#she must have guts of steel

[comfortless]

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

[writeaboutit]

Donation Boot

How firefighter Abby and Reader met

Hello hello it’s been a bit so sorry but I had this idea for a series of sorts following firefighter Abby x Reader through life. I have ideas for a couple more stories but if you have any suggestions leave them in my inbox for sure 🤍

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: none just fluff

Part 2: Damn the Chief

Part 3: Silly Abby Candy's for Kids

You heard her key jingle in the lock from the kitchen. The metal on metal scratching noise was like music to your ears despite it being like nails on a chalkboard to others.

That noise meant your wife was finally home. All day you had been waiting for her to come home, missing her warm cuddles. She left for the station before you had even woken up.

Usually you stirred awake for the briefest of moments in those early hours when you heard the shower start, you made it a point to stay awake just long enough to say an I love you as you sent her off to do her work. You never knew when it might be your last so you didn’t chance it.

But last night the melatonin must have hit you extra hard because you didn’t even register Abby’s movements when she leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to your brow bone before clunking out of the room in her steel toed boots.

You regretted not waking up; no more melatonin for you.

The front door creaked open and you heard your dog’s collar jingle as she ran to greet your wife.

Abby must have been following the dogs lead to your presence in the kitchen because you heard her mutter, “Come on, where’s your momma?”

Your heart was instantly a mushy puddle on the tile floor following the comment. Just as you finished drying your hands the love of your life rounded the corner.

She was wearing her normal uniform. Not the big, bulky, fireproof suit but the fitted jeans and the navy blue t-shirt with the station’s logo over her breast.

You were such a sucker for a woman in uniform, it’s how she caught your attention in the first place. But what kept you around was that blinding smile she had plastered across her face that first day.

You and your friends decided to visit your local farmers market during second year of college. It was a fluke really, you weren’t even planning to go with them but after days of them whining that you could spare a couple of hours away from the text books and come have fun you agreed.

The local fire station had a booth set up collecting donations and the truck open for kids to climb in and take pictures.

One of your friends thought a fire fighter was hot and insisted on getting a picture with him by the truck (her very obvious way of flirting). You couldn’t blame her though because you had your eye on one of the younger trainees.

She was working the booth, tracking donation levels and you knew you would hate yourself for the rest of your life if you ignored your gut.

So, despite you being 19 and a broke college student you approached. They were collecting cash donations in one of the big fire suit boots.

You slipped the only cash you had on you into the dark depths of the boot, ten dollars, and were planning to make your way back to your friends, chickening out of talking to her, when all of the sudden you heard, “Hey, wait!”

You turned around and there she was. She had gotten up from her perch and made her way around the table. It was a bit jarring at first. She was tall, muscular, that tight ponytail made her look very sever, and here she was leaning over you with an expectant look.

“Yes?” you asked hesitantly.

“Don’t you want your coupons?” she asked suddenly realizing that she was close and backing up a step.

“Sorry?”

The confusion must have been written on your face because she immediately explained in a sort of rambily but very cute way, “When you donate you get a coupon to the local grocery store… and some other stores but honestly there all the old lady stores in the mall. The grocery ones the only one worth it.”

You just smiled softly at her over explanation. You expected her to be this over confident, maybe slightly douchy character from the way she approached before but really you could see her nerves peaking through now.

It only made you more attracted to her in all honesty.

“Oh right, yeah thanks.” you took the coupon sheet from her and after a moment of tense silence between the pair of you, you both went your separate ways.

It wasn’t until later that night when you went to cut out the grocery coupon and throw out the rest that you realized she had messily scribbled her name and number onto the think colorful price of paper.

You squealed, your roommate asked what was wrong and then you both quickly plotted on what you should text her.

It was simple really just a quick hey this is so n’ so, how are you?

Your phone only sat face down for a total of three minutes before you heard the chime of her reply and the rest is history.

Now seven years later your wife, the nervous fire fighter with the tight ponytail, was coming home to you. You would share a meal, a shower, a bed. It was the life you always wanted and all because you went to a farmers market on a random Sunday seven years ago.

That blinding smile that caught your attention all those years ago was plastered across her face now in the small kitchen of your small house.

Her setting her bag down on the island brings you out of your memory.

“Hey honey,” you greet, making your way to her.

“Hi baby, what were you thinking about just now?” she wraps her arms loosely around your waist.

“Hmm nothing much just your pretty smile,” she rolls her eyes, never one to take a compliment, “Speaking of which, that smile usually means you’re plotting something. What is it?”

She looks down at you and smiles, “You know me too well. I was plotting on what we are going to do over the next three days that I have off of work.”

That gets you excited. It’s not often that she gets time off of work. Sometimes you don’t even see her for days at a time when she has to sleep at the station. Three days off in a row is practically unheard of.

“Really?”

“Swear,” she kisses your forehead.

“Eek, so what were you planning?”

She chuckles and belts her arms just under your thighs, lifting you into the air, “Oh I think you know exactly what i have planned.”

Her voice turned seductive and husky. You squealed as you became level with her face. You both laughed into a soft kiss, one that was definitely going to lead to a forgotten dinner on the stove and a closed bedroom door.

[chronicowboy]

His breakup with Marisol is about as unremarkable as the rest of their relationship. There's no catastrophic muffin mess in his kitchen or divorce papers. Just a quiet I don't think this is working out, I'm sorry. Marisol hadn't even cried. She'd just nodded like she'd been waiting for it and left, didn't even need to grab anything from the house before she went and really that just reassured Eddie that this was the right choice.

So, his breakup with Marisol is unremarkable, except that it's not. It's pretty fucking remarkable when he thinks about it because it's not just that they weren't working out, not just that he really didn't care about spending time with her, not just the clench in his gut every time she touched him. No. It's pretty fucking remarkable because he realises he's in love with his best friend.

That's what pushes him over the edge, gives him the last kick he needs to actually break things off with her. Because Eddie may have sworn himself to secrecy about it the moment he realised, but he could never string someone along just because he couldn't have the real someone he wanted.

It's a fucking revelation once he has it. Not a ton of bricks, but the sun peeking out from behind the clouds on the greyest of days, bright and blinding. And the way Eddie has always thought of Buck in terms of sunshine maybe should have tipped him off sooner, but with the way Buck has been beaming over the past few weeks. Well. Eddie doesn't really think he can be blamed for only just taking his sunglasses off and daring to look directly at the light.

And, okay, so Eddie maybe makes it a full week before he decides his self-sworn secrecy absolutely is not a viable option when Buck walks through life now like a drop of sunshine in human form. It's after Buck leaves the Diaz house, walking out from a day of giggles and joy at the go-kart track they'd finally managed to convince Chris to be seen with them at, leaving behind a cosy heat like sun-warmed skin, that Eddie realises he cannot go another day without telling Buck that he's desperately, deeply in love with him.

And so, that's how Eddie finds himself at Buck's door on a random Sunday morning, knocking for the first time since Natalia waltzed out of the picture. Buck opens it a few moments later looking perfectly sleep-rumpled and soft and downright golden where he's backlit by the early morning sunlight pooling in the loft.

"Eddie," Buck breathes out, eyes darting up the stairs before refocusing on Eddie and what must be the most hopelessly lovesick expression painted across his face. "H-hey, what are you doing here?"

"I, um." Eddie takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous, and wipes his clammy palms on his jeans. "I wanted to talk to you about something. Now a good time?" And Buck must hear the slightly shaky steel in his voice because the surprise on his face morphs into a concern so quintessentially Buck that Eddie just wants to kiss it away.

"Y-yeah, of course, come on in." Buck holds the door open for him, and Eddie migrates to the fridge as Buck closes the door with the gentlest touch. "So, um, what's up?"

"I..." Eddie swallows against the heart in his throat, loses himself in the shining blue of Buck's eyes like an ocean he'd be more than happy to drown in. "I broke up with Marisol last week."

"Oh, Eddie." Buck slumps, and Eddie tries not to think that it looks a little like relief. "I'm so sorry, man. That sucks."

"No, no." Eddie waves him off with a laugh. "It's good. Was a long time coming actually." He shakes his head at himself. "I think I was dating her just to tick a box, you know? Realised you probably shouldn't be more excited about a phone call from your new buddy than one from your kinda long-term girlfriend. You definitely shouldn't be relieved when you see your best friend in the restaurant you're taking her to and disappointed when you realise he's just leaving."

And then, Buck blushes, ducks his head, does that little smile that could light up every house on South Bedford Street just like Eddie had been hoping for.

"Yeah." Buck looks up at him from under his lashes. "Probably not."

It bolsters Eddie. Buck's sunshine giving him that one last push he needs.

"There was something else I wanted to say," Eddie starts. And there isn't really any fear in him, knows they'll make it through this no matter what, just an overwhelming sense of peace to come. "I..." A deep breath, gathering all his love and devotion in his lungs so it's ready to pour out on his next inhale and—

A groan from upstairs has the words dying in his throat. A masculine groan. And then:

"Evan?"

"D-down here," Buck calls back.

Eddie can't take his eyes off the loft, stuck there like a car crash he can't look away from as a very shirtless Tommy Kinard appears at the top of the stairs and quickly blanches.

"Shit. Um..." He looks down at Buck in a panic.

Eddie finally manages to drag his eyes away from the very chiselled curveball that just hit him at a hundred miles per hour and finds Buck's face. Small, scared, shaken. He knows the feeling. And because he loves Buck, because of just how deeply he loves Buck, it's the easiest thing in the world to lock that love away and let his face crack into the most genuine of grins. Because if Tommy's been the thing making Buck shine like every fucking star in the sky, well Eddie will absolutely not be getting between them.

"You've been so happy," Eddie chokes out, still smiling.

"I have," Buck whispers.

"And I'm so happy for you." Eddie covers the distance between them in three long strides and pulls Buck into a hug so tight and clinging he's sure it's a confession in and of itself, but Buck only buries in deeper, taking shaky little breaths in the crook of Eddie's neck.

"Thank you," Buck murmurs into his skin. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden rush of tears.

"Sorry you didn't get to tell me on your own terms," he murmurs back, letting Buck pull away, but lingering with a hand on his hip, on his shoulder. He should maybe be worried about what this could look like to Tommy who had basically never heard anything apart from rambles about Buck, except when he glances up the stairs, Tommy is nowhere to be seen.

"I was going to tell you," Buck rushes out. "I-I just wasn't sure how."

"That's okay," Eddie says. It's okay. It's okay. "Well, I'll stop gate-crashing for the... Second time?" He raises an eyebrow, and Buck flushes a pink Eddie will never ever get to taste. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense." He remembers the pure fear on Buck's face, the indecision on Tommy's and the sudden tightening of his own chest despite his smile. "I'll leave you guys to it." He clears his throat. "Kinard, if you hurt him, they'll never find your body," he shouts up the stairs.

"Copy that, Diaz," Tommy shouts back.

"I'm really proud of you, Buck." Eddie wraps him in another hug then, a quick thing, just one last touch before Eddie seals every desire away for good.

"Thanks, Eddie." Buck walks him to the door, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and Eddie wants to hug him again. Wants so badly it hurts. But if he hugs Buck again, he doesn't think he'll ever let go. "See you at work tomorrow."

"See you at work." Eddie prays Buck is too distracted to hear the wobble in his voice.

"Wait, sorry, what did you want to talk about?"

Eddie freezes on the threshold, the stutter of his heart painful like he's back in a suit store, and he catches himself on the doorframe with a shaking hand.

"It can wait."

[rosiesmuts]

Conviction

TWICE Sana & Mina

Words: 4,800

The moment they walked through the door you knew you were in trouble. Sana and Mina. The pair waltzed in like they owned the place.

And frankly they did.

When you're that famous, you're set for life as long as you do the right things and look good doing them. So those two were definitely doing that. They owned the party by the very act of walking across it.

Now what's life without a little danger? So you gave yourself a pep talk and did the opposite of everything your gut was telling you to do. It was stupid—completely and utterly stupid.

You went up to Sana and introduced yourself for no other reason besides the fact that Sana seemed like the more personable of the two.

"And who might you be?" Sana looked at you quizzically, like she couldn't have a single memory that could associate to you if she tried. It was the exact thing you expected, yet her overwhelming persona sent an arrow through your heart.

"I'm just the help." You joked and did a pretentious fake bow. Sana bursted out with laughter and your fake confidence went through the roof.

Perhaps it was your boldness, but Sana seemed to take a liking to you because soon she introduced you to Mina, and now the three of you were having quite the time.

The night wore on and you found yourself ever increasingly convinced the world's sweetest duo were looking for fun—and a little danger.

That smile you swore Sana flashed your direction every time the opportunity rose. Sometimes she would stroke and squeeze your forearm for no reason—just cooing something about how muscly you were when you questioned it, or when she'd send a wink that burned through your chest the more she looked.

Mina was much more subtle, clearly the shyer of the two, but she wasn't above being sly. Her gummy smile flashing every time you told unfunny jokes—a certain purr lacing her voice whenever you said something that should have garnered no such reaction. The slight hooking of her arms through yours and the intense stare that followed. The final coup de grâce was when she elegantly pressed her juicy peach right up against your crotch and whispered a cutesy 'oops!'—her pink cheeks giving away the actual intention of the whole ordeal.

That one you didn't need help with understanding.

The phrase that reached your ears when the party came to an end is one you will never forget.

"Room 102015," Sana whispered, cupping your groin for just a second with a wink before hooking her arm into Mina's—the glorious view of their backsides swaying side to side as they walked off without another word.

—

It took nerves of steel, but now you're finally here. Two knocks at the door of room 102015 across an achingly quiet hotel lobby that reaches back into the endless corridors of a penthouse.

"You made it..." The door is open just slightly ajar, a tantalizing gap as much a mystery as the dark veil between Sana and Mina's hotel door. A sweet lilac aroma emanates from inside, the door opens wider and wider until...

They're both there, standing there, just as beautiful as you could have ever pictured. Still in their fancy party clothes—expensive as hell and looking the part. Not a smidge of hair out of place, makeup pristine and perfect smiles plastered over their faces. You swear you can see Sana's bare shoulders glowing from the fluorescent lights, a single bead of sweat glistening under her collar.

"Follow me," Sana whispers, leaning into your space, and placing her hand into yours. Sana guides you, giving you a small glance back with a mischievous grin, those brown eyes giving way to a cheery twinkle you'll be more than happy to let drag you further astray.

"You must be wondering why you're here..." Sana already has Mina's straps off her shoulders when she says it, a quick and practiced motion she seems all too used to. "We just thought... maybe we could play with you for a little. Just the two of us... and you. Is that okay?"

A dim-lit penthouse bedroom lies astray ahead of the two, and your gut twists with so much more than butterflies. Two Japanese angels eye you and stand in wait, and you'll be damned if that isn't a look meant to seduce.

You'll follow. No matter where Sana and Mina go, you'll follow. It could very well be into the depths of hell, and you don't think you could care any less—not with them standing before you with looks so sweet and mischievous you wouldn't hesitate for a moment.

The question is mere rhetorical, Mina's dress slowly gets peeled further away by Sana's soft, pale hands. Every piece of flesh she reveals makes your chest flutter harder and faster—another part of her body for your eyes to crave and desire.

"Ooops..." Sana giggles, licking her teeth as a sliver of Mina's lingerie is revealed. Dark black silk contrasting her porcelain skin is enough to make anyone lose their heads. The lace and tightness leaves next to nothing to the imagination as her smooth tummy leads your eyes further southwards.

Sana reaches back and gives Mina a light spank and a squeeze for good measure. An indignant, embarrassed moan erupts from Mina's lips. "Look..." Sana says to you, with a sinister and impish look as she caresses Mina's flank, squeezing one of her cheeks like a thick pillow, then turning the shy girl around. "Look at how meaty Minari's ass is."

There it was, Mina's tushy, bared and flaunted right before you. A lacy g-string frames Mina's ass in all the right places, leading to a slender waist and a gorgeously wide butt that quivers the longer you stare. "Well...?" Sana coos, "do you like it?"

"I'm embarrassed..." Mina murmurs and Sana responds with a cheek pinch, then a playful little swat that doesn't seem to faze her in the slightest, save from the subsequent jiggle and subsequent whimper that fills the air.

"Just what were you planning tonight, Mina? Were you wanting our boy to see how naughty you are?"

You still can't manage to make a sound, unable to even understand just how you ended up in a place like this. You'd have imagined getting this close with any celebrity would be a near impossibility.

"Wanna know a secret?" Sana teases and hooks her fingers into Mina's waistband—the final piece of fabric keeping her from being fully exposed. "Mina might be all proper and cute, but deep, deep down... she loves being put on display like this—just begging for some attention. Don't you, baby?"

"Sa-na..." Mina whispers, and the only sign you can detect is the barely noticeable flex of her buttcheeks and thighs as you watch it. She looks over her shoulder, eyelashes fluttering—looking into your eyes and never once breaking contact while Sana finally tugs that fabric downwards and gets a moan from her best friend.

Her meaty rear quivers and jiggles as she's revealed and Sana's hands give her a tender pat with a mirthful laugh, "Yeah! Just like that!" Sana cheers and grips the cheeks apart, making Mina yelp and bite her bottom lip—it's clear they're not strangers to one another's bodies.

Mina shakes her booty from side to side, almost too close to believe. How soft those plush and fluffy pillows might feel in your hands, the prospect of sinking into her ample rear is almost as tempting as it is mad.

"Come here. We won't bite. Unless you want us to~" Sana gives a teasing giggle and Mina does her part, holding her hair over her head and striking a sexy little pose. With how seductive they were being, it's as though she really were asking to be looked at.

Not that it took much convincing to get you over here, but there was no stopping the speed you raced towards the girls as you practically pounce upon the chance. Your hands graze her supple, firm rear, sliding lower and lower—more than ready to embrace her full backside with a touch that ached for her, all this time.

"Oh? Wow. Look at that..." Mina makes a sultry laugh when she glances over her shoulder and sees a raging hard-on that struggles within your pants, "What are you going to do with that?"

Sana seems to be quite the helper, unbuttoning your pants and tugs them down. In seconds you're half naked in their company and every pair of eyes is staring straight at that raging beast. You didn't even have time to fully process just what was going on before Sana wraps her lips around it, squeezing you in her grasp—the warmth is delightful and unbeatable.

A quick and dirty blowjob—a minute at most, but by the gods it was just what you needed. Sana knows her way around a cock, so good in fact she barely gives you any time to react. When she pops off and sees the confused and pleasured face you wear, she just laughs and beckons her girl-crush forward. "C'mere, Minari. His cock's nice and ready for you now."

With an unsure sigh and a blush so adorable you'd go so far to call her shy, Mina bends over the bed. Her full, perfect butt presented at eye level, and her back so gorgeously curved into the most seductive view you'd ever laid your eyes on.

"Go ahead. You wanna fuck Minari don't you? Come get a piece of this fat tushy of hers."

Your hand comes down against her fat backside, a tentative attempt at spanking the perfect idol before you. When she responds with a soft yelp and a pout directed your way, it's all the confirmation you need. Another slap—you spank her and marvel at how quickly she gives in and wiggles her buns.

Your tip is lined up, slowly sliding down the length of her cleft, soaking in Mina's warmth and that incredible, aroused breath that rolls out from those lips of hers. If that's not the perfect indicator, nothing is—with a last squeeze to Mina's backside, you gently press forward and ease your tip in.

So much heat and warmth, every inch you penetrate Mina feels as though it melts a bit more of you away.

Sana runs her fingers down Mina's body. Starting from that thin neckline of hers, past her shoulder blades, and a caress of her arched back, finally down to her full bottom where you continue to feed Mina every inch that's her due.

"Can you feel him in you, Minari?" Sana teases and purrs—making circles and gently rolling against Mina's plump cheeks and making the horny idol stifle a breath. You can't believe what's happening: having the goddess of your fantasies wrapped around your cock and begging you not to stop would be too much of a temptation for the devil himself.

Your first thrust is a shallow one, just enough to feel that pleasant resistance she has, but also enough to give the shy Mina something that made her moan like no tomorrow. That perfect ass rolls back to your next movement, driving you further within the confines of her narrow and oh so tight walls.

The lewd look and lewd smile upon Sana's lips make the pleasure you're feeling much more intense than before, your free hand digging into Mina's asscheeks as the other tangles into her hair and holds her like reins to a horse. Mina bites her lip—face contorting, her breathing grows more ragged as the bed starts to squeak the further you push into her.

Mina starts to whine, unable to hide a slutty smile—her teeth clamping onto her bottom lip.

She moans like an angel, and her body undulates along your rhythm. "Fuck me please. Yes! Just like that... Oh, god I didn't know it would feel so good..."

Those pleading whines are the most arousing sounds that you've ever heard—satisfaction can't be ignored now. This is as close as heaven can be, with that petite little thing bent over in the most perfect, ideal, and lewd positions with a dripping wet mess of a cunt begging you to continue.

Every push is a slap against her full bubble-butt, one that makes her and Sana grunt, or moan—whichever sounds louder as you're swept by an unmistakable rush. Faster, quicker, a feverish pace to pound the sexy little diva that begs to be taken, and Sana does her best to encourage the behavior.

"Good job. Nice and deep." The petite Japanese girl strokes her lover's hair—cooing all the while as Mina is worked raw, your hips crashing into her big meaty booty like a stampede and pounding away at her insides with wild abandon.

"After Minari cums..." Sana starts to unbutton your shirt—her hot, impatient and eager hands taking no time to caress and run down your chest. "...It's my turn." Her voice lowers and she leans in. Your lips meet her sweet ones for the first time, and the hungry little minx is practically salivating—droplets of spit coat your lips—letting you take just a tiny taste of the sweetness you knew her lips hid.

"Mmm fuck…" Mina moans and pulls your attention away from that oh so tempting kiss. Your hips pick up, working overtime—Mina's groaning, squirming, her breaths coming in faster and harder the closer to her limit you bring her. "Right... there! Keep going!"

The breathy, sexy moans that grow louder and louder each time your hips smash against hers brings a clarity to this scenario—of how an absolute goddess needs your cock inside her like life itself—how Sana caresses and traces your shoulders while your focus is completely absorbed on Mina and how tightly she squeezes your shaft.

Mina holds in a scream, unable to do anything except cover her mouth as she is rocked back and forth with a furious and wild passion. Everything starts to quiver: her legs, her thighs and belly, every inch of her flesh tenses and coils until that tightly wound knot is released—there’s no stopping Mina once that limit is surpassed and she finally begins to cum.

The prim and proper princess who strikes fear into any and all men is shaking and moaning louder than anyone could ever imagine her being. Her orgasm is hard enough to leave the normally elegant and collected singer a drooling mess upon the sheets. Her sweaty bangs cling to her forehead while her hips bounce and shake while her heavenly liquid flows out.

Sana gently moves to guide you away from Mina's welcoming entrance, a giggling chide telling you to give Mina a little bit of time to rest.

"My turn now," Sana says with the wettest, cutest, and most unhinged tone she's ever used. Her lips come down on yours like the strike of a viper—her tongue snaking and wrestling with yours, drinking you in and stealing as many breaths as possible.

When she pulls away, there's nothing slow about how quickly she undresses. Unlike Mina, she had no qualms at throwing everything aside while leaving her body as the centerpiece to everything you wanted. Her fingers inch their way through her swollen clit—her small feet lift up one at a time, shuffling out her lacy thong.

"How do you want me? Doggy style, missionary?"

This woman will be your undoing, of that you are absolutely certain. The eagerness with which she asks leaves no space to comprehend a world where a drop of resistance comes from Sana.

"How bout I ride you? You spent a lot of energy fucking Minari didn't you? I could ride you if you'd like."

You'd be a fool to say no. Your back meets the bed as Sana straddles your hips, guiding her beautiful form upon yours and grinding her wet folds.

She takes a moment to pause—to make sure she has your attention. Looking deep into your eyes, the pale and pretty Sana smiles before holding your shaft and lifting her hips high, angling herself just right.

Sana slowly guides herself downwards—just enough to allow the slightest pressure, letting you sink into her hot cunt. You feel it too: the little shivers and rippling muscle tension—her wet hole contracting as her soft petals spread themselves and greet her new lover.

"Nice and slow. I'm gonna enjoy this." There's a musical tone to the way Sana moans, as though the simple sensation of your meat is enough to send the happy girl to the stars.

Her slow descent into pleasure does little to subdue the reactions her body shows, the way those well trained, dancer's thighs tense. Her lips shiver, and her lower abdomen, full of tone muscles clenches. You can tell: the second she relaxes is when your cock slides into the warm paradise that Sana is.

"Grab my tits." Sana takes your hands and guides them to her waist—gently dragging the edges of your fingers over her shapely figure. You find a tender spot on the underside, and immediately start rolling and twerking her nipple between your fingers.

Sana's always so well behaved for an idol, she keeps her lust well hidden—now, you watch as the oh so precious idol whimpers as her nipples are pinched, pulled, and tweaked by a mere nobody she found at a random party. A common plebeian like you are absolutely in no way worthy of such a gorgeous specimen that was sitting on your lap.

Sana rolls and shakes her hips, while your head tilts upwards to lock eyes with the seductive and utterly radiant woman as she pants and grits her teeth—dragging herself back up just a little, then eases down, fucking you nice and slow and keeping you steady the entire time.

A smack to Sana's pale and perfectly plump rump makes Sana squeak and giggle with delight. Every bounce and hop she takes is a test of your willpower and the last bastion to your impending loss of self-control.

"Hang on tight. Gonna really start fucking you now..." Sana rises, only your very tip is nestled in those soaked velvet walls, you groan the moment she drops and stuffs that dick back inside her tight, hot, and heavenly snatch. Sana repeats, raising herself—almost to the very brink until that delicious, dizzy moment when her hips collide back down.

Watching those bouncy, full tits jump and shake with every downward thrust sends your heart beating out of your chest. Every bit of her is unreal, so much more than just some attractive lady: it's the stuff of the gods, so enticing, so precious and sexy.

And just when you thought you couldn't handle anymore, a graceful ballerina seems to have regained her energy. Mina climbs on top of your face, her freshly orgasmed snatch oozing and dripping all over the lower half of your face, begging to be tended to.

And you certainly don't mind, no, not at all, with two soft thighs closing down around you.

"Eat me out." Mina's tone is soft and cute, a huge contrast from the dirty words that come out of her lips. Yet she has a right to command it—she looks down, her smile warm, her thighs squeezing against the side of your head.

You give her folds a long lick, she's still sensitive from her previous fuckfest. Just a simple little swipe of the tongue seems to send Mina squirming over your head—even for an idol, it'd seem like Mina has more sides to her than even you can keep up with.

"Your tits are so fun to play with!" Sana reaches around for Mina's tiny rack, never stopping her bouncing even as her head leans in to suck on Mina's neck.

She fucks you like her life depended on it, her hips not relenting for a moment—they pound and thrust at a fevered pace, moving at an absolute machine gunning rhythm of carnal pleasure. Either one of these beauties would be enough to satisfy you for the rest of life, and now you have both at the same time, a dream come true you didn't imagine you'd get a taste of.

It doesn't take long for Sana either, her sexy little noises reach a fevered peak—that giddy laugh of hers being swallowed by a stifled moan.

"I'm gonna cum. Gonna cum..." Sana whines and warns, grinding her hips into your pelvis at a crazed, fervent pace. Mina feels your tongue writhe into her at a similar pace, moaning right into your ears—a symphony of mutual orgasms coming closer and closer.

The bed squeals and quakes at an unholy level, it's a surprise no one comes rushing into the room by this point. Mina's fingers tangle themselves into your hair and pulls, coming closer and closer to the sweet climax—squeezing your skull tightly while rocking back and forth.

"Fffuuucckk. Yes, just like that."

Your legs buck and flex, the air is sucked clean out of your lungs—these two idols are in a race against each other to see just which one could cum harder. You're an observer caught in the middle—right in that final moment before it all builds up and erupts.

Sana's stomach is the first to tighten—your eyes snap open the very moment you feel a final squeeze, a climax ripping right through her sweet sexy body as she freezes atop you, her eyes closing while a final, shaky exhale rolls right off her lips. A single droplet of sweat travels down the corner of her forehead and lands upon her cheek.

Her hands pinch and squeeze Mina's dark brown nipples—it's like a switch that Sana seems all too familiar with and all too fond of tuning, as Mina follows right after, spasms rolling right up her belly the instant she receives the painful jolt.

Mina gasps, and the orgasm runs rampant throughout her body—her cheeks puffed out in a soft O-face, her eyes glazing over as her inner walls crush and wring your tongue.

They have you completely at their mercy, two tight cunts holding you hostage while they both ride that post-climax bliss.

As the orgasm subsides and their muscles loosen, they each roll off of your body. Mina's bare flesh rests by your side, and she slinks closer to you with a look you've never seen from her. You could swear it's something akin to love, but the warm smile that crosses her expression is quickly covered when her lips meet yours for the first time.

"Amazing... you really are amazing, you know." Her hands trace your chest and her feet brush against your legs, almost like the idea of personal space isn't present. She feels soft and warm, like home.

"He really is." Sana interrupts by leaning forward and pushing her lips to yours with a heated, urgent passion, tasting Mina's juices on your tongue and shuddering in joy at how it rolls around your mouth.

"Now..." The pair slink down on the bed until they're face to face with your cock. You've almost forgotten that you still haven't released, but are quickly reminded as two tongues slowly lap their way up your shaft while two pairs of hands rub and caress every inch of your thighs and stomach. "Let's give our boy something nice to think back on."

Mina giggles and takes the first dive. Her hot mouth is followed by her hand pumping the shaft in a languid manner, swirling and kneading your balls as they get nice and wet. She's lost in her work, making little moans as she gently sucks on the skin—bobbing up and down before pulling back with a satisfied pop of the lips. "You love it when Minari plays with your cock, don't you?"

"I'll take it from here." Sana reaches forward to pinch and squeeze the head and tip, then quickly follows by shoving her face close and slathering it in wet kisses, moving down the length, trailing her tongue over every little ridge and detail, a sense of urgency to get all she can in her mouth. Her hot tongue swirls, slathers the very tip while she holds Mina's hand still—sharing a smoldering look of the utmost desire, you could see the mischievous wheels turning.

They're both on your cock, licking from base to tip, holding your head between their lips as their tongues duel to see who can pleasure you more. Sana wraps a hand around Mina's face and pulls her close, and their mouths collide and move, suck and lick away—until finally their lips join together and form a circle around your tip, sucking and lashing in the most deviously skilled blowjob you ever have been and will ever receive for the rest of your life.

Nimble tongues move against you at a rapid-fire speed, giving everything they got and barely slowing even as you grunt and grow nearer. That heat, that wet feeling is too much for you to bear. The strain that had been kept under lock and key has finally broken and is about to release itself.

Fingers quickly massage and squeeze whatever spot they can reach, tugging at your sack, massaging your legs, their kiss still unmoving—despite how messy they seem to get. Saliva and fluids and God-knows-what-else makes them messy.

It hits, and your body jerks, the rush of pleasure spreading right through your nerves—and right into the wet kiss those two Japanese women share, cum spurts right into their waiting tongues as they roll around your head. They swallow, almost by reflex—pulling away, the thick strings that connect them look incredibly erotic before they quickly revert back to kissing and sharing your load.

They don't let even a single drop go wasted—licking and caressing one another in a sensual display.

You can do nothing but simply fall onto your back—all that energy spent, but with not a shred of regret left in your mind.

Two world famous idols, Sana and Mina, fuck and service a complete nobody.

"Delicious." The words slip off from Mina's mouth as a line of white clings to her swollen and saliva-ridden lips, Sana is a quick one, making it vanish in the blink of an eye as the sticky substance is slurped right off.

Mina gently rubs circles onto your leg, never letting that pretty smile fade. Sana's fingers trail a path around your chest before nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder.

"How was it? Fun? Did you have fun?" There is a lighthearted and pleasant smile to the beautiful idol you are currently tangled with.

"I had fun. Lots of fun." Mina answers for you and mirrors Sana, who nestles into the other side. Their lips press and hold to your neckline and chest, trailing hot kisses from the side to front and back, nibbling and playing with your flesh as they are enamored and drunk on your after-sex fragrance.

It's difficult for your heart not to speed up when their faces are right next to yours—their hair tickling your shoulders.

"Get lots of rest. Round two in the morning. I'm sure Chaeyoungie will have tons of things to do with you." Mina whispers into your ear before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Sana merely smiles and closes her eyes with a mischievous twinkle—her fingers draw slow and soft patterns across your skin and gently guide you to join those two into a deep and heavenly slumber.

You've landed yourself in heaven, there is nowhere else better to be.

...What a hell of an experience.

And so the most insane night of your life comes to an end—but with a promise that this adventure is nowhere close to being over.

You're definitely going to need some rest…

[peggyao3]

Here comes the Sun [1/2]

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha is the center of attention for an entire planet, but it counts for nothing because his favorite concubine isn't paying attention during the fight. How dare she ruin his birthday?

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, mixed POVs, mutual pining, gore, cannibalism ❗ (just a lil), Baron being a homie, Feyd has that bratty vibe, God Complex Feyd, jealousy ❗, other concubines begone, arguments, insults, hate love relationship, enemies and lovers, porn with plot, marriage proposal, vaginal sex, knife kink, pain kink ❗, smut in chapter 2, semi-public sex ❗, angst with happy ending

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

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Feyd-Rautha’s cock is always half-hard when he fights. Adrenaline and Testosterone have an almost equal effect on his body. Sheathing your blade in a foe’s flesh is not so different from sheathing your cock in a woman’s cunt.

Today, he is almost fully hard. Here in the center of the arena, on his birthday, he is the center of the world, of the known universe maybe.

The curved, polished steel in his hand was forged under the merciless sun of Giedi Prime, just like the Gladiator who wields it. The blade slides into the prisoner’s thorax, finding the entry point between two ribs with effortless grace. Feyd holds him close, so he can hear the man’s last dying breath as a whisper in his ear. The sword glides out of the man’s limp fist and he is dead before it hits the ground. A mouth full of tar is the last image etched into his retina.

The arena roars with one voice, its echo booming all the way up to the stratosphere. Feyd raises his blade to the black sun. Paul Artreides may have been a messiah but Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is a God, worshiped by hundreds of thousands who rage, stomp and chant. Feyd-Rautha.

His gaze lifts to the box where the royal family sits, his uncle, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, Feyd’s brother Glossu Rabban and Feyd’s concubines. Searchingly, his eyes trail to the very left and the fiery warmth of triumph in him implodes, leaving him with an icy void in his guts.

His cock immediately goes flaccid when he realizes that she isn’t watching.

Sullenly, she stares down the gargantuan, triangular colossus of black walls and bald Harkonnen heads. Compared to them, she and the other women seated to her left are canaries, strapped in opulent gowns and jewelry, though Giedi Prime's sun strips them of color all the same.

Half showman, half gladiator and fully deranged, Feyd-Rautha tears through his opponents like a birthday boy through gift wrapping. Every year he takes on more enemies in the ring. On his 18th birthday it had been three. Today he faces eleven and has just cut down the fourth. She has been counting.

When the audience roars, she looks down at her tense hands in her lap. She doesn’t want to see his black, grinning mouth, not the mad elation with which he looks up at the box, gasping for approval like a dog.

Next to her, the gathered concubines burst into exaggerated applause. It is hard to tell who is genuine, who is about to throw up, who secretly shits their lingerie under the dress and who fantasizes about being the next one to be gutted by Feyd’s blade. They are daughters of almost every esteemed Major House. The Harkonnen’s pretty little hostage collection. Unofficially, of course.

There he has it. Plenty of approval.

Feyd’s hunger for violence must have rubbed off on her, because she pictures her hands around some of the throats next to her. She doesn’t know how many of them Feyd actually beds, but seeing them all together conjures mental images that are far more nauseating to her than the festive bloodshed in the ring.

Her hatred is like ice. Her jealousy a cluster of thorns in her guts.

She jumps slightly when suddenly the Baron’s gravelly breath rolls over her shoulder.

“Are you feeling unwell?” A pasty, ringed hand waves for the servant who lingers in the back. The black sun’s radiation can cause migraines for individuals not raised on Giedi Prime, hence why Feyd’s concubines, all of them foreigners, are advised to spend most of their time indoors. The servant offers a small, black pill.

The Baron knows his nephew will be displeased with his favorite concubine’s inattentiveness.

“I’m quite alright,” she dismissively waves a hand and lies, though physically she is fine, she supposes, if one doesn’t count the nausea of jealousy. The servant retreats and Baron Harkonnen hums, leaning back into his chair with the aid of the anti-gravitational device implanted in his spine.

Her fellow concubine and seat neighbor from House Metulli cringes away from her with thinly veiled horror. She is not one of them. She doesn’t socialize with them, if it can be avoided. She doesn’t go to her fellow concubines to cry about how cruel a monster Feyd-Rautha is. She talks to Baron Vladimir Harkonnen as if he couldn’t publicly flay her at any given moment for taking a wrong tone.

The Baron regards the back of the woman’s lowered head and the hostile tension in her shoulders.

At the very least, his nephew’s temper tantrums will be amusing. Baron Harkonnen lifts his binoculars and sees Feyd spraying spittle over the next opponent as he stabs the kukri down the man’s throat and splits it in half.

The Harkonnen palace is the evil product of elegance and brutalism. Concrete, marble, metal and obsidian twist into almost frigid hallways and atriums. Colorless sunlight occasionally spills through the intersected ceilings, futilely attempting to heat up the palace to match the blazing summer outside. Every now and again, an open window lets a gust of warm wind inside and the velvety black banners that proclaim na-Baron Feyd-Rautha’s birthday sway in the breeze.

The footsteps of her heeled boots resound from the walls, announcing the arrival of an angry canary to visitors and palace staff. Only the visitors look up with alarm.

She is on her way to her chambers where she intends to sulk away the hours until the birthday banquet starts, which she is forced to attend, unlike the rest of the festivities which overtake the capital. For many Harkonnen, this is the only holiday of the year.

About halfway to her chambers, she hears Feyd-Rautha's raging footsteps. He had used up his grace in the arena, now he is only a fuming man with a sore in his heart.

The runaway concubine is as angry as she is relieved to hear the raging bull approaching. Her footsteps quicken. At least he is chasing her. It makes her heart soar.

With lifted skirts she breaks into a jog, chin held high. A smile of satisfaction would like to seize her mouth, but the nasty claws of jealousy still bereave her of such signs of mirth.

The windows in the concubines’ corridor are darkened by black cloths to shield them from the radiation of the alien sun. Artificial light spills from pointy wall lamps and color bleeds back into her skin, dress and hair. Color might not be the only thing that bleeds once Feyd-Rautha catches up with her.

She makes it into her chambers before he does. The door is no obstacle to him, but at least he will be in her little domain during the confrontation.

The tail of her colorful dress taunts him as she slips into her chambers and slams the door like a child.

She could have fucking joined him during the ritual washing after the fight, where war paint, sweat and blood are traditionally washed off the na-Baron’s victorious body. The black concoction of water, blood, salts and oils stimulates healing and muscle relaxation.

Instead, he is chasing his own concubine through the palace, sweat and war paint gluing his shirt to his torso. Only the light polymer chest piece of armor lies discarded in the bath chamber.

Like a boy he had hoped she might be playing an elaborate little game with him, that her behavior during the fight only served the purpose of egging him on, so he would put on a more gruesome show and she could reward him in the bath chambers after. He had waited for five minutes, then killed the slave girl who had asked him if they shall begin the washing.

Insidious eyes like little coals in his sclera glisten wildly when he slams his palm against the panel that opens her door. In he goes and finds her waiting for him, chin held high, a haughty look in her eyes and a tremor to her lip.

“You’ve ruined my birthday!”

“Oh, have I? Well my day wasn't exactly pleasing either.” She pretends not to care as his spit sprinkles her face and hands stained from murder clutch her upper arms and walk her back against the wall..

Feyd-Rautha's musk smells of sweat, blood and dust and his eyes are darkened with thunder.

“Care to explain what was so interesting while I was fighting in the area?! Did my performance bore you?”

“Even your uncle was more caring than you. He assumed I might have a migraine.”

“But you didn’t.” Feyd knows the black sun doesn’t affect her all that much anymore.

“You had the attention of hundreds of thousands of men and women. Today is all about Feyd-Rautha.” She scornfully mimics the booming battle-chanting that still haunts her bones. “Surely you can go without the undivided attention of one of your numerous concubines.” Her head jerks to the side, facing the half-hung window through which white sunlight filters inside.

Feyd snarls and his mouth suddenly twitches with humor. “Does their presence intimidate you?” She decides not to reply to that and his thumb brushes over her chin as he leans down. “How so? Obviously I need them all to sate my appetite. Someone didn't even manage to attend my washing.”

“I despise you, Feyd-Rautha!” She slams her palms against his chest. “Go bathe. You stink like a mutt who's rolled in piss.”

“At least look at me now!” Feyd roars, smugness consumed by the rage that kindles so darkly in his chest. “Look me in the eyes when you tell me you hate me!”

One pale hand cups her jaws, thumb and middle finger digging into her soft cheeks on either side, pushing between the rows of teeth, so her lips pucker and her mouth opens. Feyd-Rautha leans down and his plush mouth ungently connects to hers, taking a fragment of what he thinks he deserves on his Birthday. Her mouth tastes bitter and his tastes like blood.

Huffing, she endures, eyes raised to Feyd's while he assaults her mouth. Her breath is quick, her heartbeat quicker and the heat in her abdomen wetly coats her walls that are conditioned to react to Feyd-Rautha's violent love. Her cheeks hurt but her tongue meets his willingly, even when he punishes her with cruel, black teeth.

Her fingers twist into his sweat-damp shirt, tearing on the fabric as if she means to rip it to shreds and stuff her pillow with it. Painted fingernails dig into the only injury she knows he had sustained during the fight, a small cut on his abdomen, hidden by the shirt.

“So you did watch…” Feyd's raspy breath caresses her mouth and the thread of saliva that connects them trembles in the draft of his breath.

“Occasionally.” She wills her voice to be calm and lets her fingers slip under the shirt and trail over the taut, damp flesh until she finds the tender cut. Mercilessly, she digs inside, collecting gore under her nail.

“A-Ah~” Feyd's posture briefly falters, knees trembling as he leans into the cathartic pain.

“You sustained that one when you were getting reckless near the end. You kept staring up at us, like an idiot.”

“I was looking at you, cunt!” He spits and the sliver of weakness is gone. The loveless nickname leaves her unfazed but his evil mouth doesn't as he kisses her roughly. His death-stained hands don't either as they roam around her body, searching for a gap in her dress so he can access her flesh and taint her with his rot.

The hard outline of his cock presses against her stomach and she is almost tempted to give in, free him from his trousers, sink on her knees in submission and take him down her throat, then later into her cunt. It's his birthday after all and she craves his violent hands.

“Get on the bed,” Feyd rasps.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Rage clouds his eyes and she knows he’s going to try and slap her across the cheek. The gust of air hits her skin, but his hand does not. She had dodged him just in time - A feat she wouldn’t have been remotely capable of when she first met him.

Feyd stares perplexed and then he laughs, that boyish note that makes her hair stand on end. He withdraws and rubs one hand over his scalp, pacing around her chamber. She knows he's thinking of all the ways he can pluck her limbs and pop her eyeballs.

He becomes violent when he’s helpless. Really, she doesn’t mind it. She’d rather have him take it out on her than anyone else, and that desire is wholly and completely selfish.

“I should take my reward from one of the others then.”

She stiffens and her chest is so tight, she can taste the bile in her throat. Feyd knows many forms of violence but chose the one that would cut the most lethally into her flesh.

Grinning widely, he stalks closer. “Say what you have in mind. You want a gift on my birthday, isn't that right?”

For most others, Feyd-Rautha's sole attention, being his only one, couldn't be further from a gift, but yes, it's exactly what she wants. But she isn't going to beg for it like a starving dog for scraps.

“That's what it would be to you? A gift from you to me?” She thinks she has never been so insulted. “That gift is a pittance then.”

“So, you don't want it?” His breath tickles her cheek and a ray of sunlight washes over his skull, making it black and white.

Feyd knows he could force her on her knees and reap his pleasure and hers, or pain which is essentially the same, but breaking her body and spirit won’t give him what he desires, at least not anymore. 

“I want respect,” she coldly hisses. For what we have.

“Then respect me. Attend the banquet. Dance with me.” His nose brushes against the side of her cheek, then his tongue slides out and curls around the edge of her jaws.

“Of course, na-Baron,” she snaps and Feyd withdraws, wearing a smug midnight-smile. His lithe figure retreats and slips out into the corridor, probably to finally go bathe and wash the stink off his skin.

Only if Feyd-Rautha willingly drops on his knees for her will she ever dance with him.

A/N: Chapter 2 following sooooon!

TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @charmingballoon,

@sebastianswallows, @minedofmoria, @flower-frog, @welliah, @coastalcowgirl35,

@aoi-targaryen

(If any of you only wanted to be tagged for Relic and not for Feyd works in general, please let me know, and I'm sorry to bother!!! 🫶)

[valgodd]

You sit in the waiting room of the doctors office, nervously fidgeting your hands. It’s time for the annual health check up. You sure had a good year, the trousers digging into your belly are proof of that.

A nurse calls your name. Are you imagining things, or did she she do a double take when she saw you, her eyes lingering slightly over your pudgy mid section? She offers you a polite, professional smile though, and lead you into the office.

The doctor, a graying fit man man in his late fifties, sits behind his desk, endorsed in paper work.

”Welcome mr/ms Y/N” he murmurs. He glances at you over his spectacles, his eyes sweeping over your red, round cheeks, budding double chin and protrouding belly. ”Well you certainly look… healthy. Shall we get started?” He gestures towards an old fashioned manual steele scale. You step on it with a loud *clonk*. The doctor raises an eyebrow and adjusts the metal weight until the scale is in balance. He looks in his notes and scoffs, almost sounding amused.

”Well well… you were close to underweight last time we weighed you. Now however… you seem to have fattened up quite nicely.”

You swallow, feeling very self concious.

”H-how much have I gained?”

”It seems to be… almost sixteen kilos”

”Sixteen kilos?” That was more than you had expected. 

”Sixteen kilos” the doctor confirms ”Thats… quite much in just a years time.”

”Well there obviously must me something wrong with your scale” you say with an akward laugh. The doctor smirks. ”The scale is perfectly fine, I asssure you. Any… changes of habits recently?”

”Well…” you are tempted to lie, but the doctor looks at you sternly. 

”Well what?”

”Uhm I guess I… relaxed a bit recently” you admit ”I-I moved in with my partner… They’ve been cooking a lot for me… And I haven’t gone to the gym as… frequently as I used to” your voice trails off.

”Uhuh. That explains alot, doesnt it? Well, last time I saw you, you were a scrawny little thing and you sure needed to put on a few. Sixteen kilos though… That’s overdoing it. You need to get rid of that gut” the doctor pats your tummy condencendingly. 

”Yes doc” you say and and clench your jaws. How could you have let yourself go like this? Why didn’t anybody tell you you were getting so big?

”We should measure your body fat to, dear. Pull up your shirt for me, will you?”

You reluctantly pull up your shirt and reveal a pale, squishy midsection.  The doctor takes a metal clisp and take a firm grip on your belly roll between his thumb and indexfinger. You feel the cold metal against your skin, and winces as the clisp pinches you.

”Godness me…” he murmurs. You swallow. ”Well you certainly haven’t been starving” the doctor chuckles as he scribbles down some notes in his papers. ”So… tell your partner to cut down on the butter and cream in their cooking. It really isnt doing you any favours. Maybe go on some brisk walks together. By next year, I want to see you trimmed down. Okay?”

You nod and manage a polite smile.

After the meeting, your partner meets you up outside the doctors office. They give you brief kiss on the lips and squeeze your sides. 

”How was the doctors appointment love?”

”Well…”

”You look upset, is everything alright?”

You sigh.

”Well the doctor told me I had gained too much weight” you murmur.

”Oh love…”

”Yeah… god it was so humiliating” you press your palms against your eyes, feeling tears burn under your eyelids. Your partner pulls you into an embrace.

”My poor baby… Hey hey…. Shh… Its okay, its okay... We’ve had a good year, haven’t we? Its been so nice to see you eat whatever you want, to your hearts content. I would hate him to ruin that for you love”

You nod, sniveling. Your partner strokes your belly in calming circles.

”Screw him. Tell you what love” your partner lowers their voice to a whisper ”I just made your favourite eclairs. The ones with chocolate cream. Why dont we go home and have some?”  

You can’t help but light up.

”Oh yes those are my favourite” you murmur longingly with a moan, feeling your mouth water. 

”Hey I knew that would put a smile on your  face” you partner chuckles and pinches your chubby cheek lovingly ”Lets go home dear, let me take care of you”

[milkywayhou]

"One step backward. Two steps forward"

Summary: “호랑이🐱: Congrats to the happy couple! @Hans839 I’m sure you’ll take good care of our Snow.”

Or

Snow make one silly post and it accidentally blew up.

TWs: Nothing. Just some weird stuff.

Words Count: 900+ words (Not really much)

It was meant as a harmless joke – Snow never dreamed it would cause such a stir. It all started when she took a rare week off to help a friend with their photography project. Trying on various elegant gowns was good wholesome fun – at least until she impulsively snapped a selfie in her favorite flowing white gown with some vague caption about “Feeling nervous for the big day”

Her post were blowing up with congratulatory messages, assuming the gown meant something more significant. Snow laughed it off, replying with bubbles and clown emojis.

Suddenly she noticed a new tag in one of the comments from a certain Korean operator, Horangi.

“호랑이🐱: Congrats to the happy couple! @Hans839 I’m sure you’ll take good care of our Snow.”

Squinting in confusion, she clicked to see who this “Hans” person was that he had tagged – only to realize that the account was set private.

Then Snow nearly dropped her phone in horror when Horangi’s congrats and mysterious tag unleashed a torrent of notifications – their colleagues from KorTac flooding her post, assuming the worst.

Her blood ran cold.

Even some higher-ups Snow barely knew chimed in with off-color jokes. Great, now she’d given the crotchety old Admirals yet another reason to gossip about her love life.

Holy shit, was this some practical joke? Snow wracked her brain trying to connect the dots as more congratulatory messages poured in.

All at once, things clicked into place. Hans must be a high rank man on their base. And knowing Horangi’s mischievous streak, he had purposefully tagged the him just to stir up trouble. Judge by his name this Hans dude was probably a German person, and she was aware of the fact their Colonel is a German.

Fuck

It was König.

As in, her commanding colonel at KorTac, König. The scary, stoic commander she’d only ever patched up in medbay. Faceless weirdo who’d never said more than four words to her but ALWAYS stared so intensely she swore he hated her guts. Snow had no idea he even had social media, much less that his profile was connected to his real name! What was Horangi thinking?

There was only one thing to do – delete the evidence and face the heat wave of embarrassment back at base. But when Snow pulled up the post, she froze again when she noticed more senior commanders had already congratulated her! Deleting it meant the possibility of loosing her face on her workplace!

That day, Snow was mortified hurrying back to base, ready to hide in the weapon lockers for a year and came back later like nothing happens, praying and hoping everyone will forget about her silly post that created these misunderstanding if she suddenly show up one day with a big smile and say “Oh, no, That post is just a joke hahah. And no, I don’t marry the colonel. It was Horangi’s idea haha..” Oh how she wish it was easier like that. Pretty sure it wouldn’t end too well.

“Soooo, when’s the big day? I call being best man.” Snow’s panic must have showed, because Horangi chose that moment to saunter over with a shit-eating grin.

“Horangi I swear to God, you and I are gonna have words-“

“Oh, by the way Colonel König wants to see you, Snow. Good luck…” And with that he leaves doing only God knows what while humming something that sound similar with ‘Here Comes The Bride’, leaving Snow shuddered to imagine König’s reaction, quietly seething behind his closed office door no doubt.

She was so screwed.

How could she face him now without dying of mortification?

Steeling her nerves, Snow marched over and gave a tentative knock. At his gruff “Enter,” she slipped inside, bracing for the inevitable eruption. Instead she found König leaning back casually in his chair, staring at her with an amused glint that somehow wasn’t comforting at all.

“So Schatz , care to explain this intriguing post I saw over your break?”

Snow spluttered helplessly, launching into a garbled excuse about costumes and photoshoot as König watched with growing amusement. Finally he cut her off, standing to slowly circle her desk until she was caged between his arms.

“I see. Well since we’re apparently already engaged…” His predatory tone sent a shiver down her spine. “…We may as well have some fun with it, ja?” That’s when Snow knew she was absolutely fucked when she felt the cold feeling of metal on her ring finger. She sighed before replied back, fighting a smile of her own while mentally plotting Horangi’s demise.

“Of course, Sir”

=====

At the base, König went about his duties as usual. But come evening when things quieted, old habit drew him to Snow’s profile like a moth to flame when she was away from him. What he found made his breath catch.

There she was, his beautiful Schatz, beaming radiantly in white satin. Before reason could intervene, König double tapped to like the photo, mouth curving up at the image he hoped to see for real someday.

Unfortunately one certain meddlesome comrade had been watching too, ready to seize any opportunity. Not long after, a notification popped up on König’s phone – Horangi had tagged him in a comment on Snow’s post, congratulating them both excitedly.

On the one hand, he knew Snow too well, It was undoubtedly just an innocent tease on her part. But on the other hand, the thought of another man putting that gown on her, claiming HER as their wife... Makes König saw red. At that moment strange knot formed in his stomach as he studied the photo more closely than proper.

And then, an idea took hold that he might be able to use this amusing misunderstanding to his advantage…

=======

Phewww. I just done write this one a few weeks ago. Don't worry, I'll continue the other fic later but don't know when, since my right ear is getting worse and I might go seek medical treatment.

Also Love, Reblogged and Comment will be really appreciated!

[growth-crazy-girl]

Extreme Slime Expansion

Warning: Extreme Rapid Weight Gain Fantasy Scenario 😜

Ok I normally don’t do long form writing, but I wanted to put this somewhere lol. One of my biggest fantasies is myself being a slime girl with the ability to pump up humans with my slime. I’m not into NC so only if willing, but I’d wanna pump up a skinny girl hundreds and hundreds of pounds in a matter of minutes, and then some 🤤

I’d start by thickening her up all around, watching her skinny thighs fill out, her rear showing more definition, her breasts slowly becoming fuller and rounder, the rest of her body developing a layer of supple fat. My slime works as a biological imitator, so my cells instantly mutate to whatever host cells I want to replicate. In other words, her body is genuinely gaining all of this weight, and I can mold her in any way I want

First I’d concentrate my slime straight to her lower half. Rapidly her hips widen, her thighs thicken, her cheeks swell with pounds and pounds of fat and flesh, and her skin keeps up the pace, the volume and surface area of her ass increase exponentially. I push her up against the mirror so she can see how bottom heavy she’s becoming, going from “thick” to “bbw pear” to “cartoon mom” and beyond, dense fat packed into her hips and thighs and enormous cheeks

Next I’d focus on her belly, slime pumping into her pound after pound until her gut sprawls out before her, love handles turning into dense fat rolls, belly button swelling up on all sides and getting deep. I grab her hanging belly as it sags lower and jiggle it around. Still though it’s stuffed so full of fat and adipose that it extends out straight in front of her, and she moans feeling the vibrations jiggle through hundreds of pounds of new tissue across her body

Suddenly her boobs explode outward in size as I finally concentrate my full power on them, surging with glutted fat and newfound breast tissue. Rivers of slime can be heard forcibly gushing their way into the now ocean of titmeat. Of course I have to force a ton of slime into her nipples as well, swelling them up huge and hard, the size of an average girl’s dildo. Each boob rolls to the side of her gut, still riding as firm on her chest as possible at this size

As she blows through the entire alphabet of bra sizes and into the unknown, I can’t help but squeeze a few dozen collective pounds into fattening her fupa and entire vulva, giving her a wobbling, gravid pussy bigger than her head, and a clit bigger than a soup bowl

She must be, what, 600-700 pounds now? I can only imagine the mixture of fear and excitement she’d be feeling, knowing she let me make her as big as I wanted. Surely we must be done right? She can’t even see the mirror anymore! Little does she know we’re just getting started…

I broadened my slime flow to the rest of her body and begin pumping. Her only request was to maintain some semblance of mobility, and I planned to happily oblige.

Too much weight to carry? Slime poured into her muscles to beef them up, and she modifies her stance to accommodate the enormous amount of new muscle needed to keep her mountainous ass cheeks lofty and firm, to keep her legs from buckling under the sheer weight. Not enough structural integrity? Slime reinforces her bones, strengthens her joints and ligaments, adding even more fat and skin in the right places to maintain balance. Heart going to stop from pure insane obesity? The chambers of her heart suck up my slime like a sponge, becoming like biological steel. I’ll shape and mold her body in any way necessary to maintain every bodily function, maintain some human resemblance…. All so she can take more.

More fat. More slime. MORE.

I finally realize that she’s going to need more height and a larger frame overall or else the laws of physics will catch up with us, and so the massive pile of woman begins growing up as well as out in every direction.

Awww but now she’s not visibly getting much bigger! 20 pounds a second looks like nothing on her, and that’s no fun 😏 So I take a deep breath, enter her every remaining orifice, and make one final push

*GLUUUUUURGLRGLRGLRGLRG*

Her body sounds like a fire hydrant in reverse as hundreds of gallons of slime force there way into her mountainous form, instantly turning into flesh and bone and fat. Soooo much fat.

Finally I stop when I hit that magical number- 2000lbs. I can’t wait to tease her, “you literally weigh a ton, you’re literally as big as an elephant, it might take some getting used to, but you can walk waddle short distances!”

I stepped back to admire my handiwork. This gigantic blob of a once skinny woman had me drooling over her every roll and curve. I was particularly proud of her gargantuan ass cheeks that were each the size of a refrigerator, and yet miraculously didn’t touch the ground, instead perpetually wobbling and jiggling acting as a counterweight to the insane amount of flesh forced into her boobs, belly, and pussy.

“MMMMMMMMMM” I heard her moan as she tried to lean forward to rest on her boulder of a belly, “I’m soooooo hungryyyyyy”

I stood behind her, admiring that I could now see her enormous blubbery vulva, glistening and dripping as a testament to how horny and sensitive I’d made her

“Me too babe, me too 🥵🤤😋”

***Dont expect long form written content or stories from me like this in the future, this is a super rare occurrence 😜😜😜

[cuffmeinblack]

Idk if you’re taking requests but I have one and I’ve loved you’re writing for Ominis so let’s go!!

⚠️spoilers ahead just in case⚠️

I was wondering if you’d be willing to write an Ominis x fem!hufflepuff! Reader where they’ve liked each other but it all comes out before the Scriptorium mission. Like he tells the story on why he won’t use crucio and everything but when Sebastian uses the curse on her Ominis is the one to rush to her and help her. I just want fluff and love for this boy he needs more of it!!

I trust you to write this amazingly and please make whatever changes you’d like I’d just want this boy to be loved ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hold me close

Ominis Gaunt x gn!reader

Tags: angst | hurt/comfort | torture curse

1k words

A/n: Thank you for the request! This is a short little one shot rewrite of the In the Shadow of the Study quest so ⚠️SPOILER WARNING⚠️. Hope you like!

Quite how you ended up in Salazar Slytherin's secret Scriptorium with a couple of Slytherin boys was a mystery in itself, almost as baffling as the one presented directly in front of you. You'd left the cosy Hufflepuff common room only an hour ago, and now here you were, staring at a huge, ornate door decorated with serpents. Salazar Slytherin really liked snakes.

"That must be the voice I hear," Ominis says beside you. " I don't believe I'm about to do this."

Your heart flutters in your chest as you watch him approach the door and take a deep breath before speaking, if it could be called that—a quiet hiss escapes his lips. You jump back in astonishment as the mechanism on the door jumps to life, the eerie green glow of the serpents' eyes illuminating the dim corridor.

"Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed," you say, marvelling at him.

"Between the two of you, I'm starting to feel left out," Sebastian says from behind you.

"Between the two of us?" Ominis asks. If it weren't so dark, you'd swear he'd be blushing.

"I…never mind," Sebastian mutters.

You know what your friend means, but you squirm uncomfortably anyway. It's true, you both seem to have rare abilities that others might envy. You make quite the pair, though Sebastian was none the wiser of your mutual affection.

It isn't long before you encounter yet another locked door in this infernal maze. The floor is wet, the room smells dusky and damp, and you quickly notice the reason why. Following the scurrying of a rat in the corner, your illuminated wand shines on a skeleton in the corner of the room. You fight to hold back the bile rising in your throat. A scrap of paper draws your eye, slightly nibbled but still more or less intact, laying next to the long-decayed corpse. You reach down and pick it up with two fingers, your face twisting in disgust as you try to read the scrawled words.

"Ominis...your aunt Noctua…she mentions being trapped here. Blocked by an unforgivable curse," you say shakily.

Your gut twists with guilt, knowing that having agreed to talk to Ominis for Sebastian had doomed you all. You had wanted to help your friend, but you should never have agreed to it, and the pain on Ominis' face is more than you can bear.

"Ominis, I know this is the last thing you want to do…," Sebastian started.

"Yes, it is! I thought you knew me better!" Ominis shouted back.

Your immediate reaction is to go to him. You wish you could hold him, comfort him, instead you move slowly to his side, your hand reaching for his but falling short under Sebastian's watchful eye.

"Ominis," you whisper.

"I won't do it," Ominis says, shaking his head and beginning to pace nervously. "You shouldn't either."

"I understand, but it's our only way out of here. I can take it," you say, trying to keep the quavering from your voice. You muster the courage to reach out and grip his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Are you going to use the curse on Sebastian?" he asks in a small voice.

"I don't think I can."

Ominis grimaces as you leave his side, walking over to Sebastian by the door, steeling yourself for what's to come. You trust your friend not to prolong it longer than necessary. Balling up your fists, you nod and Sebastian readies himself, raising his wand and hesitating only for a second before expelling the dreaded incantation.

"Crucio."

A crackle of electricity ripples through your body and you see only a red haze before forcing your eyes shut and falling to the floor, gasping for breath. Your nerves are on fire, your very flesh feels as if it's burning as you try to scream but nothing comes out.

"Please, please," a faint voice enters your ears as the pain subsides and you open your eyes, staring at the floor as your vision readjusts to the assault on your retinas, the stones beneath you swimming back into focus. You take a deep breath and fill your lungs, desperately reaching out in front of you, clutching the first thing you feel.

You look up and Ominis is kneeling in front of you, holding your arm and feeling his way to find where you are. You start breathing shakily, trying desperately to catch your breath and feel wet, hot tears pooling in your eyes. Ominis' hands are shaking as they glide up your arms, over your shoulders and brushing your neck, finding your face. He cups your face in his hands, pausing as the tears roll over his fingers, then wipes them away gently. His face is contorted in pain as he asks, "Are you okay? Please, be okay."

"I'm okay," you manage to stutter.

Sebastian seems to be in shock, standing dumbly by the now open door, watching the interaction between his friends.

"I'm so sorry," he groans, leaning back against the wall.

"It's fine, you did what you had to do," you say weakly, attempting to get up off of the floor.

Ominis clutches your arms again, firmly, standing with you and steadying you as you wobble on your aching legs and stumble into him. He doesn't loosen his grip, only pulls you closer, looping an arm around your back and holding your weight.

"I've got you," the soft voice says in your ear.

You rest your head against his shoulder, his hand finding its way to the nape of your neck and gently stroking your hair.

"I…there's a room here…," Sebastian says feebly before retreating behind the door.

Ominis doesn't let you go, the shaking in his hands subsided, now replaced with a tender and assuredly comforting touch. You look up at him, his hands still tangled in your hair, and watch his closely knitted brows relax.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," he says.

"I'd do it again, for you."

[b00kdiary]

A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel

Alex was falling between worlds- falling through worlds- until she landed with Bryce someplace that was definitely not Hel.

And now there was a male before her, the most beautiful male she had ever seen and something other than fear sparked in her heart.

Wattpad & Ao3

CHAPTER ONE:

One moment Bryce and I were running toward the Gate, leaping through the Gate into the chasm of darkness beyond, Rigelus screaming at our backs.

And then the next we were falling.

Not through the worlds but across – as if some God had gripped us by our hair and yanked us sideways, pulling, pulling, pulling, our screams greeting nothing but stars and darkness and emptiness.

There was a pressure in my brain like someone had wrapped their hands around my throat and squeezed, a tightening that felt like fingers pressing down on my eyes to cave them in.

And so much screaming.

And then... grass.

I panted, a burst of pain lancing through my right shoulder as it collided with the ground, as it collided with the green grass below me. Though my head spun so wildly that for a second, I wondered if it was even real.

But I felt it, under my hands, beyond the Harpy's blood coating my palms and fingers, crusting under my nails- grass, dense and damp with condensation.

Hel had grass.

"Hel," I breathed, and it was pure panic that overrode the spinning in my mind, the pain in my body. Pure and undiluted panic as I realised where we had appeared, what likely prowled these lands. "Bryce-Bryce!"

My knees shook as I rose onto them, and I could feel my body begging me to stop- stop moving, stop fighting, just stop. But I didn't, couldn't, not as flashes of Hel's pets passed my mind's eye, those horrific creatures that had attacked Lunathion that day.

Deathstalkers, Kristallos demons- they would rip us to shreds before we even found Aidas.

"Bryce!" I called again- not too loud. I lifted my chin and I saw the Starsword, a few feet in front of me and then I glanced back- to where Bryce lay groaning on the floor. "Shit, shit-"

The air felt different here, thinner, and as I scrambled over to Bryce, half-crawling, half-stumbling, it took all my strength to make it those few feet before I dropped to my knees at her side.

"Alex," Bryce gritted her teeth as I rolled her onto her back, her tan skin ashen her body convulsing. Running from Rigelus's power, opening the Gate with the Horn, getting us both through to Hel- it was all too much for her.

"We need to go," Her amber eyes darted frantically, to and from my face to the darkening sky above. But even her hand clasping mine felt weak, and I knew that she was on the verge of passing out. "Death-deathstalkers, they'll kill us, Alex, we need to go."

"I know, I know," I rasped and something helpless burned behind my eyes as I held her hand, and watched her sneakers dig into the ground for leverage before giving out a second later. "We're not going to make it far with you like this Bryce, we need shelter, we need-"

The mists before us parted and the words died on my tongue as I beheld the land before me- beheld a sight of beauty. A flowing, crystal blue river, a lawn of verdant green grass, kept green grass, and beyond.

"A city," I gasped, and Bryce must not have heard me, not as she tried and failed to bend her knees under her. But I saw it, saw a city of stars and moonlight and prosperity, the kind that Ruhn had shown me pictures of when he had travelled across the Continents.

But there, through the mystified fog and past that winding river- movement. Demons of Hel.

"Bryce, I know you're tired, but you need to get up," I grab her limpening arm, tucking it against me and something twists in my gut at the wet feel of the Harpy's blood on her clothes and mine, the smell that thickened as I grabbed Bryce by the waist to haul her to her feet.

Her amber eyes opened; her head tilted back against my forearm blinking up at my face. And then her eyes widened.

"Alex-"

Too late.

Steel slid against my throat, cold and sharp and I froze.

A male spoke, like death incarnate against the shell of my ear, so close that I felt a tremor ripple across my skin. I didn't recognise the language, but with the hushed tone and the press of that blade against my carotid, I knew not to move.

I didn't even dare breathe.

Bryce grunted as she slipped from my grip and back to the grass, and as her eyes flashed to whatever demon stood behind me, I saw it in her face- her calling to her powers, just as I did now. But it splintered and cracked, shards slipping through my fingers.

I had nothing left to defend with, and if the dull star at Bryce's chest told me anything, it seemed we were out of luck.

That male voice spoke again, demanded something in that foreign tongue and when I still knelt on the ground, palms exposed, begging any who listened for even a flicker of magic to ignite in me, he growled.

Bryce gasped as his large hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I saw her fighting to rise as he hauled me up and twisted me to face him. "Don't fucking touch her."

But I didn't react. Not as I was met with something, unlike any demon I knew existed.

A male- the most beautiful male I had ever seen before. Golden skin, carved bone structure, raven hair. And those eyes were hazel, a sunburst of honey and whiskey, even if they seemed to gleam with violence.

The sight of him surprised me enough that I stumbled back a step and like the warrior he seemed to be, he reacted, his hand falling to my curved waist and gripping me. Something sparked, like a match being lit, at the touch.

And for a second, I think he felt it too, it seemed like those hazel eyes cleared and his tall, muscular form shivered at that spark. Just for a second and then it was gone.

He released my waist, instead wrapping his hand around my wrist, a glint of a blade shining in my peripheral. He spoke again, a quiet voice that seemed to hold no mercy. But I was dumbfounded as I stared at him.

The scale-like obsidian armour, crafted over acres of lean, corded muscle, and so tall I craned my neck to meet his eyes. And those wings, nothing like Hunt's, no, these were vast, black, leathery, tipped with talons that peered over his broad shoulders.

Hunt.

Ruhn.

Something squeezed in my chest and that beautiful face twisted, brows knitting and soft lips tilting down as tears filled my eyes.

"Take us to Aidas," I begged, and I couldn't stop how my body was shaking now. I glanced back at Bryce, braced on her palms and mascara running down her face- as if she too remembered all we had left behind. "Take us to Aidas, Prince Aidas!"

I couldn't stop the tears as they fell and when I jolted forward, curling my hands into the solid, intricate armour he wore, his eyes flashed in warning. But he didn't pull away. I leaned against him, knees near giving out and he seemed to recognise how desperate I was.

He spoke again, softer this time, that rough hand still holding my wrist.

"What the fuck is he saying?" Bryce choked, and I could hear rustling as if she was fighting with everything, she had in her to get up. I could practically hear her screaming in her mind get the fuck up.

"I don't understand, please, just take us to Prince Aidas. We came to Hel; we came for his help-"

"Hel?" He echoed the word sounding jumbled on his lips. I nodded frantically, my nails breaking against his armour, half my body flush against him now and he held my weight up with ease.

"Yes, yes, Hel!" I looked around, gesturing at the misty surroundings, the sky-scrapping trees, the darkening night sky, "What level? What Pit? What Chasm?" But my words seemed to just confuse him even more, dark brows furrowing.

My eyes screwed shut with frustration and I opened my mouth again, to repeat those same words, hoping this time something would click- and then I felt it, felt them.

"Fuck," I gasped, launching back, my fingers untangling from the male before me as I scrambled away. His hand- brutally scarred, I realised- squeezed, but when he saw the fear and panic sullying my eyes, he reluctantly let go.

And I inched back and back and back until I felt Bryce beside me- and she was shaking just as much as I was. Because stood behind that male, were three more... demons? No, no, Fae, two of them were Fae.

We were surrounded now, outnumbered.

"Shit, shit," Bryce hissed and when my eyes met hers, half-risen, legs knocking together as she tried to stand, I saw it on her face- we were fucked, royally fucked. "We can't fucking take them all."

I sucked in a shallow breath and with it, I steeled my spine and forced the alarm to clear from my face. The first male's eyes scrutinised me, observed as I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, refusing to cower- and I swear his lip tilted at the corner.

"Prince Aidas, we're looking for Prince Aidas," I looked past him, to the two Fae females, beautiful Fae females and another handsome male with wings standing beside them. "Is this Hel?"

One of the females stepped forward, petite in every sense of the word, her dark, cropped hair so at odds with the gleaming silver in her angular eyes- eyes that seemed to look over me, over Bryce, and narrow.

I didn't blame them. We were covered in blood, seeping through our clothes, sticking to our skin, coating our hands and neck, and speckled against our faces. Blood that was not ours.

The other male spoke, just as tall, if not taller than the first with those same hazel eyes and those dark, foreboding wings. He shook his head, long raven hair shifting from his bun, and I watched as the female beside him, pretty and fawn-haired, pursed her lips.

Bryce bared her teeth, red hair swinging in her ponytail as she stepped forward and I fought against my instinct to help, to grab onto her to stop her tumbling over. But we were the prey here, they were the predators and we had to do everything in our power to not become food.

"Is this world Hel?" Bryce asked and something shifted in the air at the sound of the Old Fae Language on her tongue, that petite female flinching at the words. "We need to see Prince Aidas."

The others gaped at the smaller female as if her shock was the most alarming thing about this situation. But I sagged in relief- finally, someone who fucking understood us. But that seemed secondary to her, as that female glanced from the Starsword on the floor at her feet to the first male's dagger at his side.

He slid it free, and it was as if someone had ripped the ground out from under our feet.

"Oh my fucking Gods," It was a twin to the Starsword, a mirror with its dark hilt and engraved blade. And Bryce's hand found mine, tugged me back with her as the Starsword began to glow, vibrating with white magic.

And almost as if in answer the dagger pulsed black.

It fell from the male's hand, alarm breaking through the pure ice hardening his eyes and I would have laughed under different circumstances- laughed at seeing these fully grown, powerful creatures flinching from these weapons.

Except I was fucking terrified too.

"Gwydion," The dark-haired female gasped, red-painted lips parting in shock as she stared down at the Starsword- known by a different name here, a name I had never heard before.

"Please, is this Hel?" I stumbled slightly over the language, unused to the mother tongue of the Old Fae, but still, I locked my intreating gaze onto that female and demanded again, "Is this Hel? We need to find Prince Aidas."

She pursed her lips and Bryce's nails dug into the skin of my palm, her body stiffening under that stare. She looked over us- the mess of make-up smeared across our faces, the clothes and shoes caked in blood, and the bruises and cuts looming over our skin.

So at odds with them, with their outdated attire. For some reason, I thought back to the old fantasy movies Danika used to drag me and Bryce to, just so she could laugh and throw popcorn kernels at the screen.

My heart burned in memory of her.

I saw a blare of blue, bright enough that it had me blinking through the tears that lined my eyes in memory of my friend. As the haze cleared, I locked onto that beautiful male and saw something solemn in his face- like he had felt my grief at that moment.

I didn't have the time to contemplate how.

"No one has spoken that language here in over fifteen thousand years," She spoke, tone clipped and chin high, "I do not know any Aidas here."

"Apollion then," I swallowed, and I felt Bryce sway beside me, hands rubbing at her face, muttering incoherently under her breath. "You must know the Prince of the Pit."

"I do not know of such people," She shook her head, her eyes weary and something in my chest caved, "This is not Hel."

This is not Hel.

Not Hel.

Where the fuck where we?

"Oh Gods," Bryce gasped and this time when she swayed again, I did hold onto her, wrapping her arm over my shoulder and baring her weight. I didn't let the calm mask I donned slip, didn't let them see me as anything other than strong. I couldn't afford to.

"Then where are we?" I asked, voice shaking as I looked between the two females, then the other swaggering male and then finally to the first. And my eyes now noticed the blue jewels embedded into his armour, blazing like sirens.

I locked my gaze on him and for some reason, whatever reason, I felt like he of all of them might take pity on us, have mercy on us. And I let him see that in me, that hope, strong enough that something unreadable whirled through his eyes.

"What world is this?" I breathed, just looking at him and I saw his throat work, that powerful body going unnaturally still. His lips parted as if to speak, but then something happened. I felt it again, that shift in time and space and air.

And then there were two more of them, two more Fae as if they had just appeared- from thin fucking air.

"How fucking many of them are there?" Bryce scoffed, and something like a chuckle rose in me, at how ridiculous this was, how unbelievable. Did the Gods truly hate us so fucking much?

I eyed the female first and watched her wade through the others to the front- lovely, fawn-haired, and her eyes a cloudy blue. They widened slightly at the sight of us, but they held little threat, only weariness.

And then two black, ominous wings erected high behind her, and the breath ripped from my lungs as a third male stepped out- midnight hair, and violet eyes, breathtakingly lovely.

"Ruhn?" My voice broke, and it was Bryce who had to hold me up now, had to keep me from falling to my knees at the sight of that male, so much like the Prince I had left behind on Midgard.

He blinked at me, likely as confused as I was.

And then he turned to the first male, the one with the scarred hands, and they spoke between them. Something almost akin to worry flickering through those hazel eyes as he watched me, the tears now leaking down my face, the haunted expression I wore.

"He-he looks like Ruhn," Bryce gasped, voice barely above a mutter and I heard the emotion clogging her words- for her brother, in the hands of the Asteri, so similar to this male that it physically made us hurt. "Why does he look Ruhn?"

"I don't know, I don't know-" Once the tears started it became hard to stop and Bryce, was beginning to sag in my arms, she was starting to drift in and out of consciousness now and I couldn't hold her for much longer I knew that.

"Please," I looked to the dark-haired female again, and I would be the prey, I would be food, I would chattel if it meant getting them to help us. "My sister is weak, she needs help and-and our world, our home... Midgard, it's in grave danger-"

Hunt, Bryce's mate. My friend.

Ruhn, Bryce's brother. My family and yet so much more.

"Don't- don't tell them anything, Alex," Bryce rasped into my ear, and I was starting to buckle now, teeth gritting as her body got heavier and heavier. "Don't tell-"

"Bryce!" She crumpled to the floor, and I fell with her, knees giving out, slamming into the grass hard enough that I felt the pain through every inch of my body. The Fae before us seemed to startle, but only the first male stepped forward, grass crunching under his boots.

Scarred hands reaching out as if to catch us. Catch me.

"I don't have any magic left, it's-it's depleted, more than depleted," Bryce rested her sweating forehead against my shoulder, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste metal as her eyes fluttered.

"Mine too," I whispered back, and the muttering amongst the others told me they were confused, that us speaking in our native tongue did not sit well with them. They didn't like not knowing what we were saying. "It's going to take a long time for it to come back, we need them to not kill us before then."

"C'mon Alex," Bryce lifted her eyes to mine, dry amusement in them, "Flutter those lashes and throw them a pretty smile, works with the males back home."

Their muttering got louder, and more voices joined in.

"These definitely aren't the males from home," I scoff- only Bryce could make a snarky quip at a time like this. "We don't have this kind of eye candy back home."

"Speak for yourself," Bryce's lip tilted. "Hunt Athalar happens to be my mate."

Her mate. I felt her chest seize in memory of him.

And it's that, that awful hurt in her eyes that makes me exhale with resolve. I draw on every ounce of exhaustion and pain and suffering we had endured these last few days, these last years- and I look back to those Fae with unveiled desperation.

"Please," I say again, and when I picture Ruhn and Hunt, when I picture our parents and our friends, my tears become real, "You have to help us."

The dark-haired female seemed to translate my words to the others, and something almost softened across their faces- kind, these people, they seemed kind. The fawn-haired female, who I noticed had a tapestry of dark whirls tattooed up her right arm, smiled sadly at me and spoke.

"She wants to know your name," the petite one relayed.

I could taste the salt of my tears in my mouth and my throat worked as I searched across all those lovely faces. I stopped at the first male, something tugging at me, an incessant throb that only settled when my eyes found him again.

There was a tense silence as we stared at each other, my arms wrapped around Bryce, holding her weak body to mine, no longer able to open her eyes much less speak. The male saw that, saw that we weren't a threat, at least not right now, and he dipped his head in the barest nod.

As if to say- we won't harm you.

"I'm Alexis Quinlan," I met those violet eyes and tried not to shudder at the thought of Ruhn. I cleared my throat, looking down at Bryce in my embrace, her chest rising and falling- just barely. "This is my sister, Bryce Quinlan."

"Hello, Alexis Quinlan," He stepped forward, a small smile tilting at his gorgeous face and the sound of the Old Language on his tongue was as glorious as night and space itself. "I'm Rhysand."

One moment, Rhysand was smiling and then the next something wholly dark and terrifying eclipsed us.

And then there was nothing but oblivion.

***

Alexis Quinlan- that's what Rhysand said she introduced herself as.

Even the sound of her name made something in my chest spark, a call in answer to her.

I felt as if I knew her somehow, felt as if we had met before- it was that feeling that stopped me from sliding Truth-teller into the junction of her throat when I found her earlier. It was the shiver that ran down me when I grabbed her waist that made me stop.

Made it impossible for me to harm her despite every instinct in me screaming that she was a stranger, a threat against this Court, against my family, against everything I held dear.

Even if another instinct in me whispered that she was anything but.

"Azriel," Rhysand's voice broke through the wall of confusion and intrigue that had erected the moment I laid eyes on her, and it took all my power to slide my gaze to his and look unfazed. "What are you thinking?"

I glanced at where the two females lay, nestled together on the small cot, faces calm as they slumbered. My lips pursed at the first female, Alexis, and the blood that caked her- matted in her long, chocolate hair, crusting against her tawny skin, staining the tight, unusual clothes she wore.

Not a threat and yet she was covered in blood that was not hers.

"They said they came from another world- Midgard- how?" I forced away the incessant thoughts of her, jaw locking as my shadows danced across my form- whispering, whispering, whispering, just about her. "They possess Gwydion but seemed surprised by Truth-Teller."

My hands clenched at my sides; the dagger sheathed at my hip no longer pulsing with that dark, unnatural energy in answer to Gwydion. It was alarming, seeing the blade I had cherished and wielded for so many years suddenly become unfamiliar to me, become other.

"She said their world was in grave danger, that they needed help," Amren mused, her slender arms folding over her chest as she stood beside me and Rhysand, her eyes assessing those females with lethal scrutiny. "Who's to say whatever they fear hasn't followed them straight to us, if the danger even exists."

I thought back to first discovering them- weak, no power left in them, if they had any at all and she had cried- amber eyes welling with tears as she held onto me. I felt it as sure as if it were my own, her grief, her desperation.

It had felt real.

"They did not seem disingenuous," Rhysand's violet eyes moved between Amren and me, the cavernous walls so at odds with the stars in his eyes but seemed to match perfectly with his deep-set frown. "And if they were going to attack, would they not have taken their chances against Azriel, before reinforcements arrived?"

"Whatever they endured has left them defenceless, they couldn't have taken Azriel even if they wanted to," Amren examined her sharp, glistening nails, her tone almost bored, "Wake them Rhysand, all these assumptions are pointless. We need them to tell us the truth."

It seemed unlikely they would tell us anything, not willingly, not if the way Alexis had steeled her spine and raised her chin as my court surrounded her was any indication. And her sister, Bryce, had bared her teeth, enough ire in her eyes to translate the curses that fell from her lips.

These were not weak females, not feeble by any account. My power seemed to rally at that reminder, that they were the enemy until proven otherwise. And as Rhysand let a wave of his magic brush over them, pulling them free from their unconscious- I let my mask slip back into place.

Shadowsinger. Spymaster. Darkness incarnate.

The females stirred, dark lashes fluttering and the three of us braced ourselves as they both sucked in sharp, lungfuls of air and shot up. Bryce, red hair swinging violently, and teeth bared, reached back- for Gwydion- and her painted nails met nothing but air.

But the other female, Alexis, sprung out of the cot and to her feet- but she didn't reach for a weapon. No, my brows rose as her hands curled, palms exposing and- nothing. Nothing came from it.

"She reached for her magic, but there isn't anything left," Rhysand muttered, interest lacing his tone and I nodded gravely in agreement, watching her breath stutter from her in realisation. "They have power, enough that it's her first instinct to call for it."

"And they're trained," I said lowly, watching their eyes flicker over themselves, over each other, and the cavernous walls that surrounded them. "The sister went for Gwydion first, and now they're assessing the space- these are no novices."

Their eyes slid to us as if knowing we spoke about them. And rightfully so fear crept up their faces as they took in the scene, the three of us, the cell they were trapped in and not a weapon or a speck of magic left in them.

The grate behind us hissed and Alexis groaned, muttering something in her language, amusing enough that the female behind her cracked a dry smile. They shifted to stand before the cot, their eyes unflinching upon us.

Rhysand stepped forward and I didn't miss how Alexis stiffened and shifted in front of Bryce- her protector perhaps? Or maybe whatever they were, she thought her sister's life more valuable than her own.

Rhysand spoke in that Old Fae language, translating mind to mind. His hand extended, wreathed in stars and moonlight, two small beans lying in his palm. "Here, swallow this and it will translate our mother tongue to you, allow you to speak it too."

Bryce scoffed, looking at the bean as if it were a vial of poison. My head cocked when Alexis folded her arms across her chest, her dark brow raising at Rhys and she spoke, something sardonic crossing her lovely face.

Rhys laughed- and I glanced at him in surprise. Even Amren's lip quirked at the corner.

"She said," Rhysand's eyes met mine and danced with enough amusement that my shadows hushed, "That she doesn't swallow- no matter how nicely a pretty male may ask."

I chuckled quietly at that, and something akin to approval hummed in my chest as my gaze shifted to hers. And it blared brighter when she tilted her chin in challenge, every inch of her soft body turning still at my attention.

"If we were going to kill you, we wouldn't need to use poison," Amren drawled, Rhysand translating again. The females met each other's eyes and Bryce said something, something that made Alexis flash her a smile- a devastating smile.

Bryce's hand trembled barely as she plucked the beans from Rhysand's palm, careful not to touch him and there was silence as they slipped it between their parted lips, grimacing as they swallowed it dry.

They gasped- in pain I realised, and it became increasingly difficult to stay rooted in place as they bucked, as she writhed, body convulsing, eyes screwed shut. I gritted my teeth as Bryce slumped back onto the bed, reeling, Alexis now bracing her palms against the cave walls to keep herself steady.

"If you were trying to hurt us a fucking knife would have done the job just as well," Alexis scowled, panting as she held the wall. My shadows skittered at the sound of her voice- soft and melodic to my ears.

"Poison might have been better than... whatever the fuck that was," Bryce said, husky voice half-muffled by the hand at her mouth as if she was forcing down bile - an answer to the pain that had thrashed her insides apart moments before.

"My apologies," Rhysand smiled, sounding anything but apologetic and their eyes narrowed as if they knew that. "But the language barrier was growing tedious, wouldn't you say?"

Bryce mumbled something incoherent, and we watched as she rose to her feet again, both their faces tight with discomfort as they steadied themselves, standing side by side as they had before and faced us.

They wanted answers as much as we did it seemed.

"You said your names were Alexis and Bryce Quinlan," Amren took a step forward, and her gaze slid over them, unimpressed. But to their credit they didn't baulk, if anything Alexis mirrored that look, taking in Amren's clothes with veiled humour. "You say you came from another world- if you are to be believed, how did you come here? Why?"

"Where is here?" Bryce swallowed, gaze flickering over the space again, "What world is this?"

"Why do you speak the Old Language?" Amren argued, eyes narrowing.

"Why do you?" Bryce countered, jerking her chin and Alexis rolled her pretty eyes, already tired of the back and forth- it nearly made me smile.

"Why are you covered in blood that is not your own?" Amren's red lips tilted into a cruel smile and- silence. They didn't speak for several moments.

And then something else overtook them. Panic overtook them. They looked down at the blood, covering them and whatever had happened, whatever they endured at home, those memories came back with a vengeance.

Bryce began to hyperventilate, her breath sawing in and out and she looked around the room, eyes wide, as if the walls were beginning to close in.

"Bryce," Alexis grabbed her sister's hand, silver-lined her eyes as she looked at her, "Bryce, don't think about it, don't think about them, please Bryce-"

"We won't harm you," Rhysand frowned, and they seemed to realise the comfort in the words, and the warning too. My throat worked, my head spinning with so many thoughts as she grabbed her sister's hand, anchoring her, and met our eyes again.

"What world is this?" Alexis demanded, and I could see it, as she looked at us one by one, the power she might wield, the magic lying dormant in her veins. She looked to Amren, unafraid. "You said no one has spoken the Old Language here in fifteen thousand years. Why?"

"How did you come to be in possession of the lost sword Gwydion?" Amren countered and this time Alexis bared her teeth, sharp canines exposing with a soft snarl. That sound glided down my spine and over my wings.

"I thought we agreed that we didn't want to have tedious conversations?" She said, and Amren's smile broadened- as if recognising a worthy opponent. "Or should we keep asking each other questions while giving no fucking answers?"

"You mean the Starsword?" Bryce rasped, giving a hint of an answer- but none of us spoke. Her eyes rolled, a mirror to the face her sister had made minutes ago, and she sighed. "It's a family heirloom, It's been in our world since our ancestors brought it over...fifteen thousand years ago."

Alexis met Amren's eyes, and something whirled in them, something sarcastic- as if to say see, that's called answering the fucking question.

My shadows crooned at that look.

"How did you find this world?" Rhysand asked, and rightfully so, they both seemed uneasy in his presence, seemed to recognise that he was in charge.

"We didn't," Alexis sighed, "Like we said: we wanted to go to Hel. We landed here instead."

"How?" Rhysand's voice sharpened and they both grimaced at the sound that came hissing from the grate, as if sensing their High Lord's anger and pleading for a taste.

"How much do you wanna bet they're gonna feed us to whatever the fucks hissing in there?" Bryce mused, wincing at the sound and Alexis nodded, looking at the grate with dread.

"We're not exactly the most palatable females, Bryce," Alexis tucked her long, dark hair behind an arched ear and chuckled wryly, talking as if we weren't even here, "Maybe it'll taste the sarcasm in our blood and be uninterested?"

She quirked a brow, teasing her sister- at a time like this they were teasing each other.

"I can assure you that that they don't discriminate," I flashed my teeth in a wicked smile, and Alexis's eyes locked with mine at the sound of my quiet tone, hands clenching at the cruel amusement in my eyes. "They like the taste of a pretty female, sarcastic or not."

She sucked in a shallow breath at that, her shapely chest rising and falling in waves as she stared at me. There was silence, and I knew the others were looking at us, between us, sensing the battle of wills that raged.

"Look, I just watched my mate and my brother get captured by a group of intergalactic parasites," Bryce snarled, and I straightened at the anger in her voice. "We have no interest in doing anything except finding a way to help them."

Her brother. Not our brother.

I narrowed my eyes and looked between them then- they didn't look remotely alike that much was obvious, nor did they smell alike, their blood completely different. Sisters, but not by blood, sisters in the same way that Rhysand and Cassian were my brothers.

"Explain." That's all Amren said. And they looked at each other, seemed to read the words on each other's faces and then turned back to us and said nothing. Amren sighed, "Just look into their minds already, Rhys."

"Don't even think about it," Alexis hissed, angling herself before her sister again and she glared at Rhysand with true terror in her eyes. A mirror to how Bryce looked at him.

"I do not pry where I am not willingly invited," Rhysand said quietly, his face not yielding even an inch of how he felt. Bryce's eyes narrowed, and Alexis showed another sarcastic smile.

"Gods be good, there are some decent males left in this galaxy," She drawled, utterly unimpressed, "However may we thank you for not invading our minds and rifling through them. Should we bow in the face of such virtue, Bryce?"

"It's definitely something to revere," Bryce looked at her sister, and chuckled, "A male with a code of mind-speaking ethics."

Rhysand paused, entertained if the constellations in his eyes told me anything. And even I fought back my astonishment, my smile, surprised by these females.

"Then we'll have to rely on your words," Rhysand grinned, snapped his fingers, and then settled onto one of the three chairs that appeared behind us, crossing an ankle over a knee.

"I was wrong before Bryce, these males are just like the ones back home," Alexis muttered, rolling her eyes at Rhysand's dramatics, before dropping onto the cot behind her with a sigh. "Beauty and arrogance, nothing new here."

Bryce fought a smile, sitting beside her sister, so close their thighs brushed, as if needing the other for comfort, for support.

"Amren," Rhysand smiled lazily at the frowning female, gesturing to the chair and then to me, "Azriel." I dropped onto the chair, tucking my wings behind me, and bracing my arms on my knees.

Her eyes were on me. As if hearing my name had the same effect as when I had heard hers.

"You say your sword has been in your world for fifteen thousand years?" Rhysand asked, and if I knew Rhys then he was more than pleased that she thought him beautiful, liked that she considered him arrogant.

My stomach lurched at the thought for some reason, her thinking him beautiful. I shoved it down, deep within me, not daring to think of it again. Think of why I even cared.

"Brought by our ancestors- Queen Theia or Prince Pelias, depending on what propaganda you hear." Bryce said a shade hesitantly, but upon seeing Amren stiffen, seeing her react, her brow rose, "You know of them?"

"No one has spoken those names here in a very, very long time," Amren swallowed, and Rhysand had gone still- if Amren was worried, then we all should be. "They once dwelled here."

"So, this is it, this is where we- the Midgard Fae- came from," Alexis was breathless, like the piece of the puzzle they had been missing slid into place. "Our ancestors left this world and went to Midgard, but we forgot where we came from."

Rhysand looked at me and I shook my head, lips pursing, never before heard of such stories involving our people migrating through worlds. But then he looked to Amren- and Cauldron, she looked shaken.

"It's murky, I went in before-" Amren glanced to the girls and didn't continue that sentence, "But when I came out there were rumours- many people vanishing, some said to another world, others said they'd moved to distant lands, rumours that they had been chosen by the Cauldron and spirited away."

Something cold lit through me at her words, getting colder still when Amren lifted her eyes and sharpened them upon the females. "What I want to know is why you came here when you meant to go elsewhere?"

"Join the line, Amren," Alexis said, biting down on her name sharply. She wasn't afraid, stupid, or brave, I couldn't tell but my shadows seemed to enjoy it all the same. "We want to know the same thing- we have no desire to be here."

"You wish to go to Hel," Rhysand said, not a shift in his tone, "To find this Prince Aidas."

At his question, they again glanced at each other and knew just from each other's faces, their eyes, what to do. It was intrinsic, just as I was with my brothers, on killing fields, in council meetings, in situations of peril, I could see exactly what my brothers thought just from something as simple as a blink.

"Allow me to lay out the situation for you, Bryce and Alexis Quinlan," Rhysand leaned forward, and they both met his stare- warriors, fighters, survivors, that's what I saw in them. "We will not torture you or pry into your mind. If you choose to talk or not, is indeed your choice."

"Let me guess," Alexis cocked her head, silken hair sliding over her shoulder as she met those star-flecked eyes, "Just like it's your choice to leave us down here to rot. Until these four walls drive us fucking crazy and we have no choice but to tell you whatever you want."

"That's torture, isn't it, Alex?" Bryce mused sarcastically, her brows furrowing in faux perplexion.

"Yes, it is, Bryce," Alexis drawled, locking her ankles and meeting Rhysand's gaze again, "Chivalrous torture though- because you know, they have a code to follow after all."

Cauldron, under different circumstances these females, I think I would rather like them. Rhys seems to share my sentiment, a rumble of laughter dancing through my mind. Rhys smiled- and snapped his fingers. In an instant, they were clean- of blood, of gore, of whatever else they had been coated in.

Beautiful. That's the word that sprang to me first at the sight of her, just beautiful.

"To incentivise you," Rhys gave a half smile, more menacing than anything else. Another shared glance between the girls and then a defeated sigh.

"The Asteri are ancient, tens of thousands of years old and they arrived in our world fifteen thousand years ago," Bryce said, and something sullen flashed through her eyes, as if in memory.

"What do you mean by arrived?" Rhysand pushed.

"Honestly, we have no idea how they first got to Midgard." Bryce shrugged and Rhysand's face softened at the agony in her eyes, her scent turning cold, as if she could still feel them, whatever they were.

"The history has spun them as liberators, they found Midgard little more than a backwater planet inhabited by humans and animals and they created a perfect empire- a place where creatures and races from other worlds came to through a giant hole called the Northern Rift." Alexis continued, frowning, "It now only opens to Hel, but it used to open to everywhere, anywhere."

"What happened when these creatures arrived from other worlds?" Rhysand asked, his voice tight now.

"The official history is that Hel tried to invade Midgard but the Asteri in all their glory unified these people under one banner and banished the Princes back to Hel. The Northern Rift was fixed, with its destination set on Hel. A massive wall was built to keep out any demons that come through the cracks and the Asteri's indomitable empire lives happily ever after."

"And the unofficial history?" Rhysand asked, a shade more quietly.

Alexis looked at her sister, saw the question in those eyes- and then nodded, solemnly. Bryce turned back to us, bracing herself with a shaky inhale and exhale.

"The Asteri are ancient, immortal beings who harvest off the magic of a world, of its people and then eat it. We call it firstlight, it fuels our world. We're required to hand it over when we reach immortality, we seize our full power through a ritual called the drop and they siphon off pieces of it- like a tax on our magic."

"A tithe," Amren gasps- I've never heard Amren gasp before, even Rhysand looks alarmed by the soft sound. They furrow their brow but when Amren doesn't continue, Alexis swallows, continuing the tale.

"Midgard is one of many in a long line of worlds invaded by the Asteri. They have an entire archive full of planets they've conquered or tried to conquer- we saw it before we came here." Alexis clenched her eyes shut, haunted by the memory, "There were only three planets that managed to kick their asses to the curb- Hel, a planet called Iphraxia, and a world occupied by Fae, the original Starborn Fae."

"My sword- you know it by a different name," Bryce looked to Amren, who nodded slowly, "I think it came from this world- was forged here. It was a part of your history and then vanished, right? Hasn't been seen in fifteen thousand years? It lines up with the timeline of the Starborn Fae arriving in Midgard."

Worry- it bloomed over us, all of us like a phantom touch. And something uneasy furled in my gut, the way these females had appeared, the light and dark call and answer between Gwydion and Truth-teller- it was not right.

"We learned that long before the Asteri found Midgard, they were here- but you kicked them out, you defeated them," Alexis's face turned pleading then, desperate, "How? How did you defeat them?"

"Our history doesn't include any such event like that," Rhysand said- but the look he gave Amren, spoke of something more.

"The Asteri remember you- and they're pissed off," Alexis scoffed, and my shadows lurched at her words, at the threat these Asteri posed. "Rigelus, their leader, basically said it's his personal mission to find this place and fucking destroy it. You're number one on his list."

Alexis trembled as she said his name- Rigelus, and her scent darkened in fear, in repulsion. And something awful rose in me at the smell, at whatever he had done to make her shake that way- something dark and terrible and deadly.

"It is our history, Rhysand," Amren said gravely, and we both went still, "But the Asteri were not known by that name- we called them the Daglan." I jolted, wings rustling, and Rhysand's face turned ashen, golden skin leeching of colour.

Cauldron fucking spare us, the Asteri are the Daglan.

"How did you defeat them?" Alexis tried again, hope beaming in her eyes now, "Do you have any record about how they fell?"

"Nothing beyond old songs of bloody battles and tremendous losses," Amren frowned, and that hope, fuck, it dimmed and dimmed and then completely vanished from her eyes.

"You think that these Asteri want to come back here for revenge?" Rhys asked, shaking his head like he didn't quite believe it. "After fifteen thousand years?"

"These are petty, arrogant bastards, fifteen thousand years is like five minutes when it comes to Rigelus when it comes to his revenge," Alexis said, her face twisting with ice, "He has infinite time and resources to-"

"What resources?" Rhysand cut in, and now, there was not an inch of amusement to be seen on his face. No, his High Lord's instinct had taken over.

"I don't even know where to start explaining it," Alexis shook her head, looked at her sister, frowned and then turned back to us, reaching out a small, shaking hand to Rhys. "I'll show you."

That darkness twisted in my gut again, at the thought of his hand touching hers. I thrust it down with the other ludicrous emotions and thoughts that plagued me.

"One moment," Rhys frowned, knowing better than to fall so easily into a trap. He vanished, and an emotion akin to relief filled me, as she lowered her hand back to her lap with a dazed blink.

"You can teleport here?" Bryce asked, but not really asking.

"We call it winnowing," Amren said, and my lip tilted at their reactions. "Can you two, do it?"

Another short glance- and two heads shaking no. My smirk widened.

"No," Alexis squared her shoulders, meeting my eyes and raising a brow at me, "There are only two Fae who can."

"On your entire planet?" Amren started, "Only two?"

Liar- I let her see that word in my eyes, even as she bared her teeth slightly at me, before turning away, dismissing me.

"Let me guess," Bryce smiled barely, "You have more?"

"Only the most powerful, but yes. Many can here." Amren's words cut off as Rhysand appeared between us again and I lifted a brow at what he held between his hands. "The Veritas Orb?"

"Hold it, think of what you want to show us, and the memories shall be captured within for us to view." Rhysand nodded to the orb at his feet. The girls frowned, muttered something, a word I didn't understand- camera- I think and then nodded in resolve.

Alexis rose on stiff legs, tugging at her clothes almost subconsciously, and no one spoke as she waded forward on silent feet. She paused before it, glanced at Rhysand, then Amren and then me- I tried not to appear like I wanted to kill her.

She bent down, short fingers curling around the orb and my throat worked at the slip of flesh that was revealed as she leaned forward, my eyes averting away from the display of golden skin and full breasts.

She rose, top mercifully slipping back into place and my eyes met hers- they danced with humour, knowing what I had seen, knowing that I had chosen to look away. My shadows flanked me excitedly, even as my face remained a sheet of darkness.

"Here goes nothing," She muttered, stepping back and then she closed her eyes and held that ball. It was a few seconds, if not more, before she fluttered her dark lashes, and then rolled the ball back to Rhysand.

He picked it up, touched the top and everything, all the horrors within began to play out.

Dread, pure fucking dread lined us all.

"Guns," Bryce said pointing to a human man holding some sort of weapon in his hands, hitting a target from miles away. "Brimstone missiles." A furious explosion, a flash of blinding white light and then... everything was in ruin, rubble. "Omega-boats." Some sort of underwater ship, with more of those weapons within.

"Asteri." Alexis breathed and when the male came onto the screen, dark-haired and gangly, she looked away, couldn't face him even in her own memories. And as a white-hot power blasted from him, shattering stone and glass and everything in his way, I could see why.

"You live in such a world?" Rhysand swallowed thickly, and they just nodded. "And they wish to bring all those things here?" Another grim nod.

Her eyes were on me, observing me but I didn't meet them, pushed the feel of them away. I stared at that orb, at the horror shown within and I knew that we were fucked, that against those monstrosities, Prythian would stand little chance.

Guns, missiles, omega-boats, the Asteri- it would be a catastrophe beyond anything that the Hybern war had seen.

"Bryce-" Her voice shook suddenly, panicked and my gaze tore from that orb. To where the other female hunched and groaned- to where her back glowed- "Bryce- Bryce, stop!"

Rhysand's magic pulsed and so did mine- and before they could strike, I lunged.

"Stay the fuck away from her!" Alexis snarled as I stood before them, Truth-teller in my hand, poised to attack. I inched closer- but then that darkness began to leak from the blade again, and I stopped at the sight.

"Put it away," Amren hissed, "It sings for her, and by bringing it close-" It was gone whisked away by my shadows within a blink.

Alexis glowered at me but then she turned and met her sister's pale face and concern softened her expression. But that light still pulsed- bright, shimmering, iridescent- and the panic in both their eyes, told us everything they had tried to hide.

"The glowing letters inked on her back," Amren muttered, Rhys stood by my side now, watching those closely, "They're the same as those in the Book of Breathings."

They seemed to notice the shift in the air, the power rumbling through the stone and the way they stared back, the way she stared back, told me that they wouldn't go down easy.

"Explain or die." 

____________________________

A/N:

HERE WE HAVE IT, CHAPTER ONE OF MY AZRIEL FANFIC!

This is a little sneak peek into what's to come but if you want to read the rest of this fanfic I am uploading it on Wattpad and AO3 (linked) My Wattpad handle is @itzwhatever and my ao3 handle is @b00kdiary

So excited to continue this story, I've been thinking about it for MONTHS.

@hellodarling1357 @charlineraven @starrystarkey93 @mockingjaytributes @nelapeach14 @alessiazeni @bishhh2003 @impossibelle @firebreathingbishqueen @lovely-susie @sarawritestories @hellowinterlane @minnieoo @charlineraven @acotarfics-mharmie009

[quecksilvereyes]

oh, sister, I am sorry. your eyes are sunken and your skin is bruised. your lips are chapped, your nailbeds bitten raw. your husband's hand on your waist is a ghost's touch held by the band on your left ring finger and I-

I am dead.

I got on the train, Su. Nevermind your tears, nevermind the plea you could not shape with words, nevermind your fingers on the pulse point of my wrist. "stay", you'd said, as you have always done, dictionary in hand and baby teeth yet lodged in your jaw. "don't go where i cannot."

I step through a wardrobe and you follow, damned be reason. I slay a wolf and you follow, I cling to the little ones and you follow, I am crowned and you follow, I am-

I go past a lamp post, and you follow, damned be dread. I go to a train station and you follow, trembling hands and tender heart. I go, and I go, and I go, and you follow. Sun of my skies. Light of my life.

I go. you stop.

are we too old for stories, now? ten-and-four and ten-and-three, budding bodies and steel bones, we are cast from our home. i hold the little ones until i drown in them. you grip your skirts until no iron can press the shape of your palms from them. and you have ever been, cruelly reasonable and logically callous.

say you, glass shard eyes and rouge-red lips: we are english. we are children. she thinks she has found a magical land in the upstairs wardrobe.

say I, trembling hands and coiling guts: we are narnian. we are monarchs. if she's not mad and she's not lying, then logically she must be telling the truth.

my sister Susan, beautiful as folk tales are and twice as sharp, did you intend every invitation you took for me to twist the knife a godly animal once thrust into my guts? perhaps it was the way your eyes turned blue, or the sound of your laughter losing its bells. perhaps it was just my trembling fingers at the back of your legs, drawing stocking lines where no stockings had ever lain.

the line came out shaking, and you rubbed it off until your skin cried red. the hem of your dress still dripped wet when you left that day, turning on heels too narrow for you to walk in.

do you remember? it took you days to come home, and mother wailed for all of them. you crawled into my bed that night, as you did when we were parents to our little ones, those terrible months. your head on my shoulder, your breath in my ear, I held you until morning.

your mouth in my throat, eyes heavy with sleep, tongue heavy with champagne: we are here now. we must make the best of it. he cannot have all our lives, and all our joys. i wish you would laugh again.

doesn't little lucy, shrieking mouth and tumbling legs, laugh enough for us all?

lucy's manic. if she didn't laugh she'd cry.

i think sometimes, in the parts of my guts that are still a schoolboy, and are mean and cruel to match, that the alcohol makes you softer than the daylight ever could. i do not tell you.

i press my lips to your forehead. i wrap my arms around you. the year between us rings heavy, and when I get up in the morning, you do not follow.

I tried, Su. I did. I applied for university, I saw that girl with that smile. with those eyes. I let you take sections from the paper before I ever touched it, I held the little ones in my arms, and I made coffee in the morning. I sat all my exams.

I smiled when the little ones came back smelling of home.

Aslan's wounds, did I try. but-

I have ever been a thing made for stories. brave the way knights are, bloody knuckles and buckling pride. a horse between my calves, a sword in my hands.

I think, sometimes, that I was born for my sword, for the hollow ringing of my heart when I first held it. a part of me, even then, ten-and-three and soaked to the bone.

such bravery is not made for real world boys and real world taunts. there is a map, I think, from the summits of my knuckles to the jaws of every boy who ever looked at me and bared his teeth.

I am sovereign. I am the skies for your sun to burn in.

I am made wrong, for this england, and I cannot take this life you want. I belong, I think, into myths and legend, the star-studded shards of our home.

so I went on the train, Susan. so I died, and I named what you have chosen. so I banned you from their scorning mouths. so you grip your husband's hand, realest of us all, and you cry. you do not follow.

Forgive me.

[buttclench-ryugazaki]

picture this: after maya takes her position as master of the kurain channeling technique the kurain village elders immediately start pressuring her to get married and produce an heir, an idea she's opposed to. she'd already resolved to ascend to master years ago meaning she's thought long and hard about which traditions she'd work to keep and which to discard. she is not going to let things like established main and branch families tear her clan apart like it did with her mother and aunt. but maya is smart and knows that this is a matter of village politics that she must be strategic about. tradition doesn't change overnight and as the young and newly-appointed master, she doesn't actually have that much sway. outright defiance won't work. so she negotiates and goes along with taking a spouse so long as she alone gets to pick regardless of the elders' approval.

said spouse has to fit a number of criteria: 1) they would need to not have an ego and be secure enough in their own life to be okay with holding no power within the village. be it because they'd be a man living in a matriarchal community or because maya would always outrank them regardless of gender. 2) they would have to be keen on living in a rural, traditional japanese-style town in the mountains. 3) they are not precious or sentimental about the concept of marriage and would not be offended by maya's pragmatism. 4) loyal to maya and would not defer to the village elders; in fact, someone who isn't afraid to put foolish old people in their place, obligatory respect for seniors be damned, would be helpful. more importantly, the blatant disregard would be REALLY funny. 5) needs to be able keep up with maya's steel samurai obsession. 6) ideally they should be someone crazy enough to accept maya's proposal merely because she had the guts to ask

somehow, on maya's shortlist of eligible candidates from her and phoenix's inner circle, the most fitting one is the twisted samurai simon blackquill of all people. and thus on her next trip to the city, she plans to drop by the prosecutors' office to make one very odd request

[chahnniesroom]

tenderness | chapter 8: all fall down

[noun] /ˈtendərnəs/

1. the quality of being gentle, kind, or loving

2. the feeling of pain, aching, or soreness

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in a world where soulmates are rare and precious, you don’t know why the universe has decided to give you one. you never could have imagined that they would be an idol, and one that you worked with at that, or the challenges that would arise from your bond.

chapter word count: 4.1k

chapter warnings: injury, blood, sasaeng fans

a/n: i am not a doctor and i did minimal research on anything medical related

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter | read it on ao3

Over the past few years, Chan has grown relatively used to large crowds. At concerts and events, he’s excited to have the chance to see so many faces and hear their cheers. So when their security team warns them that the airport is much busier than usual and to take extra care about sticking together, he takes it in stride and doesn’t think too much of it. The group is in varying states of tiredness and everyone just wants to get home. Airport crowds are a nuisance, but nothing new. 

They file out of the plane and line up before they reach the public area. Seungmin is leading the way, Chan is last as usual, and Jisung is sandwiched between Changbin and Minho near the back. A few staff pad the front and back of the line while security surrounds the whole group.

The second that the doors open, they’re subjected to the roar of the crowd that gets even louder when they spot them. Even with headphones in, Chan blanches at the sudden increase in noise and is thankful that his mask probably covered most of his reaction. It seems that the amount of people that usually greet them at the airport has more than doubled and they’re all desperate for an interaction. It's a cacophony of fans calling out their names, love declarations, and screams that make it hard to think.

Ahead of him, the kids are urged forward, but he can barely see them through the bright pops of camera flashes and the sea of bodies pushing at them. The bodyguard closest to Chan rests a hand on his shoulder casually, but his grip is like steel, both guiding him and making sure that they don’t get separated. 

Y/n must also be subjected to the ebb and flow of the crowd as she runs straight into Chan at one point, sparking the Charge between them momentarily. Chan looks back to make sure that she’s okay, but she just gestures for him to keep going, anything she might be trying to say being drowned out by the screams and hidden by the mask that she’s wearing. Knowing that he's definitely being filmed, Chan keeps his head down and swallows his concern. The last thing he wants is rumours that might involve Y/n or put any sort of extra attention on her.

The crowd reaches a fever pitch, and multiple cries for Jisung prompts Chan to look up again to search for him. When he finally manages to spot him, it becomes clear that he’s being helped up from the ground. Chan can’t tell if it’s a result of stumbling from poor visibility or an overzealous push from fans, but he attempts to tamp down the simmering anger that he feels building in his gut. He hates that he can't be there to protect Jisung and calm him down. Regardless of the reason that he fell, this wouldn't have happened if they were given more space. They're grateful for their fans, but this is too much.

They need to get out of here and now.

The screaming is deafening now and seems to be coming from all directions. He thinks he can hear security yelling directions, but it’s hard to decipher what they’re saying and who they’re saying it to. With the increased noise comes more pressure as people jockey for a closer position, mercilessly jostling other bodies out of the way. Chan tries to ignore it all, solely focused on getting everyone into the vans waiting for them and making sure they’re unharmed. 

The crowd surges forward and they're finally given the space that they need to reach the doors and spill out onto the outdoor concourse. From there it's only a short distance to where a manager is shepherding them into the idling vans. 

They had lined up based on dorms, so Changbin basically hauls Jisung into the van with Hyunjin, while Minho ushers all of the younger members into their vehicle with no time wasted trying to organise further.

Chan collapses into his seat and everyone in the van seems to let out a sigh of relief the second that the door closes, sealing them away from the frenzy and most of the noise. There's a brief moment to double check that all the members are present before they pull away from the curb.

Chan twists around to confirm there are no injuries. Other than some bruises and scratches on their arms, they're all relatively unharmed, but definitely rattled. Their fans are generally well behaved and respectful of personal space, so this type of encounter is unsettling, but a good reminder to stay vigilant. They're lucky that things didn't escalate to a point where somebody got seriously hurt, but that might not be the case next time. Chan makes a mental note to request some sort of increased security or additional protective measures to guarantee the safety of the members and all the fans. 

Normally, they would spread out in the van to give each other as much space as possible, but today, Jisung stays practically squished between Hyunjin and Changbin who have their arms wrapped around him and are trying their best to soothe him. 

Knowing there’s nothing he can do from where he’s sitting, Chan opts for pulling out his phone and shooting Y/n a quick text. He wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of her after he noticed Jisung fell and has no clue how much she did or didn’t see. He doesn’t want her worrying about their safety.

[5:17 pm - sent]

Sorry that was more chaotic than usual haha

Wasn’t expecting so many people to be there...

We’re all fine even if it looked crazy... 

Hope everything is okay on your side and see you at the dorms later

He keeps the messages succinct, knowing that Y/n likely won’t have a chance to read his texts until later. Just like with their regular schedules, the staff are all brought back to the company and sometimes she gets held back to finish something or go out for food or drinks. He’s hoping that the crowds died down after they left to make it easier to haul all the luggage and equipment away. 

He taps out another message to Minho to reassure him that everyone with him is physically okay, just unnerved and receives a similar response. They agree to all go to the 3RACHA+Hyunjin dorms instead of splitting up, sensing that everyone would feel a bit better if they stuck together for the time being. Relieved, he drops his phone into his backpack and settles into his seat. Without the rush of adrenaline from the airport and the high from the concerts, he can feel how exhausted his body is. It's worse than usual, a bone deep tiredness that doesn’t feel like it’ll be improved no matter how much he sleeps.

It’s the Charge, or lack thereof, he realises. The past few days have been such a blur of travelling and concerts that he hadn’t noticed that he’s barely spent any time with Y/n. He resolves to make up for it this week. They have a bit of a break before the next leg of their tour continues and while Chan has a lot that he wants to finish during that period, he can afford to set aside a few extra hours for Charging. Although he knows that he can probably power through with this level of energy- he’s done it in the past- he feels guilty thinking that it would mean Y/n has to do the same.

When they make it back to the dorms, he calls dibs on the shower, intent on burrowing into his bed the second that he’s cleaned off all the airplane grime. He feels significantly better after washing up and changing into clean clothes, so he wanders towards the kitchen to try to eat something as he waits for Y/n to get back. The second that he enters the living room, all conversations cut off and the members turn to look at him with grave expressions. 

Immediately, he’s on edge again and all the tension from earlier is back.

“Is everything okay?” he asks cautiously. It’s clear that Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin are crying and the rest of the members are suspiciously teary-eyed, other than Minho who just looks murderous. “Did something happen?”

He sits beside Felix, who’s on the couch closest to him and puts an arm around him. Felix instantly inches closer, buries his face into Chan’s neck, and starts sobbing freely, tears soaking into the front of Chan’s shirt and making him panic more. Chan surreptitiously pats him down, searching for some sort of injury, but finds nothing. It makes him feel better and worse at the same time. 

“We- Yonghwan called-” Changbin finally says. The words come out roughly, like it had been a struggle to get them out. “He said-” The tears that he’s been holding back finally come out and he can’t finish his sentence, wiping at his face roughly.

“What?” Chan demands, when nobody continues Changbin’s explanation. He hates this feeling of being in the dark, he wants to know what has made everyone this upset and what he can do to fix it.

“It’s Y/n.” Felix’s voice is rough and even deeper than usual from crying, Chan can feel it against his skin more than he can hear it. “Hyung…”

Chan didn’t think that his stomach could feel worse, but it seems to twist into a tighter knot at Felix’s words. On autopilot, he continues to rub Felix’s back, but his hands are now feeling weak and he’s glad that he’s already sitting. It takes a couple of deep breaths, but eventually Felix is able to calm down enough to speak again.

“Hyung… Y/n- There was a sasaeng… At the airport.” 

Everything seems to stop.

His mind, which was previously racing, can’t seem to process anything anymore and the next few moments feel like a dream or, more accurately, a nightmare. Felix is crying earnestly again and Chan vaguely thinks that he should be too, but instead he’s numb, detached from his emotions, unmoored. He’s aware of someone grabbing his bag and putting it into his hands, helping him into his shoes, and leading him into the lobby of their building, but it feels like his mind is no longer connected to his body. He doesn’t even remember when he put on the beanie or mask that he’s currently wearing.

He desperately wants this to be a nightmare, that someone will shake him awake and he’ll find out that he accidentally fell asleep the second he got home.

He’s jolted back to reality by a voice calling his name. It’s Felix, who is also holding onto both his shoulders. He’s stopped crying as hard, but unshed tears still glitter in his eyes and there are teartracks running down his face. It’s clear that he’s trying hard to keep himself together for Chan’s sake.

“Hyung, the car is here. Are you going to be okay going by yourself?”

“Yes,” he hears himself say. His voice sounds strange, void of emotion. He knows that he has to be okay, that really, there’s no choice because the chance of being recognised would be much higher if he goes with anyone other than staff. He has to be okay, for Y/n.

“Okay. Yonghwan-hyung is going to take you to the hospital.”

“Okay.” Chan starts to walk away.

“Hyung,” Felix calls out, voice still hoarse with emotion. “Promise me you won’t go on Twitter?”

“What? Why? I-”

“Just promise. Okay?”

“I promise.”

But it festers inside of him, not knowing what’s going on, not really. Yonghwan has barely spoken, other than a couple words to guide him into the car and reassure him that they were going to get to the hospital as fast as possible. 

After 20 minutes of being stuck in traffic, Chan takes out his phone and unlocks it. It’s clogged with notifications from various staff members, but they’re from half an hour ago and are ambiguous, just telling him to call different people. He swipes everything away without replying and opens up Naver with the intention to look up how far away they are from the hospital. Before he can get that far, he’s distracted by the trending search terms. 

‘Stray Kids,’ ‘Incheon Airport,’ and ‘Sasaeng’ are all in the top 10. His finger hovers over each one for a moment, before locking his phone. He doesn’t know if he wants to read an impersonal or speculative article that might overdramatise what happened.

He only lasts another minute before he reaches for his phone again. Even though he can still hear Felix’s voice warning him to avoid it, he can’t help but open the Twitter app. It’s probably going to be worse than reading articles, but it’s killing him to have so little information.

He needs to know what happened.

His Twitter timeline is pandemonium. There’s a mixture of tweets that can be separated into three different categories. The first are ones demanding that videos and photos be taken down, that post links to accounts calling that they be blocked, and warnings to avoid retweeting information. They’re mostly vague and the replies are littered with people asking what happened. Chan scours through them briefly, but all questions are met with ‘DM me’ or something similar.

The second is a set of hashtags trending, #thankyouskijigi, #prayforskijigii, that talk about how grateful they are that Y/n was there to protect Chan and general well-wishes for a quick recovery. This only heightens Chan’s anxiety. He’s not sure why he’s being named specifically, but nothing he can think of is good. Either way, it feels wrong to see that Y/n is being praised for being injured instead of Chan.

The last is what Chan is really searching for. Any photos or videos that he can find of the incident. He has to sift through a number of deleted posts and broken links. There’s a few that are easy to find, but they were clearly taken in the midst of the chaos and the blurriness means that it’s hard to see any details.

There’s an awful clip that Chan somehow manages to find. He’s thankful that he records his screen while watching it because when he clicks to see the replies, the video has already been either deleted by the poster or removed by Twitter. Whoever is filming it has unsteady hands, but they’re close enough that you can still see everything. Y/n is lying curled up on the ground clutching her stomach, the sasaeng nowhere in sight. Chan still can’t tell what kind of injury Y/n has, until she props herself up a bit more and peels back the baggy sweatshirt that she’s wearing to expose her abdomen more.

It looks bad. There’s blood and there’s lots of it.

The light-coloured shirt she’s wearing underneath makes the blood that’s seeping into it obvious in a way that the dark hoodie concealed. The splotch is alarmingly large and seems to be expanding every second even with Y/n’s hand pressed tightly against where the wound must be. It spills onto the floor now that the hoodie isn’t soaking it up anymore. The second that the injury is revealed, the crowd panics. Half the people recoil, while the other half rush forward.

The filmer is one of the latter, dropping their phone to their side so that you can’t see anything, but not stopping the recording. At first, Chan doesn’t think there’s anything else to the video. The audio keeps peaking, overwhelmed by the screaming, but in the last few seconds, he can suddenly make out Y/n’s voice. It’s surprisingly stable, though tight with pain.

“-please send medical services to Incheon Airport? At the terminal 2 arrival hall. There’s a young female who has been stabbed.” There’s a series of pauses and moments where Y/n continues to talk. She's obviously answering questions by the person on the other end of the phone. "I'm- she's conscious, yes… Yes, lucid… In the abdomen… Two times…”

The video ends abruptly and Chan’s left staring at his own face reflecting against his phone’s dark screen. 

He feels sick. 

He feels nothing.

He-

He closes the video and searches for another.

Pictures, videos, accounts from people who were at the airport, he saves everything. He continues frantically combing through as many links and tweets that he can, especially if they have descriptions of the sasaeng or capture her face clearly.

The best- or maybe the worst, based on the way that it makes Chan’s stomach drop- video is a livestream that somehow hasn’t been deleted or edited yet. It was taken by a fan who seems to be on a stepladder or something that provides them some extra height although if they’re further away. The video is an hour long, but Chan scans through the first section that’s from before they had arrived and starts to play when he first sees Seungmin appear.

This new angle makes it obvious how intentional everything was. There’s a distinct moment when the crowd that’s offscreen shifts, likely reacting to Jisung’s fall, and a corresponding ripple through the rest of the crowd. Chan remembers that, the sudden push as everyone wanted to see what was happening and a renewed effort from the security team to get them outside.

There’s a brief second when there’s a gap between the security team that’s just barely big enough for the sasaeng to slip through unnoticed. The first time he watches the video, he almost misses it. She heads directly towards Chan, partially aided by the general movement of the crowd, and it sends shivers down his back to know how close she was to him without him knowing. With nondescript clothes, a lack of a camera, and a mask covering the lower half of her face, she almost blends into the rest of the staff members. 

Before she can reach Chan, she’s intercepted by Y/n who looks like she’s aware of the sasaeng’s presence based on the purposeful step that positions her right in between the sasaeng and Chan. The sasaeng has no time to react and the two of them crash into each other and tumble to the ground.

After that, the video gets too shaky to see what’s happening and cuts off before showing anything else.

“Chan-ssi!” Yonghwan’s voice takes Chan’s attention away from his phone. When he looks up, he can see that the car is idling at the side entrance of the hospital that he normally uses. “Did you hear me?”

“Uhm.”

“Just go in and talk to the reception, tell them you’re looking for Y/n-ssi. They’ll take you to her. I have to go park the car and then I’ll join you.”

—

The person that helps Chan at the front desk seems to be familiar with Y/n's case right when he mentions her name. Her posture straightens and she checks Chan's ID to confirm that he's her soulmate before leading him away, pressing buttons on a pager as she does so. She walks briskly and stops in front of a closed door, sliding it open and motioning for him to enter before heading towards the nurses' station.

Chan steps into the room and when he sees Y/n, it feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He physically recoils, shoulder hitting the door frame as he takes a step back.

She looks so small, in the middle of the bed, hooked up to a number of IV’s, other tubes, and monitoring equipment. Her face is pale, more so than usual, and her eyes are closed. 

For one awful moment, all Chan can think is that she looks dead. 

He slowly approaches Y/n’s side and gingerly rests his hand on her exposed arm, mindful of all the tubes and cords that she’s connected to. The Charge has never felt so reassuring, a steady transfer of energy that reminds Chan that she’s still alive. The nurse excuses herself, but Chan barely notices, too focused on Y/n and the constant drone of the heart rate monitor.

He startles when the doctor enters the room.

“Ah, you are Y/n-nim’s soulmate?” he asks. When Chan confirms, he brightens. “Perfect! Before anything, let’s get you up on the bed with her so that you can Charge properly.”

The doctor helps Chan manoeuvre himself so that he’s curled around Y/n. He shrugs off his hoodie so that he’s just left with his t-shirt and shorts to match Y/n so that they can have as much direct contact as possible. Chan knows he usually runs hotter than most people, but Y/n’s skin is colder than usual, even with the warmth of the Charge between them.

Yonghwan appears partway through the doctor’s explanation of Y/n’s injuries which is probably for the better because other than confirming that she’s stable for now, he hasn’t been able to concentrate. Instead, he holds onto Y/n’s hand, the one that doesn’t have an IV line in it, and intertwines their fingers. He’s always marvelled at the size difference between their hands.

The moment Y/n's heartbeat picks up from the steady rhythm that Chan has now gotten used to, his seems to do the same. It’s close to sunrise, but Chan hasn’t even come close to falling asleep. The time has somehow both inched by, stretched out like pulling taffy, and passed in the blink of an eye. Embarrassingly, he didn’t even notice when the doctor, then later Yonghwan, left the room. Only realising when he noticed the lights dimming automatically when visiting hours ended.

He’s alternated between doom scrolling on social media, texting the group chat since most of the boys are still awake as well, and waiting for any sort of updates from Yonghwan or JYPE. He’s restless, but has done his best to barely move, not wanting to disturb Y/n or any of the equipment she’s hooked up to. 

She comes to slowly and Chan feels like he can barely breathe, chest tight with anticipation of her regaining consciousness. Her eyes flutter open and she squints, even though the lights have been dimmed almost all the way down.

He helps incline the bed slightly, lets her have the tiniest sip of water, just enough to wet her mouth, then gives her a little bit more once he knows she won't choke.

He can tell the second she's awake enough to recognise his presence. Her eyes widen and her heart rate speeds up. She tries to lever herself up, but Chan presses a hand onto her shoulder, keeping herself in place. She tries to put a hand on his arm and her eyes scan his form.

"Stay still, you're hurt," he chides gently when she makes a questioning noise.

"Chan?” she gets out.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“You’re safe?”

Chan doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry at her concern. She's on some strong drugs and is still recovering from anaesthesia, it's obvious from the slight haze in her eyes, her sluggish movements, and the difficulty she seems to have putting words to her thoughts. Yet her first thoughts are about him.

"Yes, I'm safe. The rest of the boys are safe. They’re all at home," he reassures her. She doesn't seem to believe him, reaching for him again agitatedly.

“Were you hurt?” 

“Y/n, it’s okay. Everything is okay, I’m not hurt.” Chan takes Y/n’s hand in his again, pressing it against his chest so that she can feel his heartbeat. “Can you feel that? You protected me."

At that Y/n finally calms, settling back against her pillow. Before he can say anything else, she’s already drifted off again. With his free hand, Chan smooths out the hairs that frame her face and she subconsciously leans into his touch. Unable to help himself, he presses a careful kiss to her forehead.

He stares at her peaceful looking face, a mixture of guilt, fear, and worry churning in his stomach. He can’t believe that he was so close to losing her and he knows that he’ll do everything in his power to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

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[punkassfrance]

Wolf Material - Abby x Reader (Drabble, Kinktober Day 3 - Boot Worship)

MDNI, 18+ ONLY Abby usually leaves the initiation to the higher-ups. One of the new recruits catches her eye, and she decides she needs to make sure they're WLF material. This work contains boot licking (the fun kind), hazing, bullying if you want to look at it that way, mild dom/sub, and sexual tension. No actual sex.

My first time writing for Abby! I've gained an appreciation...but most of the month will be Joel and Tess lol. Enjoy Abby psychologically tormenting reader for a bit! Thanks to @djarrex for the Halloween divider!

“Come on, rookie.” Abby smirks, far too amused by the situation, leaning back on her bed. Her foot sticks out, rocking back and forth on the heel of a thick boot.

“I don’t…this isn’t an actual initiation thing, is it?” You stutter, looking down at the floor between you and her black combat boot.

She bites the inside of her cheek, looking to the door to her room for a moment before looking back at you. “Call it a hazing. Come on, you’re not gonna chicken out on me, are you? Takes a lot of guts to join the WLF. Pretty pathetic to draw the line here.”

It’s a long few seconds of internal debate. Dark blue eyes are on you, you can feel them, but you can’t look away from the canvas elephant in the room.

“You don’t want me telling everyone the rookie’s a chicken, do you? Gotta be brave to be one of us.” She knows what she’s doing, damnit. There’s no way she does something this sadistic to every new recruit. No, she must have pegged you the second she saw you. She saw your eyes trailing over her biceps, she noticed when you stared at her lips as she gave you a tour of the compound. Clearly, she’s teasing you. This is just a cruel prank to play on someone with a crush.

Either that, or she’s just kinky.

You look up to her eyes, hesitating for a moment before sinking to your knees.

“There you go.” She sits up, arms coming up to brace against the frame of the bunk bed. “Rest comes naturally.”

As you stare down at her boot, imposing, threatening, she leans in. You’re wondering if this is worth losing your dignity over, but the thought dissolves as her fingers lift your chin to meet her eye.

“You know what else is important if you wanna be a wolf?”

You don’t dare break eye contact. She’s demanded it from you, and you’re not willing to deny her. Swallowing hard, you shake your head.

She grabs your hair, keeping a gentle hold on the roots and guiding your face down to her boot.

“Humility.”

You gasp, now inches away from her shoelaces. She’ll force you down, but you have to take the last step.

“How are you gonna be a good soldier for the WLF if you can’t even be good for me? Come on-” she purrs. “...show me you can submit.”

Steeling yourself, you take a quick, shuddering breath.

You want to do this. She wants you to do this. What’s left?

Slowly, like she’ll kick if you startle her, you lick a thick stripe up the toe of her boot. It’s clean, thankfully, if a bit dusty- you barely register it. If you focus, you think you can hear a barely audible moan from Abby. She covers it with a sigh, letting go of your hair.

“Was that so hard?”

You’re busy staring into the pattern of her canvas boot, struggling to breathe, when she takes a fistful of your shirt collar and hauls you up to her level.

“Welcome to the WLF, rookie.”

Hope you liked it! I might write more for Abby in the future- I just loved the idea of punk-ish Abby with scary boots c: Check out my about me, masterlist, or my AO3!

[mushiemellows]

drunken love confessions: frobin, 4

(For Drunken Love Confession prompts, still accepting requests)

"I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom, holding your hair back."

It took a lot to get Franky drunk. He teetered on stilted legs as he wandered from the banquet in the Thriller Bark ruins, plagued by a haze of vague memories of dancing on tables…maybe? He wasn’t sure. The world rocked around him, grass and dirt on an island that was actually a massive castle-boat in the middle of the ocean. 

No, that wasn’t right. 

He swayed with the world around him, grass and dirt on a ship that he’d built himself moored to a castle-boat-zombie-island-thingy. Franky didn’t quite know how he’s managed to find himself back on Sunny’s deck, but you know what they say. People always come home in the end. 

His eyes must have been on the fritz because he couldn’t make out fore from aft. Bunks were in one of the directions…but which one? He didn’t know. Fifty-fifty shot. He liked his odds. The cyborg stumbled into the door on his left with boundless hope for his bed, but was sorely disappointed to be greeted by the cold blues of the aquarium bar. Bright eyes snapped up to greet him, sourced from a shadow backlit by glowing glass. Eyes, hands, legs, lips, bangs, books, boots, bust; all his new favorite little shapes, even if he hadn’t found the right time to tell her just yet. 

“Franky?” Robin looked up from the seat with a frown, “is everything alright?” 

“’S’isn’t th’guys' room,” Franky slurred with a blink and a spin back toward the exit. He stared at the flat wall, certain that he’d built a door to the bar when he’d designed it. One of his prostheses rose to knock against the boards with a hope that the way out would appear. He mumbled to himself, “where’s th…?”

Two hands manifested out of nowhere at his waist to guide him just three feet to the right and back out onto the deck. He was halfway across the grass when he realized that the hands were attached to a body, one that supported him through his blackout stupor. “A bit too much fun at the party?” The demon under his arm laughed low. 

“Nahhhh, m’sup’r.” 

“Oh, are you?”

“‘Course I yam, pretty lady! Whud’else would I be?!”

Robin slowed to adjust her grip on his core and her support of his heavy guns. An extra hand blossomed to card through his drooping updo, pushing the fallen tower of turquoise away from bleary eyes. “You’re right,” she smiled, “I don’t know what else you would be.” 

“I’m—I—and you, and I, and we, but,” he swayed as they reached the door to the boys’ bunks. Eyes fluttered shut. Internal systems beeped in an alert. Beverage concentration levels had grown dangerous to the carbo-capilary distribution mechanism. He wasn’t built to run on ethanol. “Fuck, uhhhhhh beep beep. ’S too much. Purge mode activated,” Franky rolled off of her and toward the little water closet under the stairs. 

“Wait!” She extended a hand, one from herself and one from his shoulder to try and stop him, but it was too late. The cyborg burst through the door and dropped like a steel boulder onto his knees in front of the toilet. Her phantom hand caught his flaccid updo right as he spilled his guts. A night of celebration all came back at once to haunt him, followed by tears of apology and embarrassment. It wasn’t like him to lose his cool, especially in front of a crush. 

Franky babbled senselessly into the bowl through each wave of nausea. A garden of hands sprouted all around him to fetch towels and blankets and glasses of water, though one more tangible than the rest knead soft circles into the sensitive skin between his shoulder blades. “‘M sup’r s’rry, d’worry ‘bout me, pretty lady. Y’go back to read’n ya book. Don’t wanna b—,” he attempted before the machine rejected another phase of improper fuel. “—burden ya.” 

“Burden? Never,” Robin crooned behind him. Even more hands held his hair out of his face, now tenderly scraping nails along the nape of his neck. His touch wandered to blindly entwine himself in a thousandth comforting limb. Two of his big, prosthetic fingers nestled against her palm. He briefly considered kissing her hand if his mouth didn’t still linger with the taste of phosphoric acid. 

“You’re s’fuckin’ nice t’me. I love ya so goddam much, every time I look’atcha I get this funny lil’ feelin’ in my chest and at first I thought’t wuz’a malfunction thingy but I did some testin’ and I realized ‘m all fuckin’sup’r and ’s you. Ya know that? You! ’S fuckin’ wild, huh? But I,” he paused to let loose one more time, “I don’t wanna freak ya out ’n we’re stuck on this’ship togetha ’n I don’t wanna make it weird but I got all these dreams’a bein’ with ya ’n—’n—’n I just know the world’s bett’r with you alive in it. Yeah? Yeah. You’re too nice t’me. So sup’r. Stay with me t’night?”

Robin chuckled as she knelt at his side, pressing one quick kiss against his clammy temple. Real hands pushed his hair back. “Oh, Franky,” she hummed, “I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom in this moment. I’ll stay with you tonight, if only to make sure that you’re safe. The rest we can talk about in the morning once you’ve sobered up. How does that sound?”

Franky smiled, hopeful even through his illness, cheek iced on the porcelain bowl, “yeah, Nico Robin. That sounds sup’r.” 

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Anyway I can request a Christian Cage x Copeland!Reader fic? The reader is married to Christian and they have their own little family together and while Adam is under the influence of Malakai Black’s mist he ends up injuring his baby sister since when he sees her it reminds him of the long standing feud he and his childhood best friend and his baby sister’s husband just went through and when Adam ends up hurting her, Christian makes sure to do everything in his power to make sure the love of his life is taken care of and protected?

The Kings of The Black Throne

Christian Cage X fem reader

Warnings: Blood, violence, injury

Main Masterlist Christian Cage Masterlist

An: I wrote another Christian Cage x Adam Copelands little sister fic that you can find HERE if you are interested. (I quite enjoy that fic)

For weeks now The House of Black had been after Adam. I watched on a weekly basis as the men beat him to a pulp and tried to brainwash him into joining their group. At first I enjoyed watching the torturous events take place but now I couldn't help but feel that all of this was more than getting Adam to join their cult. “Are you alright? You seem on edge?” Christian asked me. “I just have a bad feeling about all of this” “Why? You should be happy he’s finally leaving us alone” Christian told me. “I know but what could The House of Black want from him. Truly. He has nothing to offer them Christian. I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe there's something bigger going on here” Christian had a point, I should have been happy that Adam was finally leaving us alone. He’s done nothing but cause trouble since the moment he stepped in AEW. He still couldn't accept the relationship between Christian and I. 15 years and three kids later he still couldn't accept it. He tried to tear my family apart, he tried to take the TNT title but of course he was no match for the patriarchy. 

Tonight our adopted son Nick Wayne was scheduled to have a match against Daniel Garcia on Dynamite. As the two of us got ready to go I ended up running into Adam, he had a dark look in his eyes. I didn’t think much of it, we had a match to win. The match was going well, everything was according to plan when all of a sudden the lights went out. Out of instinct I jumped into the ring and stood in front of Nick. That gut feeling had returned and was stronger than ever. Just then the lights turned on. I should have known The House of Black would be behind all of this. What did they want from us? “What the fuck do you want?” I spat at Malakai. “Trust me when I say it’s not you that I want. Who I’m after is your brother, Adam Copeland” “You can have him, I don’t fucking want him” “I really don’t want to be doing this sweatheart, I actually admire you but as much as you hate your brother I know he loves you” What was he talking about? Just then I felt it. The burning sensation of Malakai’s Mist. I could hear Nick’s screams of help but I couldn't do anything, I had been blinded by the mist. I was defenseless, Brody and Buddy held me down while Julia handcuffed Nick to the ring ropes. I couldn't see much but I noticed a dark figure match down towards the ring. I assumed it was Christian but was shocked when I saw Adam stand before me. 

“This is your final test” Malakai said to Adam as he handed him a steel chair. “Do it” he spat. “Think about all the harm she has caused you. Think about what she put you through. She cost you the TNT championship, she cost you your best friend. You are all alone Adam, your family, everyone you loved, gone. All of this is Y/n’s fault. Prove to us you are worthy. Join us, join us as we take over All Elite Wrestling. Join us on our quest to capturing the TNT championship” 

I knew it, I knew they were using him. They wanted to use me to get to Adam to get to Christian. It was a long plan, they took months planning this. Would it have been easier to ask Christian for a title shot? Absolutely but I must say I respected this plan of theirs. 

I could see the hesitation in Adam’s eyes. He couldn't do it, he was too weak. Just then I saw Julia whisper something in Adam’s ear. I didn’t know what she told him but I could see the effect it had on him. His eyes had turned black, the look on his face was cold and dead. They stole his soul. I don’t know what happened after that. All I remembered was waking up in a hospital bed. 

“You’re awake, how are you feeling baby?” Christian asked me carefully. “Where’s Nick?” I asked “Is he okay?” “Nick’s fine, he’s okay. It’s you that I’m worried about” He said as he carefully brushed his fingers on the fresh stitched on my skull. “What happened to you?” I asked him as I noticed his busted lip. “You were right about The House of Black. They attacked you honey. I tried to get out there but they locked me and Luchasaurus in our locker room. When I got there it was too late, I’m so sorry baby” I could see the tears start to form in his eyes as he spoke. “I should have listened to you, I should have been there to protect you. I failed you” I carefully wiped the tears that fell from his face. “It's okay, I’m okay” I told him reassuringly “No it’s not okay. I had to watch Adam crack your skull open with that chair and I could do nothing about it. I couldn't do anything when you were blinded by that mist. I watched them beat you to unconscious and I could do nothing about it. I really hoped my issues with Adam were over but it seems like they have just begun. I promise that I will do everything I can to get my revenge. I am going to take out the house of black one by one before I kill Adam with my bare hands. I will not rest until they pay for what they have done.”