat the words like they burned his tongue. “Do you believe I should’ve been punished? For speaking the truth?”

“Of course not! But killing Lucerys won’t bring back your eye!”

He stared at her, saying nothing. She noticed the swelling and bruising on his face from where Jace punched him. He must’ve hit him a lot harder than she realized.

“Seven hells,” she murmured. She went to him, and for once he didn’t move away. She took his face in her hands. “Are you alright?”

He let her hold him like that for a minute but said nothing. Then he went to sit in his chair by the fireplace. Aemma hesitated just a moment before joining him. She poured them each some wine and put a goblet in front of him on the table. He said nothing, and he didn’t look at her.

What she wanted to do was gather him up in her arms the way he did her when she first got home, but she knew he wouldn’t let her.

She studied him, as if she could figure out what he was thinking just by watching him. She saw him rub his thumb against his fingers. Aside from that he sat completely motionless, as if he were a statue. She could barely see his chest rise and fall as he breathed. She looked at the long hair spilling over his shoulders, the curve of his pink lips, and the scar that he pretended no longer bothered him.

She remembered the day the Maester gave him the eye patch and told him not to leave his chambers without covering his eye socket; the ladies in court and some of the servants were complaining about how disturbing it was to look at him. “Shall I cover my scar as well?” he’d asked angrily. “Shall I put a sheet over my head? I don’t want to disturb anyone.”

Alicent had been livid when she found out. She’d been heard yelling at the Maester. “I want the names of those complaining of having to look at my son!”

Whether or not she ever got those names, Aemma didn't know.

She remembered how self-conscious Aemond became after that. He wouldn’t even take the eye patch off around her anymore.

Not long after that, he got the sapphire to fill the socket. Aemma loved it, and thought he’d stop wearing the eye patch, but he didn’t. He’d gotten it for himself, he said, not any of the cunts in the castle. Aemma knew it was painful to wear, although he denied it. He couldn’t hide his winces of pain from her, as hard as he tried. Eventually, he got used to the pain, she supposed. But she knew him well enough to know he was still hurting, whether he showed it or not.

His face held no expression as he focused his gaze straight ahead. “Why are you staring at me?” he asked softly, even though she was sitting outside his range of vision, and he couldn’t possibly see her.

She smiled. “Why don’t you just admit you can see me through that eye patch?”

He turned and glared at her, but couldn’t keep it up when she was looking at him with such warmth. He sighed and picked up his wine as he turned his gaze to the fire.

“Don’t you ever grow tired of how we are treated?” he asked, his frustration evident in his tense voice. “We are the future of the realm. We are the true heirs, the true rulers. And Viserys treats us like we are an embarrassment, something to keep hidden. Like we are invisible. He favors his bastard grandchildren and firstborn daughter over us. He is the only king in Westeros who ignores his firstborn son.”

Aemma knew he’d never forgiven Viserys for blowing off his injury all those years ago, for interrogating him instead of showing even the slightest bit of concern. For acting like Aemond deserved it.

She hadn’t forgiven him either, and never would. He would die soon, and she would spit on his grave.

“Fuck Viserys,” she said.

“I don’t give a shit about him. I care about being ignored. Dishonored.”

She sighed and took a drink of wine. “Aemond, you are the most honorable person in this castle. You and Vhagar are our protectors, which you’ve shown on countless occasions. It is you who flies over the city to make sure it’s safe and who drives off our enemies when it’s not. It is you who looks out for our interests. Not only that, you are the one who takes care of Aegon when he is unable to take care of himself and Helaena is busy caring for the kids. I’ll keep going if you want me to.”

“Are you trying to stroke my ego?” he asked after a moment. His fingers stopped moving.

“Gods, no. The last thing you need is for someone to do that.”

He turned his head partially toward her, but didn’t look at her.

“What I’m trying to do is tell you that everyone here, whether they admit it or not, knows who you are, what you are, and what you do. That your priorities are serving our house and this family, and the safety of the realm.”

“I don’t care what everyone here thinks,” he said.

“I think you do.”

“I only care what you think.”

He looked at her finally, truly looked at her, studying her face for her reaction. She raised her eyebrows and curled up a corner of her mouth.

“Did you miss the part of this conversation where I told you what I think?”

He stared at her, looking over every inch of her.

“What?” she asked.

“You look truly beautiful in that dress.”

Startled, she looked down at the dress. She’d forgotten she was wearing it.

His eye lingered on her. For the first time in this very long day, she was speechless.

With a sigh, he stood up. “Goodnight.”

Aemma grabbed his hand. Startled, he looked down at her. “What are you doing?”

“Sit with me,” she said, pulling on him gently.

He stared at her for a second, and she didn’t think he was going to do it, but then his gaze softened the slightest bit and he sat on the settee.

“I’m sorry I hit you.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d have killed him, Em.”

She smoothed his hair, tucking some loose strands behind his ear. “I know. Are you glad I stopped you?”

“I don’t know.”

She slid close to him and laid her head on his shoulder. “I love you, little brother,” she said softly.

“You’re only fourteen minutes older than me,” he reminded her.

She ignored him. “The next time you’re in a fight,” she said softly, “and wonder if I’ll back you, you should know that not a single day goes by that I don’t think about how you were alone down there when it happened.”

She felt him tense up, but she’d started, and now she had to tell him all of it.

“And how you needed me—”

“Em.”

“--and that if I had been there, if I could’ve helped you, maybe—” She took a breath and tried blinking away the tears that crept into her eyes. “—maybe things would be different for you.”

She’d never admitted that to him before, how much guilt she felt about that day.

“Even if you had been there, we still would’ve been outnumbered, and you may have gotten hurt too. Even worse, Luke might have sliced you open instead of me.”

She would gladly bear that for him, but she didn’t say so.

He put his arm around her shoulders. “This guilt of yours ends now.”

“I probably wouldn’t have made it to the fight even if I had been there, now that I really think about it,” she said as she leaned against him.

“What do you mean?”

“If I had seen you approach Vhagar, my heart would have stopped beating in my chest. I would've fainted.”

“No. You wouldn't have. You would’ve climbed up with me.” He looked at her with a small smile.

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[taiscerayne2426]

MEDICAL ISSUES AHEAD

I'm not asking for money, just need to get some things off my chest

So back in October of 2022, I started having extreme heart palpitations, randomly and seemingly without any provocation. I could be sitting, walking, laughing, eating, even sleeping and my heart would just pound upwards of 130 bpm for 10, 20 minutes at a time. I'd struggle to breathe, fight passing out, and try to stay upright.

As these episodes got more and more frequent and severe, my partner insisted I go into the ER. I didn't have a primary Dr at the time, so I didn't have anyone else to go to. The ER ran a bunch of tests, found nothing at all wrong, and sent me home with a heart monitor.

I met with a cardiologist, and I'll be honest he was by far one of the worst doctors I've ever seen. He dismissed everything I said, belittled my experience, diagnosed me with POTTS, then sent me home on what he said was a beta-blocker to slow down my heart. Fine. Not great, but fine. Until I get to the pharmacy and they say "This isn't a beta-blocker, this is an anti-depressant. I wonder why he told you that?" Never saw that cardiologist again.

Fast-forward to December 2022. My job has let me go because I'm barely able to hold myself upright and can pass out at any time so I'm not medically cleared to drive. My partner is burning both ends of the candle trying to keep me safe and manage his college classes. We're struggling to survive off one income in the city.

My episodes get rapidly worse, then slowly start tapering off until they're only happening once a day. Then it's once a week, but the worst it'd been thus far. Then, for no discernable reason, they stop in February 2023.

I was overjoyed. Finally, FINALLY I could get back to life. We moved to a new town, a smaller quieter place with cheaper rent and less violence. I got a new job nannying two amazing kids and babysitting a third once a week. My partner and I both continued college. Everything was going so, so well.

They came back. About 4 weeks ago, beginning of June 2023. It was slow at first but it's getting worse and worse.

And it's fucking scary, dude. I find myself physically incapable of taking a breath for so long that I sob when it finally comes. It's like everything in my body just. freezes. goes stiff. I can't feel anything, I can't move anything. I can barely signal my partner so he notices. We can't find anything that helps.

I'm not able to drive anymore. I can barely support myself to move from the bed to my desk. I pass out if I stand in the kitchen too long pondering what to eat. I'm on a cane now, for the first time. It helps a bit, makes me feel a bit less useless.

I'm barely eating. Don't have an appetite. I've lost more weight in the last few weeks than I want to admit, and I was already dangerously underweight.

The scariest part, though, is that I can feel myself fighting to hold on every time I have an attack. I fight so fucking hard to stay, because I can FEEL that if I lose consciousness, I'm gone. And it's getting harder and harder to fight. Don't misunderstand, I have no desire to die. I'm fighting for a reason after all. I'm just getting weaker, and it's getting more and more difficult.

I let my PCP know that bit today. She won't see it til she's in the office next, but until this new heart monitor comes off on Monday they won't be able to give me any answers anyway. 2 more weeks. Just 2 more weeks til I hopefully get some results. Because if I don't, I'm... gods. I'm fucking scared.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,019 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: flashbacks, current day is S10, The Reapers Warnings: language, violence, gore, angst A/N: This is Part 1 of a new commissioned miniseries! Thank you to @ankhmutes​ for their generous support! Summary: Daryl loses Y/N in Atlanta and her absence colors his years.

Your name: submit What is this?

Atlanta – About 10 Years Ago

He could feel your hands clasping his face, your thumbs moving lightly over the bruising and swelling. His eyes fixed on the pout of your bottom lip and then moved up to swim in the depths of your irises. Fingers in his hair, the weight of you against his chest, the pressure of your fingertips dimpling into his sides. He could almost taste your lips again. He could almost catch your scent.

“God, what did they do to you?” You threw your arms around his neck and he pressed his hands into your back to hold you tightly against him. He could feel the shuddering of your breaths and the wetness of your tears falling on his shirt. “I thought I lost you for good,” you managed, pulling back to look into his face again. Your eyes were round and glassy. “And then to find you—but this way—those men.” You were trembling underneath his hands.

Daryl ducked his head. “‘M sorry. ‘M so sorry,” he managed to croak out. “I didn’t know they—I knew they were bad but I never thought—”

You hastily clasped his face again, brushing his hair away. “Shh. I know. I know… It’s not your fault.”

His breath hitched in his chest and he melted down into you again, hugging you tightly against him. “I ain’t ever lettin’ go of ya again.” You’d kissed him and your lips tasted salty with your tears.

“Daryl. Daryl… Hey, Daryl!” Carol grabbed him by the shoulder and he startled slightly. Her furrowed brow was heavy over her blue eyes. Daryl snapped back to the present.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sorry…”

Carol straightened up, but the concern didn’t leave her face. “You good?”

He ducked his eyes and nodded. He wasn’t, but he had to be.

She sighed and looked back out the window at the expanse of burnt buildings unrolled before them. “We’re gonna find them. Both of them. Y/N and Beth.” She glanced back at the archer. His expression was grim and worn. She could feel the fear and anxiety radiating off him. “They’re both strong. They’ll be okay.”

Daryl shook his head and stared down at his hands. He was anxiously fiddling with a bit of glass. “After the prison fell, when we found each other again, I told her I wasn’t ever lettin’ go of her… I promised. And then we had Terminus… and now this… Fuck,” he swore under his breath. “Separated by a bunch of walkers?” He shook his head and leaned heavily on his hand against the window. “I shoulda made her stay at the church with everybody. Shouldn’ta even brought her into the city.”

Carol let out a soft laugh. “Made her?” she said. “Daryl, we both know no one can make Y/N do anything. She’s just as stubborn as you. Maybe more, though I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Daryl only sighed and looked over at Carol. She could see something looming, weighing on him. “I gotta tell ya somethin’.” Her brow furrowed. “Y/N is pregnant.” Carol’s breath left her in a whoosh of air. Daryl gulped, struggling to fight the tears in his eyes. “We just found out…”

Carol mustered her best smile. “You’re gonna be a dad,” she said. “Congratulations.”

Daryl paced a frantic circle, chewing on the side of his thumbnail. He turned and stared at Carol for a long moment, desperation on his face. “There were so many of them. What if she—what if she didn’t—”

“Hey. She did.” Carol grasped his shoulder hard. “She did. Y/N is a fighter. She learned from our best, you,” she said with a smile she hoped was reassuring. “She learned from you. And she’s smart. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Daryl ducked his head, his voice shaking, “‘M s’posed to protect her and I failed. I keep failin’ at it over and over.”

“Everything is going to be okay. We’re gonna find Beth and then we will go back and find Y/N. Okay? That is, if she doesn’t find us first.”

Daryl managed a nod, but that was all he had.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Noah limped up to the car and watched as Daryl frantically checked the area. “What are you looking for?”

“She’s—she’s s’posed to be here. Maybe she left somethin’,” he drawled, more to himself than anything. “She’s gotta be here.” He opened the gas cap and checked inside. Nothing. He looked on top of all the tires, under the hood. Nothing. He froze and pushed his sweaty hair back from his face. “Nah…”

Noah was looking around nervously. “It’s too open here. They could see us… We need to go. We have to go.”

Daryl slammed his fist down onto the hood of the car. How was it possible that he’d gone into the city on a rescue mission and lost two more of his family? He paced again, rubbing a hand over his face. He needed help. He needed the others. The last thing he wanted to do was leave the city, but he needed back-up. “C’mon,” he growled to Noah. “Let’s find a vehicle.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Daryl.” Rick’s voice behind him. “We can’t stay here any longer. We have to move on.”

Daryl’s hand clenched into a fist. “Ya think she’s dead, too,” he said. The gravel and grit was thick in his voice.

Rick passed a shaky hand over his eyes and then stared at Daryl’s crumpled posture.

“Go on then. Leave me here.”

Rick sighed heavily. “I can’t do that.” He paced closer. “I won’t do that. You are my brother. You belong with us. I won’t leave you alone here. We all need each other more than—” he had to pause as his voice broke. He swallowed the lump and tightness in his throat as best he could. “More than ever.”

“I can’t,” Daryl managed. He dug his fingernails into the soil and grabbed fistfuls, just to try to ground himself with something. He’d been back into Atlanta every day for a week and he hadn’t found a damn trace of you. Nothing. And he knew the group was only waiting for him… but they couldn’t wait forever. “I can’t leave—”

Rick appeared beside him. “You have to,” he said with a sigh. When Daryl didn’t move, Rick sank down beside him and stared out at the trees. The muscle in his jaw tensed as he tried to hold back emotion. He sat in silence beside Daryl with his devastation for a long time before he finally spoke again. “When I lost Lori… when Carl was shot,” he glanced over at Daryl, “I wanted to give up. God, I wanted to,” he said softly. “I did for a while. I lost myself.” His eyes drifted up to the slices of sky he could see behind the wavering leaves of the trees overhead. “But we don’t get to give up. We keep going, because we are still here. Our family is still here and we all rely on each other. We keep going because we have to.”

Daryl sniffled and hastily wiped his forearm over his face.

“So, come on, brother,” Rick said, climbing to his feet and extending a hand down to Daryl. “Come on. On your feet.”

Daryl glanced up at Rick’s hand, his blue eyes clouded behind tears. He almost didn’t grab it. But he thought of Carl, and Judith, and Carol… of Maggie’s loss and Sasha’s… People still needed him. He clasped it. Rick tugged him to his feet.

“She ain’t gone,” Daryl said, straightening up. “I dun believe it.”

Rick nodded. “But we can’t stay. If we stay here, we die.”

Daryl felt the emptiness in his chest expanding like a black hole. “I’ll come. But I ain’t givin’ up on lookin’. She’ll get outta the city. She will. She’s gonna find us or I’mma find her.”

Rick nodded again, but his heart sank into the bottom of his stomach, like it was weighted with a lead anchor.

_ _ _ _ _ _

About 9 and a Half Years Ago

Maggie saw that Daryl was still awake when she opened her eyes in the early hours after the storm. She stood softly and went to sink down beside him, looking over at the group scattered on the ground, sleeping. Their family. What was left of it. They’d lost Bob, Beth, Tyreese, and you. One after the other. Too many. Far too many… She glanced over at Daryl but he seemed to be pointedly looking away.

“He was tough,” he finally drawled, looking at Sasha sleeping across the barn.

“Yeah,” Maggie agreed. “He was.”

Daryl stared at his hands now, afraid to look Maggie in the eye and see her grief. “So was she,” he managed.

Maggie nodded. “Both of them were.” She put a hand on Daryl’s arm. “I’m sorry—in some ways, not knowing about Bethie, not knowin’ about what was happenin’ to her was worse than—than this… Wonderin’ if she was hungry or thirsty. Wonderin’ if she was scared. Just wonderin’…”

Daryl’s throat constricted into a knot. He nodded. “Ain’t no way those walkers took Y/N down… Ain’t no way. She’s too good for that.” Maggie heard the shake in his voice and sighed, leaning back against the rough wood of the barn wall.

“Then if she’s still out there, you two will find your way back to each other. I know it,” Maggie said. She glanced back over at him and mustered a sad smile. The pain on his face was clear. “Get some sleep, Daryl.”

After she walked away, Daryl laid down on his folded-up vest, but sleep didn’t come. His fingers found the rip in the side that you had stitched skillfully back together, tiny x’s of thread. They ran over and over it, just because your fingers had made it.

_ _ _ _ _ _

About 10 Years Ago

The group stepped in through the gate cautiously, following Rick’s lead, looking with shock at the near perfect suburbia suddenly unrolling before their eyes. Everyone that is, except Daryl. His boots seemed to have rooted to the concrete.

Rick saw Aaron looking back and glanced over his shoulder. The archer was frozen, staring in across the opening of the gate.

Aaron happened to catch Maggie’s eye, a questioning look on his face, but Maggie said nothing. Aaron glanced back toward Daryl. He hadn’t moved.

“Carl,” he murmured. “Take Judith for just a sec.”

By now the rest of the group had noticed too, and they’d all stopped to look back. Rick walked back out and stopped beside him, his back to the community now. He sighed heavily and swallowed the tightness in his own throat. “We do this together,” he said, glancing over to try and read Daryl’s expression. It was impassive except for a violent turmoil in his blue eyes.

“Daryl—we need you. We’re all trying this together. We’re all much safer if you’re with us.” He clapped his hand strongly onto Daryl’s shoulder and the archer ducked his head, clearly wrestling with tidal waves of thoughts and emotions. “Come on. With us.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together.

“Come on.”

Finally, his boots started to move and he crossed the threshold of the gate into Alexandria.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“You oughta come in. Take some sleep.” It was Maggie’s voice behind him on the porch.

Daryl stubbed out his cigarette on the step next to him. “I can’t,” he drawled, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it.

Maggie paced over and sank down next to him on the step, linking her arms around her knees. “I know,” she said, ducking her eyes down toward the sidewalk. “I’m so sorry. I keep thinkin’ it too.”

“What’s that?” Daryl asked, flicking his lighter open and closed.

Maggie lifted her eyes up to the innumerable stars overhead and pulled in a long, slow breath. “That maybe if we’d just gotten here sooner they’d be here to see it.”

Daryl felt like a knife twisted in the middle of his chest. It was so painful he almost doubled forward, but instead he hung his head and tried to breathe through it. When he spoke again, the struggle in his voice, his emotion was clear. “I know what ya’ll think,” Daryl managed.

Maggie glanced over at him and even in only the dim haze from the porch light she could see the glassiness in his blue eyes. “About what?”

“About—about—” He clenched his hand into a fist and pushed his knuckles down on the edge of the step as hard as he could. The pain shot through all his fingers and up his arm. He couldn’t get your name out. He couldn’t say it aloud. “‘Bout what happened,” he finally croaked out. “Ya’ll think she’s—she’s dead. I ain’t stupid. I see the way everybody’s lookin’ at me.”

Maggie’s hand landed on Daryl’s and she gave it a friendly squeeze. “I don’t think that.” Daryl’s eyes snapped up to hers. “I don’t. Because after the prison fell, I knew Glenn was out there. Even when everyone else was thinkin’ the worst, I knew he was alive. And we found each other again.”

Daryl sniffled and ducked his gaze again.

“Don’t ever give up on that, if that’s what you know.” Maggie gave his hand one more squeeze and her footsteps retreated across the porch and back into the house.

Daryl’s eyes lifted up to the night sky, and he hoped somewhere you were looking up at the same stars at the same moment.

_ _ _ _ _ _

About 7 Years Ago

Daryl startled awake in the blackness of his cell.

A dream. It was just a dream reliving old memories. At the farm, the first time you’d shot a deer with a bow and tracked it on your own. You hadn’t even needed him. You’d followed the trail like an old pro. And then after… That’s when it had happened. Everyone else had gone to bed and he was sitting by his fire, his knife in his hands, turning the blade and watching the way the light bounced off the silver edge. And then suddenly—your soft footsteps behind him. He knew their cadence.

“I thought ya went to bed,” he’d said to you. You’d sighed and sat down on the round of wood next to him. He could feel your eyes on his face but he’d stared into the flames instead, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Nope,” you’d said. You just kept looking at him and he’d finally glanced over with his peripheral vision, barely turning, and it made you laugh. And your laugh made him smile. He’d ducked his head again though. Sometimes you were too bright to look at.

“What’re ya doin’ up still? Had a big day today,” he drawled.

You nodded. “Yeah. I often can’t sleep though.” You thought of the deer, of feeding your family. It had felt good. “It was a good day,” you sighed, moving toward him onto the edge of your round of wood. He’d nodded. It had been a good day. “I want you to know something, Daryl.” His name leaving your lips—it shot electricity through him every time like he’d stepped on a live wire in bare feet. His eyes met yours again. “You’re a leader of this group, even though you don’t feel like it. There are people looking to you.” He’d scoffed and shook his head, pricking his finger on the tip of his knife. “Don’t scoff. It’s true. Rick looks to you. Carol looks to you. And so do I.”

Daryl’s blue eyes met yours again and he watched the way the flickering firelight changed the shadows and highlights on your face. You looked steadily back at him. “And it’s not just because you’re good with a bow.” You suddenly scooted closer to him and smiled. “If it were, you’d be out of the job now because I—I am pretty damn good.” He’d laughed, the corners of his mouth tugging up, shaking his head at you. You were smiling at him. You seemed suddenly nervous and you glanced down at your laced fingers. He stared at the thick fray of eyelashes fanning out toward your cheeks. “I didn’t come over here just to brag about my newfound skills, though,” you said.

Daryl’s heart had jumped. He gulped nervously. “Why’d ya come then?”

Your eyes lifted, a little wide, and looked straight into his. “Daryl—”

He didn’t know what made him do it—maybe just the way you looked at him, the firelight, the stars, something in your voice, the electricity crackling in the air like fork lightning between you and him—but he suddenly dropped down on one knee toward you and was kissing you where you sat on that round of old oak wood, and to his amazement you were kissing him back fervently. Your fingers were in his hair and touching his bare skin, and he was clasping your face with one hand and resting his other hand on the soft skin of your upper arm.

Neither of you said anything for a long moment, but the light was sparking in your eyes and you were smiling at him and then biting your bottom lip. “Do you want to… come lay down with me? Maybe we’ll be able to actually catch some sleep.”

Daryl looked at you, baffled, but he nodded. “Hell yeah.”

It was just a memory, even if it was one of the best ones. He closed his eyes again, trying to empty his mind.

But suddenly in the dark he heard your voice.

“Daryl.”

He shot stiffly upright, pressing his back into the wall. The cold concrete was pressing into all his joints. They were stiff and painful.

“Daryl.” It was your voice again in the darkness.

Nah. Ya ain’t here. Ya ain’t here… I know that. Ya ain’t in here. Ya ain’t here… God, of all the places I hoped I’d find ya, this ain’t it. Ya ain’t in here with him.

Daryl swore you materialized just then, right in front of him. He could see you, see your softness, see the slope of your nose and shape of your lips in the narrow slip of light stealing in underneath the door of his tiny prison.

“No. I’m not in here with him. Or with you.” Your fingers ran down one of the strands of his hair and he could almost feel the gentle tug of it.

So, ‘m dreamin’ again. Or I’m finally batshit insane.

“You’re not broken, Daryl. They can’t break you.” You reached to clasp his face. He swore he could feel the warmth of your hand on his cheek, the light brush of your fingertips.

He couldn’t look away from your mirage. I’m barely hangin’ on in here. I can’t—

“You can. You’re stronger than any of them.”

Daryl felt wetness on his cheeks and realized he was crying. What happened to ya? Just tell me where ya are and I’ll get outta here somehow and I’ll find ya… Just tell me where ya are.

He could see glassiness in your eyes. “Just tell me where ya are!” This time he yelled it and it echoed in his ears, bouncing off the metal all around him.

“You’re going to be okay. Just keep going…” Your fingers were light under his chin and you were smiling back at him.

Don’t leave me. Please, dun leave me in here alone again.

“Hey. I’d never leave you alone. You know I’m always with you, no matter what. Just keep going.”

Y/N. Please—Y/N? Y/N!

More tears broke out over his cheeks, but the vision of you had vanished and he was back in the dark again. A quiet sob escaped him and he punched his fist into the wall until he couldn’t bear it anymore. He fell to the ground in a curled pile and cried as softly as he could until he had nothing left.

_ _ _ _ _ _

About Five Years Ago

“Hi,” Carol emerged out of the brush, ducking beneath a low hanging branch, Dog leading her.

Daryl glanced up at her. “Hey. ‘S’goin’ on?”

She lifted up a small pack. “Nothing. Brought you some supplies.”

He nodded, watching her carefully. “Thanks.” Carol set it down beside the fire and scratched behind Dog’s ears. “Ya wanna tell me why ya really came back out here?” He fiddled with the strap over the handle of his knife.

“Can’t I visit my best friend? Have you found anything?” Carol asked, hazarding a glance up in his direction.

He ducked his head and shrugged. “Not yet. Got more places to check still.”

Carol nodded and went back to petting Dog. He watched her expression darken and tense.

Daryl stiffened. “What? Why dun ya just say it?”

Carol stood up. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is ya really came out here to say,” Daryl said.

Carol sighed. “I just—I wonder who it is you’re really searching for out here. Rick or her or maybe yourself… Daryl, it’s been five years since Atlanta and you haven’t found a single thing… Two years since we lost Rick and—”

Daryl’s jaw clenched and he nodded. “Ya want me to move on with my life, right? Come back, stop bein’ out here. That’s really what ya want.”

Carol looked down at her boots. “I want you to find some peace. I don’t want to lose you out here, okay? I don’t want to lose you because you don’t know when to stop.”

“Peace?” His blue eyes bore into Carol’s. “There ain’t no peace for me, alrigh’? You know what I lost in Atlanta. ‘M glad ya found yer peace, but I dun think that’s gonna happen for me.” He slung his pack on over his back and his expression finally softened some. “Ya ain’t gonna lose me. I just got things to do out here…

_ _ _ _ _ _

One and a Half Years Ago

This was it. Maybe he’d managed to kill Alpha, he still wasn’t sure, but he was going to bleed out here on the floor. His vision was blurry and he fought the blackness creeping in from the edges as best he could.

Your face swam in his mind. Your smile. The texture of your hair between his fingers. The feeling of your silky skin and the curve of your spine when he’d trace his hand down your bare back as you both lay tangled in the sheets. If he was going to die… at least you were the last thing on his mind.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Present Day – Twelve Years After the Outbreak

Daryl opened the door to Maggie’s shipping container. “‘S’all clear. Cole’s on watch.” She nodded and he stepped farther inside. “Hey, ‘m glad yer here. When yer letters stopped, I thought—I dunno. Maybe ya were gone.”

He watched thoughtfully as Maggie finished wrapping the fabric around the gash on her arm. She looked up at him and there was a teary smile on her face. “Ya better sit down, Daryl.”

His stomach twisted. “…Why?”

“‘Cause I got somethin’ to tell ya.”

[ladyartemesia]

The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and  @untaemedqueen​  were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago 

——◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman. 

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting. 

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner. 

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit’ the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen. 

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably. 

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’  wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up. 

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t. 

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good. 

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked. 

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point. 

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning. 

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away. 

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms. 

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.” 

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas. 

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in. 

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him. 

Not bloody likely. 

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods. 

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end. 

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine. 

He gulped. 

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly. 

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.” 

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words. 

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.” 

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.” 

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity. 

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. 

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.  

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle. 

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold. 

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power. 

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body. 

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek. 

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered. 

Please touch me, Alpha. 

Your eyes widened. 

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy. 

“You might desire it, but you are far too  honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily. 

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now. 

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple. 

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy. 

He will do no such thing. Please calm down. 

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them. 

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad. 

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her. 

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave. 

No. 

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze. 

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega. 

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply. 

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed. 

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow. 

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo. 

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might. 

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another. 

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together. 

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire. 

Yes, Alpha. 

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness. 

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace. 

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. 

And then you were gone. 

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury. 

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry. 

“No,” you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you. 

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head. 

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity. 

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.”  He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best. 

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you. 

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you. 

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek. 

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them. 

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head. 

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words. 

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them. 

“Well...I suppose they can.”  Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart. 

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess. 

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars. 

You were not like everybody else. 

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

——◐——

Now 

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind. 

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle. 

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours. 

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent. 

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of. 

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp. 

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them. 

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you. 

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you. 

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars. 

The alphas followed him without question. 

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done. 

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed. 

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin. 

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—  

I’m coming Omega—hold on. 

I’ll find you. 

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze. 

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived. 

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect. 

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements. 

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now. 

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else... 

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack. 

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so. 

Why would they challenge us now? 

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least. 

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn… 

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did. 

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves. 

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas. 

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive. 

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack. 

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke. 

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground. 

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground. 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws. 

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree. 

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon. 

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth. 

Luna are you okay? 

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists. 

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you. 

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist. 

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas. 

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes. 

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it. 

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate. 

By the time he saw you it was far too late. 

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing. 

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt. 

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes. 

For a moment all was quiet. 

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word. 

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable. 

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe. 

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss. 

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs. 

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else. 

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

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