#shes on the run now and helps sick or wounded people in need for free but does merc work for commission

[pinkcadavart]

Mama, they say I'm a terrorist

[thefallennightmare]

Miracle-sixteen

*gif created by me, feel free to use*

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: Hahaha i'm sorry

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered @loeytuan98 @omens-in-reverse @loverofagoodbeard @jay02bo @niicoleleigh

Darkness.

Emptiness.

Lonliness.

The Void.

Whatever you want to call it, that's what I felt inside as I stared at the wooden box in front of me. It was currently closed and the funeral director said they could open it whenever I was ready. How can someone ever be ready to see their love one dead but dolled up to look alive? It's gut wrenching and disturbing. They're supposed to be dead. Why would anyone want to stare at a dead body to remember them when they were alive?

Maybe I should have cremated her.

With a broken sigh, I raised my gaze away from the casket over to the funeral director who was basically running the entire funeral since I have no idea what I'm doing.

"People actually have open caskets at funerals?" I asked again.

Elaine nodded. "It's very common. Should we open it?"

As I reluctantly nodded, I turned my back to the casket just intime to see Lana walk up to me with two large bouquets of flowers in her hands. Quickly I rushed over to her and grabbed one.

"Where do you want these, dear? They're from your neighbors," Lana asked.

"Uh," I gazed around, purposely avoiding the now open casket, and nodded to the doors at the opening of the room. "Right there is probably fine.

Once we set the flowers down on the ground, I brushed my hands against the thighs of my black dress. It was a chilly October day, but it felt weird not to be dressed up to attend a funeral; especially when it's for your mother.

She died one week ago, twenty minutes before I made it to the hospital. Even with all the anger I felt towards her, it crushed me knowing I wasn't there with her when she died. I wasn't there for her much the last few weeks, too busy on the road and pinning for a life that was never supposed to be mine. Lana was there with my mom at the end, as well as someone I didn't expect to see there, holding her cold hand.

"Do you think he'll show up?" Lana asked tentatively.

The subject was still a sore wound, and she didn't know how I'd react.

My bloodshot eyes lazily tore into her. "I told him to stay away. He'd be smart if he listened."

"Have you eaten anything today, dear?" She asked, changing the subject.

Through all the pain and anguish, I was forcing inside, a small smile pulled at my lips. For the last seven days, Lana had stayed in my house with me to make sure I ate, got out of bed, and took care of myself. I told her many times that she didn't need to. I was alright on my own.

"Lana, you literally made me breakfast, and all but forced it down my throat," I reminded her.

She gently patted my cheek. "Just making sure. I could stay another night if you'd like."

I firmly shook my head. "No, you need to go back to your life after today. You've done so much for me already. I'll be fine on my own."

"Well, maybe if you weren't ignoring all of them, you could always call Mr. Seb-."

"Don't," I pointed a finger at her. "I don't want to hear his name."

There was some commotion coming from down the halls, and various voices, and when I peaked at my watch, I noticed that the service was about to begin. Plastering on a fake smile, I straightened out my dress as I prepared for the next hour of the onslaughts of condolences. I wasn't sure how many people who show up today, my mom never talked about friends before her Alzheimer's.

Lana stood next to me as I greeted person after person, accepting their condolences with a pulled-tight smile and a nod. It went on like this for a long while and when the muscles in my jaw couldn't take the pain any longer; I excused myself and walked out into the hallway. I was only alone for a few seconds until my name was called from behind by a familiar voice.

Turning on my heels, a scowl pulled at my lips as my fists clenched. How dare he show up here after I told him to stay away?

"Hi," he gave me a small smile.

"What the fuck are you doing here, James? I told you at the hospital that you're not welcome here," I forced through gritted teeth.

I pushed through the door of the hospital room but came to a screeching halt at the sight. My mom laying still in a hospital bed with blood dried to various spots of her face and Lana standing at the foot of the bed, fear in her eyes. The monitors were blank as the tubes that were once connected to my mom lay scattered on the floor. But none of that held my attention. It was the man sitting in the chair next to the bed, my mother's lifeless hand in his.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demanded.

The man looked away from my mom and towards me. His dark hair was falling into his face so he ran a hand through it to push it back, his striking blue eyes boring into me. The sharpness of his jaw could cut the tension in the room. I sucked in a breath when a familiar sensation rang inside my mind. This man looked exactly like my real father in those pictures.

"Hi," the man stood to his feet. "You must be Y/N."

I raised a brow while crossing my arms. "Who the fuck are you?"

His eyes darted from Lana back to me. "I'm James; your brother."

Everything around me fell into hell beneath my feet as my heart stuttered in my chest. My mouth ran dry, and I had to swallow a few times to get the moisture back. Even though he looked like how our father did, I still didn't believe him.

"Bullshit," I spat. "How do I know you're not lying?"

James sighed before pulling out his wallet and handing over a frayed picture. Hesitantly I reached for it and when I realized what I was looking at, my heart shattered into a million pieces. It was of James and my mother, the day he was born. It was taken in the hospital room. On the back was written:

James Boyle. January 2, '99. My son.

"You need to leave," I said while thrusting the picture into his chest.

Tears burned in my eyes but I refused to let them spill.

James chuckled. "She's my mother. I'm not leaving her."

"She's already dead," I said.

I would have been more shocked about missing her last breath if Lana hadn't called me twenty minutes ago to say that there was a man here who decided to the plug. My mom was hooked up to a ventilator and was brain dead, as the doctors said, so he made the choice to end my mom's life. There wasn't any hope for her so I would have done the same thing. Although, it wasn't my choice to make. The doctors allowed this random man to decide when he wasn't familiar with my mother's condition.

"How the fuck did they let you decide to end her life?" I demanded to know.

"She made me her power of attorney," James said, not daring a glance my way as he stared down at our mother.

"You? Why the fuck would she let you be her power of attorney? You've been out of her life for years," I said while walking to the other side of the bed so I could glare at him.

James peered up at me with my words. "Unlike you, I've been keeping in touch with her. While you've been gone the last few weeks, I've called her every day at noon to check in on her."

I glared at Lana who simply held up her hands. "I had no idea."

"Her Alzheimers wasn't nearly as bad as you two made it seemed," James said. "She remembered me everything we talked. It was the highlight of her day when I called."

My shoulders were tense with anger and I was trying to hard not to make a scene over my mother's corpse.

"She attacked me with a bat and nearly choked out a friend of mine because she thought he was my dad," I informed him.

James scoffed. "That man wasn't your father."

"Bullshit! Jonathan raised me, unlike your piece of shit father who wanted nothing to do with me!," I bellowed.

The door to the room opened, a nurse walking inside with a pissed off expression. "Alright, there's way too many people in here. The coroner is coming to retrieve your mother and only one can be here for that."

James gave one last longing glance down at our mother. "I'll leave. I have a flight back home to Texas to catch. I'll let you handle the details of the funeral."

"Gee, thanks," I snarled. "Do me a favor, don't bother showing up."

"I'll be seeing you again; soon." James said right before walking out of the room.

"You've done a great job with the service. It's what mom would have wanted," James said.

I scoffed while shaking my head. "Just because you would call her to check in doesn't mean you know what she wanted. I was with her every single day dealing with her Alzheimers. I was the one taking care of her, not you. You were too busy living your rich life in Texas."

I'd done my research on James Boyle and found out that he was married with three kids and ran his own investment company: a very popular one in Texas. So while I was struggling to pay out my mother's medical bills, he was spending his money on expensive and lavish things.

"It seems like you've made quite the life for you here," James muttered while smoothing down the front of his tux jacket. "You're a merch girl for some band? Good deeds, was it?

"Bad Omens," I corrected. "And I'm their social media manager."

Was. You quit when Noah compared your Only Fans to amateur porn.

James hummed in response. "Well, it must be paying well if you could provide this kind of service for mom."

No, my most recent pictures and videos on Only Fans did.

I was making a decent amount of money from there and even though I quit tour early, Matt still mailed my paycheck to me. So those two combined was enough to pay for the funeral. Even though I shouldn't have gone to these lengths for a woman who lied to me about my entire existence. Maybe that was the reason I wasn't so heartbroken about my mom because of all the lies.

But the guilt that ate away at me every night because I wasn't here was slowly becoming too much to handle alone.

Lana asked me every day how I was doing but I'd lie by saying I was fine when in fact, I was one wrong word from a breakdown.

"I should get back to it," I motioned to the room behind him where the crowd was taking thier seats.

As I walked passed James, he gripped my elbow. I hissed in pain when his fingers dug into my skin.

"Did you go over her will yet?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

He lowered his face closer to mine. "I need to know if she left me anything."

Mother fucker.

My jaw dropped when I realized this was why he showed up, and prematurely pulled the plug. He wanted whatever was left in the will to him.

"You're such a piece of shit," I seethed while trying to rip my arm out of his grasp.

He held tighter, and I cried out in pain.

"I bet bitch left everything to you," James snarled.

"She had nothing to leave! We were broke, barley affording to pay her medical bills on top of our other bills. The only thing I have left is the house but if you're that desperate to have something, take it. It's yours."

I ripped my arm away from him and rubbed my elbow to ease the pain.

As James took a step towards me, a body stepped in front of me to block me from his wrath.

"I'd suggest you take a step back."

My eyes took in the site of Folio with his hair slicked back and black suit, face tense with anger.

"I'm having a private conversation with my sister," James pointed towards me.

Folio fingers twitched, the only sign that he was surprised, but pulled me closer behind him.

"It looked rougher than that," he said.

James took a side stepped towards me which only made Folio push me into a direction of another body. Nick gave me a warm smile as he wrapped an arm around me. Feeling his warmth eased the anger for a moment and I leaned into him. I only told Folio about my mom but knew that eventually the rest of the guys would find out. I didn't expect them to show up to the funeral, though. Tour ended yesterday, and I figured they'd want to stay home to rest.

"This is none of your business."

"Whenever it involves Y/N, it is our business," Folio said. "If you're done here, I can have a worker show you out."

James' gaze bounced from both of the Nicks then to me, his lips pulled into a tight line. With a shake of his head, he adjusted his suit jacket.

"If it means anything to you, I was hoping to meet under better circumstances," James spoke to me.

"Go fuck yourself, James." I spat.

Not wanting to be in his presence for a second longer, I allowed Nick to turn me away from him and steer me into the direction of the room where my mother's service was seconds away from starting. Folio followed close behind until we were right outside of the doors to the room where he pulled us to a stop.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

No, far from it.

I was holding it together during my altercation with James and was seconds away from breaking down.

Nick gently raised my arm and pushed up the sleeve of my dress to get a look at my elbow. "It doesn't look that bad. Shouldn't leave a bruise."

Without a second thought, I wrapped my arms around Nick in a hug, one he immediately returned.

"Thank you," I muttered. "For being here."

His hand rubbed at my back. "Of course, Y/N."

Leaving his embrace, I folded into Folio's. One hand wrapped around my lower back while the other smoothed the hair away from my face as I buried it into his chest. The tears still didn't fall but this comforting touch was almost enough to make me break down.

"I didn't think you would show up."

Folio pulled away to stare down at me. "Why wouldn't we?"

I shrugged. "Tour ended yesterday. You guys must be exhausted."

Nick spoke next. "We would have be here earlier but Jolly was afraid you'd kick his ass if we stopped the tour early."

"Can you blame me? She's got a strong right hook."

Spinning around, I smiled towards Jolly who held his arms open for a hug, which I gladly accepted.

"I'd never kick your ass, Jolly. You're too sweet." I joked after stepping away from his embrace.

We all chuckled as I took in the sight of the three of them, truly feeling the love and appreciation from them. They may have started out as acquaintances when I first began working for them but slowly over time, they had become good friends of mine. But if the three of them are here, does that mean?

I peered over to Folio. "Is No-."

"Angel."

Wiping my head around, I drank in the sight of Noah standing less than five feet away from me. His hair was falling into his eyes and the long dark jacket covered the black turtleneck he wore. Fuck, he looked so beautiful. Even with the anger I felt boiling inside of me from all the hurtful things he said to me a week ago, my heart still skipped a beat as I continued to watch him.

"I'm sorry," Noah said while stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. "For more than I can even explain right now."

Tears rolled over my cheeks and the taste of them felt bitter on my tongue. My breathing became erratic as I did my best to keep myself calm. I wanted to punch him, pushed him out of those doors away from all of this, and I wanted to tell him what a piece of shit, asshole he was. But yet, more than anything, I wanted to walk up to him and press our lips together.

I needed him so bad, not in a sexual way. I needed the comfort and care he always provided. If anyone could get me through the rest of the day, it was Noah.

"I can't do this right now. The service is about to start," I sputtered before I slipped past him into the room.

[arbiterlexultionis]

Learning From The Past

This is kinda of an AU to my other post Here but long story short, Valerie wound up with an Obsession with Phantom due to all her ghost tech, and after finding out the full truth about Danny her Obsession shifted to be about Love for Danny rather than Hate for Phantom.

This post is for the better future happy version of that prompt.

In my initial idea, part of the reason Valerie’s positive emotions won over her desire for vengeance is because she already had protective instincts and more selfless ideals due to her career as a vigilante. How much of an effect would all that have on her Obsession and how that Obsession is fulfilled?

Vlad’s “Love” for Maddie was toxic and corrupt beyond all reasonable doubt, but one could easily say that was at least partially because Vlad might not of been a very good person to begin with and spent months stewing in his hate and jealousy while he slowly died in the hospital. Valerie, on the other hand, was continuously putting her life on the line, sacrificing her free time and freedom, grades, sleep and mental health to help people while expecting nothing in return. At first she was just out for vengeance but as time went on she grew to be a proper Hero. And the only reason she broke up with Danny in the first place was to protect him. So when her Obsession changes from Hate to Love all these positive emotions and protective instincts go into over drive.

So her Obsession for Danny is and Obsession, most definitely kind of (very) creepy in how deep it goes, but it’s also like? Weirdly?? Wholesome??? I’m just picturing Valerie being ultra supportive and caring for Danny.

Danny: sneezes once and groans about getting sick for the first time sense the accident. Valerie: come flying in at Mach 2.5 on her hover board carrying a mountain of blankets, tea, medicine and Disney movies “oh poor baby, no no, go back to bed now you need Rest!”

When Danny become ghost king and grows more powerful than every other being in the infinite realms all his rouges stop attacking, but not because he’s ghost king now. They all stop attacking because every time they try the see Valerie just creepily lurking in the shadows with a gun.

Danny who just saw his rouge go pale as a ghost and run away in terror: Man I’m so scary and cool.

Ember who looked over Danny’s shoulder to see Valerie decked out with every weapon known to man and several that arn’t, slowly dragging her thumb across her throat: Nope Nope Nope Nope! Frick frack paddy wack that bull crap!

Vlad’s walking up to Fenton Works planning to Fuck Around confident he doesn’t have to worry about Finding Out because “I’ve hAD thEse powERs fOr tWEnty yearS Daniel!” only to get a phase proof grappling hook rapped around his ankle and be dragged into a dark ally kicking and screaming.

If Danny accepts her feelings she just the most doting, overprotective girlfriend in the world, and if he doesn’t then shes the most doting, overprotective friend in the world that just so happens to be a girl, and gives legendary shovel talks to all potential suitors.

[darkdemeter]

Dom War x Sub Fem reader NSFW! Set in Eld AU, War’s heavily injured and lone survivor of a tough battle, but meets S/O, who’s a healer and treats his wounds. Time spent together, S/O heals his wounds and War protects her from danger. S/O is a traveling healer and has nowhere to go, so War offers to take her back to his Nephilim tribe as his mate and new healer of the tribe, which she agrees. S/O eases his pain, physically and emotionally, and if he’s frustrated, she can always “help” him.

A HEALER TO CHAOS

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE Pre-Horsemen!War x Eld'hyunen!Female Reader

NOTES ↳ It’s so fun and cool to be exploring and sharing the Eld universe with you guys through requests, I feel like it allows readers to become immersed in the lore I’m building for the AU! Thank you anon for this request! WARNINGS❕ ↳ Mature rating, 18+ — mention of mass murder — depiction of violence and killing — lore building — SMUT mdni — unprotected sex — pregnancy — neck biting/marking — mate claiming, virginity loss (hymen breakage) — I think that’s it?

✎ 3.8k ────────────────────────

It’s the scent of blood and the ominous purr of silence that draws you out of hiding. From the crop of rocks sheltering you, you move to inspect your surroundings with a peeking gaze, searching over the battle terrain to see your hunters and your enemies lay motionless on the ground. All but one. 

His ashen hair cascades in fluttering waves in the light breeze, hands clenched tight around the hilt of a massive blade bloodily sheathed in the muscled belly of his foe. Those that he came alongside with don’t get back up. He is the lone survivor of this gory battle.

Seeing so many corpses litter the ground reminds you of the awful slaughter of your tribe that were migrating towards the hillside pastures for Spring. Then, without warning, these beings of soured and unnatural origin, began an invasion upon your realm and in turn, attacked the travelling caravans of your people. You had run at the command of your mother and father and paid the price in watching all who you held dear and loved die. And now this one saved your life. Saved you from the carnivorous beasts that have stalked you for many moons. 

He rises to his feet, standing at a height that far exceeds that of your own kind. Pulling the blade free with a wetted splatter of blood that drools in thick sloshes, he stumbles back with a low and pained grunt, his body marked with grieving wounds. 

Your ears perk up slightly and the shortened coil of your tail sweeps across the back of your heels. He needs your help. He won’t survive if his wounds go untreated. And you have been alone for many, many turnings of the sun and moon. Perhaps he…

Still crouched low to the forest floor, your feet slide across the shredded bark and softness of grass as you pull yourself more into view. Slowly, you stand only to flinch when he turns sharply to face you, the glow of blue eyes beam at you with narrowed suspicion. 

Your breath becomes light in your chest until a hollow shape dwells there. His hand that holds his blade idle between sheath and arming clenches hard and you swallow the thickened bile of fear in your throat. You hold your hands up to bear your offering of peace. When he sees you mean to approach him, he remains largely skeptical, but otherwise lets you wander closer with cautious steps. 

“You are hurt.” Your voice is small, almost a mousy whisper. Head bowing and tilting this way and that, you observe the damage that’s been done to him, your nose inhales the sharpened incense of blood in the air, already you begin to recollect what balms and natural ointments that will benefit him. Against him, your hands are smaller and feel so soft moving across his skin that lay exposed. 

“They will heal,” he interjects with a low and booming voice. It astounds you, almost sends you rushing back to hide if only to be left in your fluster. 

You shake your head adamantly. “They will fester with sickness. I must tend to them.”

He pulls his arm from your gentle grasp, your lips parted with a gasp as your eyes find his. “Please? You saved my life. Allow me to do the same.”

The hardened front of his browline deeply creases, a twisted sneer smeared across his lips. Body shifting, he is once again pained by the carved gashes that line his torso and shoulder “How?” 

With a tilted bob of your head, you indicate for him to follow you. Your hands weave themselves to embrace the larger of his, fingers entwined to grasp the callousness of his palms and fingers. “Come.”

By nightfall you reach the forest hot springs that reside higher up on the rockier perches. The warrior whose name you come to know to be War, follows you. You situate yourself before the water’s edge where a heated mist of condensation rises. 

You can see the question in the quirk of his brow and the daggered contact of his gaze that forces your head to turn away, a flustered warmth covers your cheeks. “These waters are used by healers to cleanse wounds of infection.”

War only moves after a moment’s hesitation defeated by the insistent nod of your head, your voice humming. He strips from his armour, the giant sword on his back leans on the cave wall at its pommel. Bulky chunks of metal, slings of leather and folds of fabric reveal the defined shape of his body. 

Your breath escapes you as a quiet gasp, eyes wide and face plagued by a hot rush. Though you mean to tear your eyes away they keep moving back to stare at him. You dare not meet his eyes as he then steps down into the heated waters. You can hear the way it sears and stirs against the eruptive barrier of his skin while he wads through it.

The pouring streamline of the upper basin flows steadily, a constantly stirred motion bouncing and rippling the surface that fades outwards. You admit, he looks so tranquil standing beneath the shower of the hot springs, blood seeping into washed out, lesser rivers. His hands douse handfuls of the curing springs over his head and you hear him sigh heavily, the burly muscle of his shoulders falling lax. With the blood cleared, you can see just how deep the beasts had dug their claws and sank their fangs. 

Eyes marvelling in silent awe of each scar that marks him, you then cower beneath the glow of his stare when you discover you have been caught, hunching in on yourself as you sit at the rocky ledge. Your tail, nervous, slides with idle and slow absent thought. You must shake yourself of these thoughts, sensual and primal in nature. You mustn’t let yourself be so engulfed by the consuming ache that dwells between your thighs. 

But the idea… why, the pointed tips of your ears flick back quickly with an excited tick. His stance indicates a stern and rigid expectancy.

Ahold of your senses and awakened from that stupor, you disrobe the woven strap of your belt that holds your small satchels and your cowled shawl. Setting them aside, you comb your hand through clusters of moss that thrive in the dampened poolsides, the spongy tissue of the natural balm familiar. 

You pad your way down into the water, one leg followed by the other. The water level just touches at your breasts that are barely concealed by the thin linens and corded leathers of your chest wrap. 

You make your way over, cautious once again under the scrutiny of his studying eyes that follow your every move like the fearsome and revered Obsidian Hawks. You don’t dare forget how tall he towers over you, fighting to keep your eyes from wandering down the deepened lines of his waist that disappear under the water. 

Before you stands one of the many who ravage the land you call home. His brothers and sisters cleave and sever blood from blood, soul from soul in claim of their undying bloodlust. 

It would have been wise to let him die. You should have, after all that you have seen, been subjected to, living out your days alone and wandering without the security or familiarity of your tribe. 

But you begin to smear the spongy texture of the healing moss to his wounds, applying with gentle care to the ones you could reach easily. Your attention focuses into the tap of the inner leylines, the spiritual veins of your soul that extend unto him. A hover of ethereal matter emits from your palms and touches along your fingers with a warm, softened glow. 

War’s lips tug into a wince, eyes scrunching at the beginnings of his wounds healing, the moss you applied to his marred skin tinged with a pulsing turquoise hue, acting as a medium for the magic that blooms from your hands. Your eyes flutter closed to influence your concentration further, though there lies a troubled bevel between your brows. Your hands follow the link of the leylines within him that guide your healing touch, but the infernal heat of his soul has a bite that feels as if it burns your skin with the warning intensity of fire. 

As uncomfortable as it is, you continue to push your skills beyond what exceeds your limit. Your shoulders rise and fall heavily with each laboured breath that passes you. War’s eyes track between the movement of your hands and your face, gaze intently set on you that then delves lower to the plushness of your breasts pushed together by your chest wrap, the linen fabric wetted to reveal a translucent viewing. Feelings arise, stirring, sensations he has never felt to entertain before until now. Through the thin and clinging fabric he sees the perky stiffness of your nipples, poised and glistening. Below the water he feels himself become erect, an ache reaching from his tip and down the long girth of his length. 

He’s suddenly pulled from his silent observation, his besotted hunger, when he sees you struggle. Whatever inner force that grants you your ability wanes as you strain yourself to reach the higher peak of his injured chest and shoulder. 

Without warning, his arms curl around you and he lifts you up, ignoring the protesting gasp you make or the way your glossy eyes widen in your own infatuated terror. 

The last of the moss dissipates with a flaring sizzle under your magic, though the wounds still require attentive care of stitchwork. You mean to turn away despite still being held in his arms and he suddenly stops you. He pins you to the pool’s rocky rim, your arms moving to support yourself, palms scratching against the roughened, wet stone with each yearning thrust that has your core arching out of the water from his hips. You let out a squeal of a whimper that pleads for him. 

Ever since you laid eyes on him you were mystified. The enchanting waves of his white hair that accented the angelic hue of his eyes, his larger and handsome physique leaping into the fray without fear. He hadn’t anticipated saving you, undoubtedly caught in the cycle of predator hunting predator, tearing down the original hierarchy to make room for himself amongst its chain. 

Those of your tribe always respected the strength and prowess of the ones who hunted and defended your wandering caravan. And such a display won your heart despite your better judgment that he was an invader of your realm. 

He moves to roll his hips attentively, slowly that causes an aching crawl to travel up your spine, sending your nerves into an aroused frenzy. His weight pushes against you as if to test you, to see if you’re more submissive than your Eld’hyunen counterparts. When he sees you pose no issue in challenging him and instead your body leans into that want, his head bows down and you feel the scrape of his teeth. The sharp incisors pleasantly run along the flesh of your shoulder, lingering close to the curve of your neck. 

Your size is impossible to compare fairly when held flush to the confines of his body. His hands are overly large enough to swallow you under his reach. The burning heat emits from his skin like a fiery blanket that consumes you. He bends the lower curve of your spine, your thighs burn with that strain that pulls your muscles from being spread wider to the gate of his hips that continue to rut into your clothed sex. 

Your hands smooth over his watered body, palms caressing the flex of muscle and taut flesh while your lips move across his skin with a ghostly sigh. As he aims to tear away the material of your lower garments, you unravel the translucent fabric of your chest wrap, peeling it off to reveal your breasts spilling free. Naked before him, he pulls you into his arms and you gasp sharply, tail swatting across the water’s glistening surface when you’re seated on the crown of his swollen — and very large — cock. 

It’s… enormous. Far beyond what you’re possibly capable of taking. His eyes study the blatant visage of your furrowed brow, the way your ears twitch nervously and the way you adjust yourself hesitantly almost as if to squirm away from him. 

“Be still,” he rumbles lowly, handling you and pushing you down on his tip. You hiss, the intrusion more shocking to your system than painful, merely knotting his leaking head between your slickened folds. 

You comply with his demand and allow him to do as he pleased. You were not denying him on this front, that wondering curiosity of what it would have been like had you completed your courting taking over. That need to finally have what you prematurely lost. There had been a few males you were potentially interested in, some had given you small yet thoughtful offerings as gifts in seeking your approval. 

But with War before you now, dare you even admit that none of those males could compare? 

You sink, further and further down and your walls stretch until you’re completely full but it doesn’t stop. He punctures through your hymen and you yelp, body trembling against him and he holds you tighter. It continues on as you take in another inch, followed by another. You whine and mewl with small, weakened pants that beat against his chest and your fingers curl to bite deeply into his skin as your walls struggle to take him. 

The last inch is unable to fit when he meets the final resistance. He groans deeply at the way your walls hold around him like a vice. Immediately he begins to rut his hips, a hard but slow pace set that physically bounces you up and down, you’re weightless in his grasp. Withdrawing from your cunt has a pained hiss escaping you, baring your teeth before it finally subsides with the pleasure. 

His lips take to devouring your skin, suckling and kneading the tender spot of your neck between his teeth. You moan louder and he grunts in response, uttering words in a tongue not of your own, though its canter is beautifully intoxicating that you want to hear more. He arches you back to watch how your breasts bounce with every move you make before he takes one of your stiffened peaks into his mouth, groaning lowly as his tongue envelops it.

A painful strain forms in the length of your hips but you care little for it now that that dull, needy ache is being satiated between your thighs. Your body practically curls into him, readily possessed by his strength and desire, anything and everything he would want for, you would give; and you would live out your remaining existence happily if he chose you. 

Of course, you don’t expect him to know or even acknowledge the more intimate factors of your culture or your ways of courting, but perhaps he could learn from you as you can from him. Even now you learn with each other, finding what the other craves, what pleases each other the most. He moves onto the other neglected mound of your breast, lapping at it with aggressive care as he picks up the speed of his thrusts. 

“Please… pl—please…” you beg softly, voice barely above a whisper to be heard over the watery slosh and rapid clapping of skin. 

he pants the utterance of your name you feel your entire body grow hot, fast approaching your release. It overtakes you as a flash, white and pulsating that has you arching to have his entire length sheathed inside you, never wanting to be apart. You moan into the recess of the hot springs, the cave walls capturing the sound as an echoing choir. 

His teeth bite down hard upon your neck and you cry out, nails drawing red lines that stake your claim over him as much as he does to you now. Blood sweeps up your neck, gathering as a pool that seeps through the broken skin. 

Your chest heaves until the swell of your ribcage is sore from the need to survive by breathing. Your head dizzied and eyes foggy, lidded with a heaviness, you pull yourself back to him, chest to chest. 

“War,” you moan, low and sweet and the sound of his name on your lips sends him over the edge. A few harder pumps that reach that one spot has you mewling for more and he releases his seed into the precious silk of your womb. You hear the way your combined juices mix together and feel the slow crawl of it drooling down the steep angle of your walls. 

Through the haze of your bliss you see the punctuated hue of his blue eyes staring at you, marvelling at you. Your fingers, so delicate and soft that he cannot help but try and gently kiss them, smoothly trace the lines and structure of his jaw, taking the time to study every single part of him that’s scarred and not. 

He brings you back over to the edge of the pool, the faded mist and water parting before his destined strut. He sets you down and you begin to weave and stitch what remained unhealed while his hands and mouth continued to discover you until he reached the lower folds of your cunt, tongue dancing over the still sensitive bud of your clit and you sharply gasp, an elicited sound he finds great pleasure in wanting to hear. 

Under the dawn’s abode, you begin to stir when streams of sunlight bathe you with a glowing, tempered greeting. Not too far from the hot springs had you and War made camp where the two of you continued to explore newer pleasures. From behind you, War cages you with a security you have not felt in so long, held against his sturdy chest, your back warmed by him long since the fire went out. 

His nose presses against the indented mark on your neck and you purr, enjoying the way his breath caresses you, his lips kiss and his teeth nip at you. He’d discovered you enjoyed the form of his fingers or tongue curling deep inside you, mesmerised by how your legs would shudder and your toes clench into tightened curls. He adored the way you admired and praised his body, submitting to his far larger size and able to cover you beneath him as he took you over and over again. 

By the time the both of you were properly dressed, he encouraged you to follow. Not that you had much of any thought against it, relieved that he intended for you to stay with him. 

“You are without a tribe now,” he had said.

“I am.”

“Then join my tribe, as a healer and my mate.”

With a smile, you had agreed. The days that follow were spent travelling together. He kept the creatures that stalked you at bay, often pulling you behind him to protect you and after such battles, you would nurture and tend to his wounds, intimately caring for his soul that has seen much bloodshed and been tainted by many horrors that plague his sleep. 

He would watch you comb your fingers through your hair, gathering a thickened lock of it on your left side and begin to plait it into an elaborate braid. War could see the way you smiled the entire time, cheeks seemingly warmed and not by the fire but from the significance your new braid bore. 

You would decorate it, using scarlet dyed threads and small, painted beads to intertwine with the braid, their stunning hues beautifully complimenting the colour of your hair. 

Oh, how you wanted to ask him if you could do the same, to signify that he was lovingly spoken for, but… from the way his brethren of the tribe interacted with one another, a brutish culture, you’d thought better against it. At least for the meantime. 

Though it has taken quite some time to grow accustomed to the way the Nephilim go about their bidding within the tribe, their violent nature often demonstrated right before your eyes just as much in the field of battle, it’s better knowing that you were no longer alone. Of course, you could have fled to any number of the fellow Eld’hyunen tribes, they would have taken you in without discrimination, but what then? They too would have met their bloody end for sure, and perhaps your soul claimed amongst them. 

And you would not have met your beloved War. A formidable fighter and very capable of defending your honour whenever one of his Nephilim brothers attempted to claim you for themselves. 

But there were times where you would have to remain in the camp and wait for the war party’s return. A tiny shred of fear always accompanied these long tides of waiting, gnawing in the back of your mind that War would be counted among the numbers that didn’t get back up. That they would carry his near-dying body to you and you would be left alone again. 

But he always came back. However much you scolded and fussed over his wounds, you were thankful he was alive. 

Nights were spent together in the privacy of your personal tent, skin pressed to skin, body to body and enveloped by the flood of your sated arousal that audibly guaranteed that War had claimed a mate for himself, that you were all his. Other times you simply would lay together atop the gathered furs, listening to the hungry smolder of the fire and the lingering mingle of your breath matching.

Many days and nights after his return from battle would see him approach you, agitated by something but you knew just what would help to ease the pent up rage, your body used for his explicit aggression. 

Eventually, you were given permission to braid the left portion of his ashen hair. Of course, you made it less obvious than your own but being able to gently comb and filter the locks of white between your nimble fingers, fashioning a beautiful courting braid and securing it with a red lacing that matched yours gladdened you. 

Your lips hover over the naked scar of a recent wound on his shoulder, humming a soft lullaby for his ears to hear. The fire in the small tent crackles, its smoke filtering out through the opened gap in its top. 

War buries his nose deep into the crook of your neck, right over the healed scar of his mark and you smile, turning in his lap to sit in the comfort of your silence. His large hands rest over the top of yours, the two of your carefully nursing the small, beginning bump of your unborn young. 

[yanderes-galore]

I can quest more queen xenomorph with darling who has accepted their fate like the queen being injured by small group of humans. darling opening a can of whoop ass on the group responsible for hurting her queeny Maybe leading drones to wipe the human group out.

That moment when you betray your own kind for an alien waifu. Gave the Queen a name, feel free to change it as you will.

My Queen

Yandere! Xenomorph Queen Short

Pairing: Animal/Pet-like

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Stockholm syndrome, Kidnapping mention, Murder, Teratophilia, Drool.

Some would say the ultimate act of betrayal would be to kill your own species. The kill a group of people you share such a close relationship with not in war... should be treason. However...

To you it doesn't matter if they never felt like family in the first place.

The moment you woke up to screeching, your fight or flight response reacted. The screeching wasn't human, no...

It was alien.

"Star...?"

Your voice was hoarse but filled with fear. Even if this family of yours wasn't biological, you loved them- Star happened to be the one you loved most.

You couldn't simply call Star a Queen Xenomorph all the time. You needed something more endearing, something affectionate.... Star came to mind due to the nature of the large Xenomorph.

The bonus was Star would listen to the name. She'd chitter at you in delight before beckoning you over once you say the name. Star made you happy.

Even if the truth was Star kidnapped you.

But that's in the past now! You love Star. You love her and her many children....

You simply hated humans now.

You get up quickly from your bed created of Xenomorph resin, running through the hive towards the screeching. Star was in trouble, you knew that call. It was your job to help.

As you ran you began a call you practiced with Star. Of course, it wasn't quite like a Xenomorph, but the drones understood. Once you chitter, the dormant Xenomorphs in the hive copy you.

You're stopped by one of the bigger warriors in the hive, the alien chittering at your panic.

"Your mom's in trouble...." You panic, the warrior reading your concern.

With an enraged hiss, the warrior calls for action. You notice the black walls move as Xenomorphs swarmed the area. To think they wouldn't listen to you back when you first came here, alone and afraid-

Another screech fills your ears, a screech of pain. Anger raises within you as you enter Star's chamber. You can't hold back the panicked squeak you release when you see the carnage.

Star's eggs were trampled... blown to bits by pulse rifles. Drones squealed in pain when attacking a small group of humans and synthetics. Your eyes quickly meet with Star, which you can already see the acid spilling out of her wounds.

You knew what must be done.

Gesturing to your stronger Xenomorphs, you tell them to hide by the wall. Once the aliens hide, you make yourself in view.

"Help!" You cry, the group turning to see you. Once they see your tattered clothes, concern appears on their faces.

"A human? Are you okay?"

You flinch when they continue to hurt your hive.

"No! I'm lost! Help me!"

"Come on, we need to help them-"

It's once they start making their retreat that you sick the stronger drones on them.

"Got you."

Spitters from the walls spew acid on the team, human screams of pain erupting through the hive.

"The hell!?"

Warriors pour in closer to them, pushing them to the ground. You merely grin as the group is ripped to shreds. The humans... you can't even associate with them anymore.

You're no better than an enemy to humanity for protecting this hive.

Once the fight settles down, you collapse to your knees. The sight of all the young dead on the ground brings tears to your eyes. Almost as much as Star's pain did.

Speaking of Star....

"Star!" You call, the Queen quickly snapping her head to you. The large Xenomorph hisses towards you in relief before stalking her way towards you. You only feel comfort when she cradles you in her smaller arms.

"You scared me so much, Star."

You heavily breathe while giving her a hug, pulling back to allow her head to rest against your chest.

"What will we do...? The eggs are gone, no doubt in an attempt to farm them gone wrong. We've lost so many too-"

You hear a sharp hiss come from her, an attempt to make you quiet. You go silent while the large alien rubs her head against you. Even now she managed to be comforting to you.

You chitter at her softly, watching as Star looks back at you. She copies the chitter back at you, a sign of love between you....

It surprised you how attached you became to her. While it may be stockholm syndrome... she's the only family you have. You can't help but find the way her drool stains your clothes adorable.

She's adorable because she's yours.

You'd protect her with your life...

All because she loves you, and you love her, despite the large differences between you.

[hexblooddruid]

15 Lines of Dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

@thedragonagelesbian tagged me in this a million years ago and I'm finally doing it now. These are all from Bryn, for my running document for her current playthrough where I rewrite scenes, write additional scenes, and her thoughts to help keep me in her head space for this playthrough. It's documented day by day, which is why the dates are included at the end. I included very little context in the scenes. Thank you so much for tagging me!

“Yes. I find that many creatures that seem vicious at first just need to get to know you.” (22 Highsun)

“Impossible. You’re part of this group now. I care about you. Besides, someone has to.” (23 Highsun)

Bryn blanched at the compliment. “All I do in battle is heal people.” (24 Highsun)

“I suppose. But to answer your question, no. Quite the opposite in fact. I was a sage for my druid circle. I spent my time archiving lore and ancient druidic techniques. The most adventure I experienced was traveling to Baldur’s Gate to find some text to copy to our collection.” (24 Highsun)

“No. No you don’t. No pet names right now. Gods! This is why you were being so nice to me the other day, saying you wanted to travel together, that you just wanted my company. Ugh! That’s why you were asking about my tattoo.” Bryn started to feel sick. She backed away from him, stepping toward the edge of the water. For the first time since they met, she felt truly afraid of him. Bryn shakes her head, angry tears clouding her vision. “I’ve been such a naive fool-” (24 Highsun)

“Wait, you haven’t had a bath in over half a tenday? We almost always camp right by fresh water. You all but you especially”-pointing her finger at Astarion-”should be bathing regularly, at least on days that we have hard battles. It’s important to keep your wounds clean and once you upgrade your amour”, Bryn looks derisively at Astarion’s padded armour, “regular bathing is an important part of upkeep for leather and hide armours.” (25 Highsun)

“When he was in my head the thing that kept me going was knowing that I had to get Karlach, Astarion, and Gale out of there. That we had to get back to here, to you…to Lae’zel and Shadowheart. I know this is something you deal with constantly and…I don’t ever want you to feel alone in this, anymore.” (26 Highsun)

Bryn immediately turns to him. “Wyll, are you all right?” Her hands itch to reach out and comfort him but, remembering that they are not alone, she keeps them at her side. (27 Highsun)

“I know, I know. But-” she pulls her hands from his face and holds his hands in hers “- give me a chance, please? Before you sell your soul to a devil.” (27 Highsun)

“Oh come on” Bryn nudged him with her elbow. “You can’t tease me like this. Please? For me??” She looked up at him with her large, dark pleading eyes. (27 Highsun)

“I don't want to talk about it.” (27 Highsun)

She responds hesitantly. “Yes-no. My head is killing me and…” She kept moving her head, trying to catch the shadows that crept in the corners of her vision. “Is it dark in here?” Wyll placed a gentle hand on her chin to point her eyes back toward him. “What?”, her voice shook with worry. “Wyll, tell me what’s wrong. (28 Highsun)

“I’m sorry”, she whispered in between sobs. “I’m so sorry.” (28 Highsun)

“No! Nothing like that.” Bryn opens and closes her eyes and the shadows in the corners of her vision start to take shape. “The way I access magic is I attune myself to the land around me and it connects me to the natural arcana that flows through everything, the natural flow of life that connects us all.” She smiles as she feels her tattoo warming. “Before I died, I heard Ethel’s voice in my head. I heard it when I was dead. And when Wyll brought me back, she said I’d see the world through fresh eyes now.” She bows her head as shameful tears well up again. “I-there are shadows in the corner of my vision. I can feel it-I can see it. My connection is not as strong as it’s been recently and now, I can see the rot, the decay under everything. Her curse killed me and the stench refused to leave me.” She barks out a rueful laugh and says under her breath, “At least the eyes make sense now.” (28 Highsun)

Her face is deadly serious when she responds. “There’s no point in me being back if I’m not going to worry about you.” (28 Highsun)

[queen-scribbles]

bound, break, skin for Jaaide and maybe also AJ?

Ohoho, these two are both excellent for these questions. :3

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

Jaaide was imprisoned by the Castellan Restraints(inflicted by her own people :) ), and then there's the five years in carbonite thanks to Arcann, and briefly, technically, captured by Heta's forces on Ruhnuk. The Castellan Restraints left mental scars after she reconditioned herself, there haven't been any long term effects from the carbonite, but she did deal with nausea for a while immediately after Lana freed her(and sometimes forgets how old she is bc those 5 years feel like they "don't count"; she has to do the "What year is it? And I was born in...? Making me...." math). Nothing even short term from the Ruhnuk one bc of how fast Rass saved her neck.

AJ was captured by Murphy in book 1, wriggled herself free before running into Unit Bravo, and she has a deep-seated fear of being retrained now, as well as the bite scars on the side of her neck. (Also some lingering trauma from watching him beat Nate unconscious. No, knowing about vampire superhealing--and that Nate's is extra good--does not help)

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

Jaaide it's one of two things: either failing at her long-term goal of bringing down the Empire and seeing that everything she's spent a decade working and sacrificing toward that end was for nothing or losing Theron. Whether that's death-type losing Theron or she says/does something that makes him turn on her for real. There was a taste of the latter during the Fractured Alliances arc; she takes insomniac workaholic to a whole new level, is half a step from a complete non-functioning wreck. Theron's seen her at her lowest bc.... well, he didn't put her there but he def rubbed salt in the wound. Her lowest was post-Onslaught, when a whole bunch of civilians died bc she said the wrong thing and didn't talk Darth Krovos out of bombing Corellia. Add Theron yelling at her for something she already felt massively guilty over(one of their only real fights. :)))) ) and that was probably the lowest she's gotten.

AJ it would be failing to protect someone, especially someone she cares about a lot. She felt horribly guilty when Bobby got sick in b2 and she kinda loathes him; if something horrible happened to, say, Nate or Felix or her mum in a scenario where it's even 3% possible for her to blame herself, she's gonna break down. Lots of tears, streaky red face bc she's an ugly crier, either self-imposed exile bc she just gets people hurt OR driving herself unreasonably hard to set it right. Like, we're talking almost-killing-herself hard. Adam needs to have a talk with her hard. Her lowest point so far is when she was crying over the missing posters in b3, so no one saw her, but she called Nate, so he heard her, if that counts.

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

They're both pretty comfortable in their skin. You could say Jaaide grapples with what she knows she's capable of; the rage that tore Vinn Atrius to (figurative) shreds for trying to kill Theron, the manipulation that's turned people against their own families, but she knows just bc she's capable of those things doesn't mean she's going to use them.

AJ doesn't have anything(yet? there are some hints for book 4 that are 👀), and I don't think either of them's truly had to face the worst version of themselves yet. And I don't think AJ would be able to acknowledge it without facing it. She knows she's not perfect, but idk how she'd handle the absolute worst version of herself.

Not So Nice Asks

[nicsalazar]

Moth to a flame || Nicole & Zane

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @rn-zane  & @nicsalazar SUMMARY: Nicole comes to the ER with a cut. Zane's super chill about it. CONTENT WARNING: Medical blood

Eleven. That was the last time Nicole set foot in a hospital. A sprained wrist after a tree climbing accident. She always enjoyed climbing, despite her mother’s numerous warnings. What she first recalled of that day, however, wasn’t her mother grounding her for two weeks (though that did suck), but how much she had hated being asked questions and prodded by professionals, and fuck— did it make her feel like a freak. 

So she decided, after that, that she was done visiting hospitals for the rest of her life. 

It was clear in her demeanor that she didn't want to be here, waiting to get that nasty cut on her arm checked. It wasn't even her fault. And it was fine. But the boss insisted she got it checked. Doing as much as to send someone to chaperone her. A fucking chaperone. Nicole slumped, face wrinkled in displeasure, mind going over incident reports and other paperwork she wasn’t looking forward to get done. She almost missed the nurse that was fast approaching to her side.

Straightening up her back slightly —she wasn’t rude, okay?— Nicole gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Believe me, this is unnecessary. I can just... rub alcohol on it myself" thank you very much, she didn't say.

Zane rarely had much time to do a proper reading on patients before he saw them, usually getting the highlights thrown at him before running to the next bed. This time, he’d actually managed to find a free computer at the nurse’s station, sitting down mostly to get his mind back on track. He wasn’t supposed to be here right now but when the handsome charge nurse asked Zane for… well, anything - his automatic response was an enthusiastic yes. One day, he might end up accidentally curtsying to the man if he wasn’t careful. 

So here he was after his already 16 hour day shift, filling in for a sick nurse and heading into hour 20. And he was hungry. 

The smoothie glass with his shift ‘snack’, very clearly marked with his name and a ‘do not touch’ sticker, had held him off for some time but… besides, his replacement would be here in less than an hour. He had other things to think about, like the - oh, wow - literal firefighter waiting for him. 

Head slightly clearer, he maneuvered past the gurneys posted in every hallway and pulled back the curtain to the assigned spot. A courteous nod to the man standing by the hospital bed was all Zane managed before the patient, the firefighter, spoke up. 

Zane smiled, a soft smile reserved for children and the more nervous of patients. “I really won’t be a minute and from what I heard, you might not even need… stitches…” His voice faltered at the end, eyes dragging to the wound on her arm. It was still weeping blood despite the fabric pressing down on it and the smell wafting up…

He cleared his throat, dragging half of his attention back to the patient. Nicole. Human. Not a meal. “I’m Zane. Do we need to worry about any debris in there, Nicole?” 

Maybe they’d be done soon. And she wouldn’t have to tell Leah about her ER visit. Nicole lowered her gaze, snuffing out the small flame of hope in her chest. Instead her eyes fell on the makeshift bandage, willing to accept –for the first time– that it still seemed to be sticking with fresh blood every now and then. And that couldn’t be too good, right? She tilted her head to figure out a proper answer to his question.

“I— probably” Nicole admitted, jaw tightly clenched before she let out a weary sigh. Some of the tension evaporated in her breath. After all, these people were here to help. No matter how terrifying she found their shiny tools to be. When she spoke again, the edge was gone from her tone. “They patched me up with what they had in the field. We don’t really get too…” she snapped the fingers, fishing for the word in her hazy brain. “Cómo se dice? We just got the basics up there, y’know? But should be clean enough”. 

Nicole glanced at her crewmate, but he remained quiet, as if scared to contradict her. “Someone in handcrew slipped, they were carrying fuel… branches, weed, anything that can—” did nurse Zane need the whole story? She paused, heat rising to her cheeks. “It might be a little dirty, anyway” she concluded, releasing the hold she had on her left bicep, silent permission for the nurse to go ahead and get to work. 

For the first time ever, Zane was relieved to have a nervous patient. Nicole seemed way too preoccupied with her own discomfort to notice how jittery the blood was making him but her guest on the other hand… Feeling like he was getting rid of a witness, he politely asked the man to hang back in the waiting room due to lack of space, which definitely wasn’t a lie. With curtains on every side giving staff just enough space to squeeze in next to the beds, one extra person could definitely fill up the space. 

“Right, I noticed the firefighter thing. That’s really cool, y’know,” Zane started, falling into the habit of talking to distract patients and, in this case, hopefully distract himself as well. “Not sure I’d willingly run into a burning forest, even if I was getting paid for it.” Practiced hands busied themselves with preparing an IV line, his attention focused on the non-injured hand for now as he swiped over the skin of her forearm, tightening a tourniquete. “Small pinch,” he warned, settling the IV needle in place and making quick work of bandaging it down, definitely not entranced for a moment at the droplet of blood that managed to leave the line before he screwed the cap back on. 

“I’ll need to draw some blood, maybe get a little fluid in you. Are you feeling woozy at all?” Turning from Nicole, he busied himself with preparing supplies for the wound, really not in a rush to expose the whole thing to his nose. 

Nicole offered a small, thankful nod once the nurse finally dismissed her chaperone. She planned on slipping past him when she was free to go, but her escape ideas and other petty thoughts were interrupted by the nurse’s voice. Breathing out a laugh, her eyebrows pinched together. “It really isn’t like that—unless you’re a smokejumper… or a hotshot, which I’m not. They’re the cool action heroes” she explained. There was nothing glamorous about digging up a fireline or reducing fuel. “You work in the ER, I bet people think it’s… y’know, stuff out of a movie”.

Her eyes landed on Zane, as much as she hated staring. Nicole’s options were limited in the secluded space. For the first time in the evening, her thoughts went to someone other than herself. Knowing a thing or two about exhaustion, it was easy to recognize the signs on him. So she acknowledged the pang of guilt at her previous behavior, mentally promising to be more cooperative moving forward.

At the sight of the needle, Nicole tried to distract herself by sneaking a look past the curtains. She couldn't really make out anything but white coats and varied colorful scrubs, but it did the job of taking her attention away from her arm as the nurse set the IV line. “No…no. I’m—” fine, she almost said, stubbornly. But the words died in her tongue. No one was here for her to prove a point anymore.  “Not woozy, but— guess my arm kinda hurts” she conceded, bringing her thumb and index finger as close together as possible, “barely”. That part was true, she had endured far worse. Meanwhile, she appreciated the play by play, wondering if that’s what she had needed when she was a kid. No one seemed to explain much to her, referring only to her parents. She could do the whole introspection thing once she was back on her feet. “Right, blood, take it”. She gave him a nod, ready. 

She was talking now, visibly less stressed now that her coworker had left. The answers about Zane’s firefighter inquiry seemed rehearsed in a way, as if she was used to making sure people didn’t think she was an actual hero. It was stupid, obviously, if only judging by the giant cut on her arm that she definitely wouldn’t have gotten working at some desk downtown. “Yeah, your job seems really safe and this definitely doesn’t make me think you’re an action hero,” Zane joked, nodding towards the cut and just as quickly looking away from it again. Keep it together, man.

Smiling as Nicole finally let go even further, admitting to her pain, Zane gave her good arm a soft but comforting squeeze. “Secret’s safe with me,” came the conspiratorial reply as he gathered up the vials, took the samples and set them aside. He was running out of tasks to do that didn’t involve assessing the wound and a phantom heart was starting to beat wildly in his chest at the thought. This hadn’t been a problem any other time, he’d literally gotten covered in blood a few shifts ago and only felt a mild pang, like when you dropped a fresh cookie and realized you couldn’t eat it. Now it felt like a tug, this hunger, egging him on to get to the source of blood and then… what? He’d never bitten anyone, didn’t plan on it and especially not in here. 

So he rambled on as he gathered up the rest of the materials, moving to give Nicole some painkillers. “I remember the first forest fire I ever saw, we were in California and it almost started out of nowhere. The news had all this footage of people doing what the could, helping families from their homes or spending hours cutting down trees and digging ditches, I was pretty much in awe and wondering if would ever be able to make an impact like that. Then when they covered the deaths I realized that a job that dangerous is definitely not my style, I mean, Grey’s makes hospitals look like the most dangerous place ever to work but that’s TV and here…” Zane finally looked up from the gauze he was unpacking, mild horror dawning on his face. “Sorry, I’m… rambling. Let’s get to that wound, yeah? Get you out of here.”

Without giving himself time to overthink it, Zane positioned himself next to Nicole’s wounded arm, removing the material that had previously been keeping her blood where it was supposed to be. It wasn’t too bad, would definitely need a few stitches and a little bit of cleaning up but there didn’t seem to be any damage to muscles or nerves. A small artery had gotten cut, still dripping out fresh blood. Zane swallowed. “You’re going to… you’re going to need a stitch or two.” His eyes were locked on the wound now, gums aching with pressure. 

Nicole bowed her head, shaking it in disagreement. “I’m not!” she doubled down, a hint of mirth betraying her words. The optics were there, she couldn’t pretend they weren’t. If she were slightly removed from her situation, then she could probably see it a lot clearer. She let the topic go, unwilling to agree with him, but unable to find the arguments to persuade him.  Zane, on the other hand, was doing a great job at turning her perception of medical care around. She felt further at ease once he offered a friendly squeeze.

The gentle hum of understanding was the only sound Nicole made as he recalled his memories of wildfires. It never got easier, dealing with families losing all their belongings. Arguing with those who refused to live their livestock behind. And then, of course; the casualties. Civilians and firefighters. It was a lot, but any sort of commentary she made would tilt their previous argument towards Zane’s point of view.

“You’re fine” Nicole never minded ramblers. If anything she always held quiet appreciation for them. It made conversations so much easier. She was a listener, and if somebody else wanted to take the spotlight, well… it was the perfect scenario, wasn’t it? “Getting out of here sounds great, but I don’t mind your chatting” she raised her gaze to offer a reassuring smile, but his face gave her a pause. “Um. Are you—” okay? She closed her mouth, let him gather and prepare what he needed. Meanwhile her mind raced, searching for an explanation. Maybe he was new. Hadn’t gotten used to all the bodily fluids yet. He looked very young. it would make sense. 

Nicole knew direct questions were uncomfortable. Sometimes provided no results. So she had perfected the art of the roundabout. Finding a parallel thread to pull from, until the truth came undone. “Long day?” She tried, instead. Maybe she was doing that thing again. What was it called? Projecting or something. “You look a little rough, is all” Or like you’ve never seen a bloody arm before. Only then, she realized she should be concerned about that. From a logical point of view, not a sentimental one. Because this person was about direct all the pointy things into her skin and if he wasn’t completely comfortable… “Sure we need that? I— I need that, I mean. You think I need that?” she looked pointedly at the suture kit. “I scar pretty well, actually”. She was stabbed in the shoulder once, not a single was stitch needed. But Zane couldn’t know that was because a jaguar had overtaken her body for five years. “Maybe a bandaid’s enough”.

“Hmm?” Lips pursed tightly together, Zane tore his attention away from the wound and looked up, straight into Nicole’s worried eyes. So he obviously wasn’t hiding his raging thoughts well, or at all. She was looking at the suture kit like he’d proposed cutting off the whole arm to make things better and honestly, he didn’t blame her with the way he was acting. “Oh, uh… yeah, extra shift today. Sorry.” Hands working on their own accord, practiced movements dousing some gauze and wiping it around the wound, most of his attention on the opposite wall in the hopes of shutting up the clawing voice in his head. 

“Think I might ask the doctors to stitch it up, actually. Since it cuts a little deep.” He’d done a few sutures in his time here, most of them shallow but sometimes, on the really busy days, a junior doctor would throw the suture kit his way and run off to some other, hopefully more sick, patient. Theoretically, Zane could do a good job of stitching up the wound. At this very moment, though… 

The gauze moved over a nice, clotted part of blood, tearing it away and -joy- exposing even more blood from the wound. Zane felt it before he realized it, the shift in mindset and the distant feeling of his eyes gaining more focus on what mattered. His gaze was downcast, thankfully, as now red eyes were staring down at the wound. “Let’s, uhm…” he stuttered out as he moved to stand, briskly enough to make the stool he’d been sitting on tumble backwards. “I’ll go get them now,” he blurted out, turning away from Nicole and grabbing at the bridge of his nose, which was a mistake with a blood splattered glove still on. “Sorry, I… sorry.” It was almost incoherent, words spoken through gritted teeth as he stood tense for a few seconds too long, willing his body to move. 

It finally did, clattering into the nicely prepped table of supplies and sending a few things scattering to the floor. The brisk walk away from Nicole, away from the temptation, was closer to a run than a walk as he retreated to the nearest bathroom and locked the door, leaving him only with the blood spattered gloves, eyes still gleaming red and head pounding. 

Nicole opened her mouth, deciding to ask a follow-up question. Something that would shed light on why the young nurse's behavior suddenly changed. But he interjected before she could say a thing. His suggestion earned him a frown, and Nicole’s latent annoyance surged up again. A doctor? Wouldn’t that take more time? Time that she absolutely didn’t want to spend in a fucking hospital? She shook her head, making the mistake of clenching her hands into fists. She let out a hiss as her wounded forearm protested the action.

But the pain reined back her anger, allowing her to put things into perspective. Neither Nicole nor this guy were having the best of times, clearly. It was better to part ways. He certainly didn’t look in the headspace to shove a needle into her arm. She sighed. “Ah…Y— sure, whatever you…” her words were cut off once more by his jolting movement. Jesus. She winced at the clattering sound the stool made as it flew back. She sat there, dull ache forgotten, watching this man become an incoherent, twitchy mess. The apologies spilling from his mouth barely registered, as another clumsy movement ended up with supplies scattered on the ground. Oh, the guy had lost it. Nicole almost felt sorry enough to reach out. But she didn’t, because having to wait for a doctor still pissed her off .

His turn to disappear was marked by a flash of something red, but Nicole was too stunted to comprehend any of it. The detail would end up forgotten as she reported the story back to her crew. With the small cubicle now silent, there were no distractions to stop the steady wave of annoyance washing over her. She clenched her jaw, tempted by the idea of bolting.

Well, so much for Zane changing her perception of medical care.

[whatwouldvalerydo]

🔥Carnage Circus - part 16/? - Late night show

When Akira is faced with the loss of Talia, only one thing can happen: disaster.

Tag list: @hogwartsmysteryho @that-scouse-wizard @kc-and-co @lifeofkaze @samshogwarts @the-al-chemist @cursebreakerfarrier

TW: blood, Akira being his ruthless cold-hearted self.

Inside the main tent music played, lights illuminating the now abandoned terrain. Sitting on chairs in a perfect circle, Akira’s crew all looked at each other, unable to utter a word as darkness circled them, thick and threatening, edging closer if one dared to even take a deeper breath.

Relying on his cane, Akira stepped inside the arena “So glad you could all join me.” Several people stirred, the lights coming on brighter, them screwing their eyes shut “Tonight has been festive, filled will several events that I would so like to dissect with you.” Pushing with his free hand a cart, the clatter of several utensils made their stomachs churn.

Sitting in the middle of them, he took off the cloth concealing the torture devices, lights fading slightly. Taking a seat on the ground, he groaned, pain shooting up his leg “I have a theory and I need your help since we are all such a tight knit group.” Taking a scalpel and some pliers, Akira began digging inside his leg for the bullet left behind, eyes lifting to look at Siobhan.

She stirred in her chair, looking away “Oh no, why shy away? You are my second in command after all. Tell me, why did you tell Oliver he promised you something? Were you the one behind this entire charade?”

“I didn’t do anything you son of a bitch, I tried to stop whatever was happening.”

Akira chuckled, low, reverberating through his chest and the sound of his sick filled laughter felt like it was drumming against her ears “What did he promised you?”

Taking out a knife from his cart, he looked at her, eyes devoid of any emotions “To help free us all.”

“Right.” Akira clicked his tongue “As if I was not aware that was something I needed to do. In case you forgot, in order to break my curse and be free, I need to also free you all, YET” he shouted Siobhan flinching “you all decided to play this little game so we are now here, last curtain call.”

Turning to look at Reuben, Akira dug out the bullet throwing it at his feet “Now, tell me what did you think would happen? That you would be free and happy with your little puppet? I gave you power and I can just as easily take it away.” Getting up, he went and freed Leila’s hands, placing the medical devices in her palms “Come on dear, take it out.” He gestured to the bullet in his shoulder “You after all helped, tried to cause more pain, this should be easy for you.”

Her eyes widened, but the moment she tried to look at Reuben, Akira grabbed her face in a tight hold “Do it. Take it out. And if you look at him or squirm I will kill him right before your pretty fucking eyes.” Pushing her face away, Leila stared at him, a low hiss leaving her teeth, Akira glaring at her.

She did not hesitate, thrusting the pliers in his open wound, digging out the bullet, Akira gritting his teeth as he continued to watch her expression “Good girl.”

Getting up, he went to the cart, retrieving another set of items, releasing Selene and Ethel this time. He made Selene get up, offering her a threading needle and the same to Ethel “Do it, sew them up. And while you’re at it, we will talk. You never liked her to begin with.” He stared into Selene’s eyes “And hate can be a very powerful tool. But at the same time it wasn’t about her, oh no, you always hated being tied up to one place.” Looking at Ethel who was trying to sow his leg up, he smirked “Yet your friendship was the only good thing about this hell and you tried. You tried to keep it together.”

Going back in the middle of the circle, Akira looked at all of them “Have you fucking forgot we needed the key in order to escape? Have you all gone mad?” running a hand through his hair, the darkness crept up their bodies “But no matter, I actually don’t need any of you. You are all replaceable and then I can just rebuild. Start over.”

“You still need the key.”

Akira glanced over at Reuben, smirking “Yes, but also if I perish another will take over. And then it’s up to another mad man to go through a new curse, to try, to fail, to not be Oliver fucking Gerard. How did he after all that had been done manage to be free?”

“Because she loved him.” Selene uttered, pure defiance written on her face “Because he was good despite the curse. You made him lose it and you are the reason why you lost Talia.”

Throwing his head back Akira laughed and for their ears it was the most frightening thing they had ever heard. The air went cold, lights dying out inside the tent. An uplifting song started playing as a couple of clowns brought in Orion, Akira looking over at him as they threw him at his feet “Oh yes how could I forget about the most nonimportant piece yet the most crucial? You set the idea in her head, about rebellion, about beating the odds or whatever shit you spewed that night.”

Orion lifted his eyes, blood already painting his skin “You are trying so hard to go against fate, against what is already written. In that case go, go to her, stop being afraid. She cannot cause anymore harm. She’s free.”

Akira’s hand wrapped around Orion’s throat, pulling him to his height, breath against his ear as he whispered “Harm can always be caused when you love someone.” The fortune teller looked into Akira’s eyes, surprise setting over his features like a thick veil.

“Then try, bear your soul to her.”

Throwing him back to the ground Akira stepped away “What soul?” looking over at his minions he ordered “Take them to the Haunted House, I will deal with them later.”

Inside the hospital room, Talia opened her eyes, a shudder leaving her lips. Approaching her bed, detective Winger looked at her “You’re safe.”

“It hurts.” She managed to get out.

“I will call a nurse, the pain killers are probably wearing off.”

Taking hold of his hand, she stopped him “No. It feels like I lost a part of my soul.” Tears swelled up in her eyes, Talbott taking a seat next to her bed hushing her.

[libidomechanica]

“When true love controlling skill, some in the very best”

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

Witnessed the woods and then he flung himself he flings, committed to the skies. Ah! When true love controlling skill, some in the very best. ’ He said, My name is Love. Cancer and wide, and everything already runs zigzag toward heaven dying tone: the hallow’d hour was near at hand: she sighs Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Would spy it. This the Oake again, my luve, its little eas’d, down-looking, vacant, through the dizzy sky!

               2

Bodies’ force, intent upon his sleepy music, yearning to be free as much as here is the golden vial will keep these tarantulas each day—that moved me, and rises since, thy gay morn of limb, and set up in the body but the last of their smooth of skin; when I sleep, in dreams the summer days from inns of molten blue. As though a rash one, for all that bears the storm is overruled by fate. And mixt with their causes, sleep.

               3

To infinity to infinity. But if thy rymes bene spredde, dyed in summer and would douse with vinegar and shadows haunting faerily all eyes beguile: manna and dates, in argosy transferr’d They glide; once in the sands o’ life shall whispering of the moon. Low rosed moon, thou dost taste freedom as none can deny thou gate of life like chance when Juliana came, and cried, He lieth, for his tuning her grave.

               4

Calls Ilion’s thine: ere long, and hath its food served up in earthen ware; it is as if the beldame, weak in body and in the wast Oake. A third—To thee and be liege-lord of all the star through the night we glide to its blue harbor blissfully haven’d both from worse vnto the heaven’s image was indeed wayworn; abrupt, in middle air? Until the powers do fade and warrantize of skill that, in my mind is bent, and, fool I was!

               5

That Angela the old man bespake. And suffocate true blessing with your bards would encline. Wholly in their souls, we feel amain the closet alone, but I shall drowse beside: for on a string, except where Loues selfe I needs must rhyme with their Institute of which his Name and sorely hurt. I taste a liquor never brewed from Tankards scooped in Pearl. A prop not quite unnatural? So fairy-quick, was strange to see. Morning commute?

               6

Mute—no song but sad dirges, like wailful widdowes hangen their congratulations. Sick for the dales of Arcady? Your leaves, even as thou art my heaven, by the public debt is not God it’s more welcome inmate owns: she seem’d taking flight and sleep, dreamless and quiet? Shall still be blest where twas only born. Only my grandfather’s almost something money-like, token of virtual support. Well as heavenly face.

               7

And I will in us is overblown. Like a dog in a kennel. Two bubbling springs! With sweetest soueraigne of song, before, which I shall lay it down to overtrodden valleys, and mair we’se ne’er be parted. Be she rough brows of the garden terrace, under which played the pack of Travel son or Daughter of the river-whispering for sunlight our hair—clasp your flowers to complete, and laughter they mean; lykanthropy?

               8

Kill him now: she is mine! Of marble, and the blood of crystal wall, a hedge, between the people: thither flowres, to peinct thir girlonds with me, were all beautie be made many wounds in their wills count bad what I cannot be wholly dumb; I will not help. Free of attachment. And this’ he said. And after, straight with blood only serves to wash Ambitious folke: his colowred crime with the body torn and every side, and health alchemy.

               9

Robin in the saintes, that ether house where I was seen, in beauties there were white doves plain, with necks stretched men to weep, will strayne. Sweet friend, thirteen that summer has forth without elucidation What misery most drowning. Tripped up-stairs, she and her work more mischievously slow, and plunder; and swimming longer there must we leave thee. The constellations to see his neare ouerthrow. And rose that busie archer his sharpe arrowes tries?

               10

Thou art and me! Set. While ye will, or what you would it guess to be a foreigner in a pellet of clay, with turrets crown’d but they some couenants make. Our morning Walter warped his mouth grins without discrimination. Along they could no more I hear and help our eyes to dance! The creeper, mellowing for sunlight turned him out of rock. An immortality of passed years: for other than fail. Ethereal, flush’d high with excess?

               11

Mind like a ghostly woodpecker, hid in the bed-side, where God takes sea and land: that thou might embower the north flowers beneath towers like a rocket, which foole, who by blind Fortunes lot the richest, where he threw himself: then from pleasures, living hue? This far we are two resplendent suns, we it is each time—not just like Hindoos, for air looked like. The name. So loytring liue you little heart doth wake, then falls thy shade shines so!

               12

Into with me, thy braine emperished bee throughly rooted, and—without you—two days gone in bloom, and health alchemy. Why did not hear of it. To glance up in their heads do know, and knowing as I do it has ruffled every harp, unless we call such Clytemnestra, though chequer, nor, up- pil’d, the waters with a full heart’s workings be crown’d. Could you see; it hangs still, my deadly spight, and yet but made a middling grenadier.

               13

I would pensions of the leaves. Or worser far, is innocent, so sweet, sweet, wee dochter, tho’ ye come here a one that hast my mind, and he in lone Endymion. Like Vulcan’s rainbow, with savage mountains, in starlight gems: aye, all so huge and strive to praise; now pray we for any male thing is heard no more, save that is my heart: wild winds blowing through and profligate the peace march in Washington had thanks in a look, or sing it last?

               14

Great men have done it: how I hate you all please me mair they that lead there, emitting me to your Faith he may hit on: but in such barren rocks; of shallow station, then hell, and state the peace that proved us one. Both th’ Indias of spice and mine flutter’d pigeons and convert time in silence dead, the budded broomes: and wheedle a world that high official duties of thron’d Apollo, could breathed green disparts a dew- lipp’d rose.

               15

His ynne in Fishes has-ke. Dost thou faithful guarded since the diamond balustrade, leading afar past wild magnify, and caught her muse will my poor beautie’s wonne: arise— arise! An immortal, nor Hope dare a comforts of the ancient strained to the earth and air, I feel the November of thanks in a lock without one muse’s smile, and loudly call for the time; and wilt thou laesie ladde, of Winters wracke, for sinners’ sake to grieve.

               16

No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! It is not a keener lash! Is rather high heart only by dismantling the generals turn it into each other’s eyes. Nations, she liked man as an individual. Her entrancements: hither brings. Down to this world. Through the alien city— a beekeeper’s habit—with a wayward winter with all who war with Thought’s foes by far most rude, tyrants and kings who laid will take thence?

               17

Fashion, or duchess, princes, shall make common sempstress. For good is there enough, for love without recourse to my thoughts arise, when Madeline! They do swell and speechless tribes: and when true lovers fled away into the breezy clouds, to weep, dreamless and the gay roses proclaims of it the right— It’s a warm and most forlorn upon the hill, and scent the prey their reflect—a man so firm, who, while his prayer is, these would spy it.

               18

From memory to what pleasant music, the dreadful cries of earthly circuit of your eyes to dance! Meantime, across the most adored was there fixed become, as in the western skies: the whole court look’d so dreaming teares flowe in the midst, mong thousands now such women, but she could sleep but today a coffin for the rank grass, nor the first sweet thought: O he had been.—But only spirit wander far in other regions, past the skies.

               19

I, that watch divine! In returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, and turquois floor, black polish’d boors who still on paper I remembered that: a pleasant sense, upon his shepherd throne: ’twas like feeling but by others’ seeing: for what wintry sky. Which of them, and hungry for the mere sake of the then new wonders—past the window—and the hill, and that festering hole. And this’ he said was Hugh’s at Agincourt; and dearest gift of Heaven.

               20

Stir in. For he, if he his lesson misse, when to unseeing eyes thy shadow, Cynara! This bed thy center is, the morning, who much did pass in state thrown down to overtrodden under feet to every nation. Fifty-two reds and blacks and only myself to choose between the wind through a ruined cell, or the sweet thoughts and me. Our mornings interbreath’d himself he flings, committed to the bosom of a heavenly face.

               21

At my lost brightness, my impassion in him planted of thunder hurl’d first out of, and flutes: it is only flowers, before mine eyes shined more than tortured lion’s den, so that we may engage, as an East Indian sunrise mars the luminous air of Rome turned into her dream so pure a spell, and torrent, and soon, returning that coinage to the food tree or turned it, ’tis not to be Perfection and watercresses. Kiss.

               22

Least three parts of the pain, where all these meadows, could one undo his Generation waste, where nymphs which still expatiate freely, as will I, until my Pegasus, or at the lamented Lanskoi. My diligent springs of delight, Ah, Porphyro, It is a wond’rous thing how the dictator strutting and give him sits the Titmose silent wheels, fresh wet from clouds and cruell constraint, which she did not care to heare nouells of the year.

               23

And then forgotten who had given thee more the morning. The whole length came to the sparrows from the Southern balm breathes round, we care not roses, but blood; for thou through caves, and woodbine, of her tremendous if: if she had none, yet wanted a piece of mass and the French, as well as heavenly calm, and round her dainty fairness now, circling about as in a flower on either truth or comfort bestow: come the sheer witness beat.

               24

Waiting always find a soul so charming rod, my potent river sides, and so will I, nor give my voice, oh think how I should not do—the pillow then to call back Night, and mid the top of the dying year fallen out that hath given thee most favourite position, and magnified to goodly vessels; many a threate. For deade is Dido, dead alas and dreamers that did so delightes, as the page. For in your sweet ends.

               25

So weeps the world is dimme and daut thee, all the people suppose that busie archer his shadowy, through the window and love were young and they cricketed; they talk, I’m kent the progress could seem a featherless Heliades melt in such a catering their trenches, kiss the past and fair! Of any sparkles than that. Not the beldame start: With sweetness tell. In fine the stage? Meantime, across the moonlight, soft he set What pipes and timbrels?

               26

Felt endued with power to love me! A tear; by which mine angry mistress unto me. I left Don Juan, who fondly lov’d us; nay more, that Pallas has been translated into stubborn streams collecting the trophies frame: whose palm? Broad golden atoms of thee. In our bed to reach the bonds broke out on ev’ry side. Did not I put a power like shee has not fed so well she couth the spitefull brere had made, and golden light.

               27

The lyre of his deuise: they wont in your eyes they maintain that life is love is vanish’d in the pipes it shuttles through a lowly arched way, his was harsh penance on St. Stood high Philosophy, less friend and watered with sparkled on a heavenly face. I vow an endless pleasure.—I swear that broke. Was but a span. Wise, and arrows keen art thou now forested? And all ye need to know what we behold desert a beggar that broke.

               28

Dumb phones to mizzle, hye we homeward to another took a willow-bough, distilled through boundless regions on, while one hand he held it out; and as she stands the Brere like the proem, however little while as is the peasant, Slavic and determined, somewhere or other, may be christen’d springs in a curse. Tumultuous,—and, in chords that loue deem’d thereby, alas, is wiser far than I. Which may flow just then; as they will break.

               29

Presents immortal Peter’s polish’d boors who still he came unasked by night, since it had bene thy verses moving gainst the wit of any sparkles than the other, may be graced. On roses thus itself have repair’d Legitimacy’s crutch, have seen a new tinge in their ambitious though chequer’d, calls Ilion’s thine: ere long be-nightmar’d. Wind-tossed hair was twined within him into some ballad or a song to give way to show!

               30

At first, as in the last few lire ticking like a shipwreck, like one who opened the velvet tight. The fatall sisters deadly spight, and grows erect, as that one should be—a sunbow’s arc above a waterfall. Fellows of the garden, till he found the small ill-natured sparrows from thy blue throne, now filling up, he took the lilies a few, and cried, Sweet friend, that watch’d each cheek, and fill it till it flush’d high with excessive love.

               31

Who knows why nothing in my woe. Them south, I snap the dead. Think, is worthy Ladies that I view, so radiant of hue, st. A table set for thy payne: and if myself to thee, Cynara! I will forget the warl’ asklent, which few men’s is to freeze, yet men will murder upon holy days: That night’s extinguished edge, sleepers stared, the ladies are shaking dried mud from the wet, stiles where thou art: whose royall roabes be purple grain.

               32

, She tore the love of words is destiny, alert he stood: but when on the soft shadow loses form. Wide hall; to spirits need them not; their earnest look pierces the beare when it comes to fright your weak senses in that beauty foremost, as is a dunce, and strong as for to depart, nother foot, obliquely run; thy firmness makes me end where I used to playe: sike myrth in May is past; for in your sweet dividing through loues misgouernaunce.

               33

Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert—and lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; ’ and some things which devours suns as rays—worlds like a gaoler,—behold him placed as if the world beside, all as I were God takes her over-fond: so, to preclude fresh than flowers, as in rank, the Queen! Entreaty, Threat, or Counsel held him; till the electric heater you’ll say with this piteous plea faint through the nightingale should have become a tree.

               34

Onward it flies. Sweet streaming on thy corbe should insist while they talk, I’m kent the prophecy given of old and Philomele her some great benefit of those chamber, silken, hush’d, and yet those looks immortal in their guided steps can find but as you like, my friend. He strip mall, I put on your wedding garments every side, and higher tree, and afternoons driving over: you’ve to settle yet prevailing for any good.

               35

To come to their toothed maws, their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy pressure, and quiet? Will think back to you, lawful and lawless war are scarcely can recall which one is singled to endure not yet—never yet— ah me! Smiled as she mutter’d in the languid paces, and on her lily should not prevent; nor was thend of this world is dimme and does not signal loneliness: he felt assur’d of happy times, when her mouth: the while: Ah!

               36

Who ever love you more than vile: yet, can I not to myself in the pride, the pleasures grieve not me; I have been alone in chastity: yes, Pallas is a handful of dust, and turn the dreadful bow. Life is good, that now we returning his shepherd vest, and some were pools that hurt our peace, but it is really see, the thought doth aspire: hindering in uncertainty, that’s plain as an East Indian sunrise on the body.

               37

That in my een was swelling. Hinges! So lofty that I choose, thou darken’st both and if thy rymes as rownd and rufull ryme, matter of myrth now list ne mas-ke, as she saw not: her heart to sway? But Sylvio soon had me beguil’d, the closet brought a rod, so whipt me with the ocean where your sight. In no ignoble verse; but such another, a lord of all thy fountain of the fall, but Colin made in the sweet dreamer!

               38

As since despised the wind: those scarlet coat, black facings, a long look at a stand are, or would blaze in their crags: the rather dear! Of talk from the sun rose in each respect: the reason down its agonizing throat she winter will think back to your eyes to see ourselves for the crown from sacred sisters eke repent, her very sight upbraided all but our own t’ increased velocity, space is compressed in the ground- worms riot.

               39

Skill that, in my mind was on those pleased, she was handsome and noble yet later in a wide outlet, fathomless and ermines pure. Who will dare to pluck thee from knee, nor ankles white? Abyss: whatever she hath the privacy of this rapacious eye an inmate owns: loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees, his eyes were clear; and outward shows of beautiful that myrth thee in thee cannot be so prison’d in black, the green.

               40

If carrying sail capsize the boards ere long bin placed, and more: their masters, will direct your Doves, and make no noise at all. Do we longer there must we leave to see thee how to make fire I know you like to orphans young, to speak to your Faith he may order, do it with Time and from another’s windows: Friends! Before mine eyes beguile the sand that feele the lieutenant at her foes withal, was falling on that the dreadful bow.

               41

And they themselves engraving them together until the morning, we find all vices ouerthrow, not by rude force, but always watching from a snowy gleam; her rich attire creeps rustling to cutte the ground-worms riot. I in a golden atoms of the waters with a chiefe, the knotted rushrings, and maybe that endangered hatchlings from them, pried loose or used them up, gotten away crippled by in Paris, that leaves and bears.

               42

An amatory banquet of ashes. Waters, one of us do you know paralysis, that when again he caught the goal of consciousness? Have such a prescience, it should be time and sacrifice? As doen high Towers in an earthquake: they wont in the great Pan-festival: his sister’s sorrow lends but weak relief to him that loves him not, for it was before unknown minds and in hand with slaughter, when she told God’s help!

               43

Where both deliberate, the loving and she’s standing on the stink of slurry season is over and the warps and wefts amid mats of most auaile, as vertues braunches sere. I sometime teach thine honied tongue—o let me sleep on sightless as a smile, a small smile from these our second yoke. A term inexplicable beast of prey—that Sphinx, whose voices which, though fierce solar energy, Mademoiselle, take me with thy silver flow.

               44

And they burned into which shall run. But chiefly those are high, descend! May be the eleventh month of its life I feel my brains. No song but sad dirges, like wind in the budde eke needes must quaile, o carefull verse. The world’s gay busy throng: with gentle dames, among whose track unseams a wooded cleft, and, far away, the blustring Boreas did encroche, and birds sang loudly, as he was old Sir Ralph a page or two from your sight.

               45

Her good and watching still in heart: and how she is standing in the madhouse anxious for the story and then returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, True, ’ she said, to the Atlantic isles; or they talk, I’m kent the price of your soules faire lines of British vermin, the subtle food, to the should for ay from their skill, and silken Samarcand to cedar’d Lebanon. Only Hope and calendar in one to meet you again I am to meet.

               46

Between her kissing hill; ’ and somebody, surely, some kind heart, and a sweetheart to a sudden glow: she found him at her side of this new-born Adon’, this sleeping dragons all around there had made, and, thousand mazes overgone, at last, a diamond balustrade, leading afar past wild magnify, and catch the earth is done with his lips; he sang the windchime in her necke you did. Doubt there in sphere, the cursedly miscarried.

               47

Thy headlesse hood. And all the rivers rage, these bitter blasts neuer ginne tasswage? For I am slow and feeble, and turn, sole- thoughted, to one Lady that is worst of all my fancies whirling brook: o miracle of noble womanhood in its meridian, her innocent, so sweet, so ripe a judgment that hole where they be, such pleasure, but Sorrow and still seem love to a man who holds my senses, I hear the river.

               48

To wayward winter with all on one tremendous teats shoots a look back over her arm lifted, eyes on the sloping pastured mountains:-tease me not in this warm, unnerved arm whose stars are pearl which the dumb-sister swayed, all else was well, for she-society. Is not enough. My lids closed down— yet through the patch. To call back Night, and set to plough, and die as calmly as a saint: in Provence call’d, La belle dame sans mercy: will strayne.

               49

I was thinking flown, like to sleep; when rattling bones together fly from their eyes’ expressed was but to atone for endless age. First my unhappy sight, and turn, sole- thoughted, to one Lady there; fresh graffiti sprayed on her door, shit wrapped in a thin shell the night, her soul, as the cruel destiny content with others should rise, find it, although not as the beauteous blaze upon the noon-sun, with sanctimonious theory.

               50

—Good Saints! All for what you used Kinnaird quite well in Marinet’s affair—in fact, t was shabby, and life inspires the dead had peace, and pale enchanter! Is special providence, ’ though of pearl they beheld the sight to the dark. Take like out of rock. Station, of the desert ’tis not to be, die single, and to and fro, ever about the lovely star, entitled of thunderer’s beard; whereon, it was decreed he should be good queers?

               51

True Love, which jostle in the journey, but sharp as a lynx, and yet most unlike, every tear was born of diverse passion in her ear touching ground. Like a reality- TV star look-alike, named from Paradise, in spreading branches, ’gainst Peace in their tawny brushes. Behold, I erred in that I fear, if there was a whelming sound—he stept upon his fairest and fain would keep; a small amount at sight, not to be?

               52

With oyle of burning his veil’d eye down sidelong aisles, and hearkens after it, and gave you sorrow marry. With the autumn blush; and virgin’s bower, where silence in this silver feet; with what a whirlpool full of flatter’d by her view, by cold neglect, each one congeal’d to pearl and straightway started, and she stores, to soothe, to assuage, if thoughts that am glad thy innocent, who found him at her shining chariot right.

               53

The letter open with unknown time, shall make common men, but honeying at his feet; content, she’s to me as a dream before ye have arrived, some mystic, ancient ditty, long since then thinke thus: that I view, so radiant of hue, st. For she, with happy show to move, and the like, thy sweet mama … truth beauty’s frail inanity, on which tumbled fruit in grass; and men and gods have not outlearned below. That Sphinx, whose prayers here.

               54

Last night love itself to you, Cynara! Made purple valleys; I do detest night, more endear’d, to keepe, as the self-approving glow, of consciousness? But soon his ears, the sweet kisses, thief that I can say briefly of my Julia? Waft thee hence. You and sleigh bells, do you know paralysis, that whilome was poore shepheards daughters, sing no moe the songs that Colin make iudge of loue. And brouzed, and ’gan to enclose his diamond path?

               55

Of which his Name and He shall liver flow of Hero’s tears, still amaze the trouble wi’ thee, and maiden Aunt took this fashion and there grey seniors question, ’ says Shakspeare, who just now is much in fashion. Dropped the world wants to pretend to be great Princess, empress smiled: the reigning favourite frown’d— I quite forgotten—in folly ripe, in reason at all it’s a kind of time. A famish’d pilgrimage, by our own ways together!

               56

Like religion but it is winter-sleep. With the brave lions’ keen provident. Stella, the fullnesse of my thought and sleep she lay; surely the kiss in Colin’s eyes a small lady bug with only two black dots on its hinges! Instead of a burning forehead, and she what I do to the room with sweet pastimes grace and boon; the handsome, and all lips were red like poppied warmth expression by the little do we know where art thou?

               57

Laughter: round the rest; too justly mightst thou kiss, though the sun. In generals turn it into jest. And scorn, knights, the fresh and glorious magnanimity of soul! Its chosen what and feasts, and long tunes and her bought remaynes but commun’d with too much water, some living record of your love. Blocking the winter with all the elemental passion, will he liue tyll the laity our loving father to reuert, o ioyfull verse.

               58

My death’s wound you give me, though a rash one, for one moment go, the visions of our close voices marry at their honied tongue— lute-breathing low, and shaggy satyrs standing on the grass, and wreaths, and so rare a wit, require at least he patient doves, up rose the waur bestead, those looks fresh, and little birds fly, and farmers’ can’t raise Ceres from the truth in every sense of turbulence or tides. And swear that brightness past the skies!

               59

Now—that thee bemoan that I shall drowse beside— nor earth now shalt thou leave my stranger in the night, which on rough roads leaves bedew’d, awake the early love up in their guided by beauty grow, if thy sweet virtue rudely strumpeted, and therein campeth, spreading branches more clear; and this mock-cold heart the conchs and she be fair! Once I was seeking it comes just after hour, to each other, the mair to seek anew some freshening sluice!

[theveryworstthing]

it's goblin time :)

due to sickness and tablet issues i was out of commission for goblin week but every week is goblin week so here’s a whole mess of goblins using prompts from my patrons!

1. Beezlebuddy: fancy goblins. A lady all gussied up for a rare night on the town. Who is she? Where is she goin'? Who is she going with? That's all secret. She'd be happy to answer one or two questions if you walk her to her destination though. Is that wise? Ah, another secret.

2. Kona Goodhart: gondola. A lavishly costumed opera singer treats goblin theater goers to a song about a night in the life of a sentient and absurdly haunted canal. The Water's Ribs is a relatively new show but people are really raving about it.  the ticket price is worth it for the amount of dancing skeletons alone.

3. Space Bat: snacks, and Tama: babies. A battle hardened warrior takes questing season off for maternity leave. Mom and baby have a snack during a rare quiet moment and druid dad's home grown strawberries get their first taste test. Just a chill goblin family afternoon.

4. Amy Crook: project goblin. Aida, the current lead help desk goblin for the Guides. She keeps things running smoothly by getting her guides info on local weather, pointing out nice places to stop with clients, handling general client complaints, instructing on how to treat wounds, advising what to do about The Nightmares ect. She’s always doing something, always looking up some sort of up to the second info for somebody, and she's damn good at her job. If she doesn't know something, she can easily point you to someone who does. Nice lady, terrifyingly clear memory, happy to help take care of any problems.

Do not become a problem for her.

5. Trevor: 'they failed me, into the scorpion pit with them!'. When you're thrown into a pit full of giant magically mutated scorpions (or as they say, Spicy Lobsters), death is incredibly possible but not always a sure thing. especially if the poor things are living in an abysmal enclosure with inadequate nutrition. By the time Vio was chucked down a hole for the sin of bringing the shitty wizard he worked for the wrong type of coffee (he didn't get the order wrong, his boss just changed his mind in the 3 minutes he was gone) the ones still alive were on the brink of death and not really up for stinging. Long story short, Vio is a good climber, mutant scorpions are surprisingly loyal to anyone who treats them kindly, and that wizard tower is his now. He now has a small sanctuary that takes in elderly or abused creatures/horror terrors that people have used as guardians/torture methods/body disposals. He also has a side hustle selling ethically sourced rare venoms and shed horror terror bits. Okay dude who might have done a wizard murder one time. Doesn't get enough sleep. Will let you stay in the tower for free as long as you help feed critters and shovel eldritch poop.

6. Camille Alexander: pond scum. Moat is a guide whole works the Twisting Marshes on the edge of the molehill territory. She's kind of quiet but ask her about the secret lives of the small things that live in the water if you want a front row seat to the local drama.

7. An extra pond scum treat. Cypress is a childhood friend of Moat's and he makes a living raising and gathering a variety of slimes, goops, and sludges. A lot of spells, ceremonial recipes, ect, require random swamp fluids that need to be collected by people that know how to avoid collapsing entire ecosystems or just grabbing the wrong thing because of poor field skills. Cypress' family has spent generations learning how to best acquire these ingredients.  He also raises several types of living slime that can serve as pets or livestock. Has a farmer's market booth across from Vio.

S.E.S. asked for goblin judgement.

...

.....

8. VanillaCaramelDoughnuts: sparkle boxer. Chamomile is a guide who takes people through the Sleep Walk. There are a few places in The Forest that can only be reached by dream travel. Basically you fall asleep somewhere and if you travel in your dream you wake up somewhere else. Momo is staffed at an inn that serves as a kind of 'dream station' and she makes sure people get where they need to go instead of ending up somewhere random. She also leads people who don't mean to travel back to her station if they seem lost. More people than you think camp in the wrong spot and accidentally teleport themselves once they fall asleep.

[stranger-marauders]

shattered

twenty-five: the confession

chapter summary: Kate, Nancy, Robin, and Steve prepare to defeat Vecna in the Upside Down.

chapter warnings: language, steve's lil speech again

word count: 2.7k

series masterlist | masterlist

KATE, STEVE, ROBIN, Nancy, Eddie, and Dustin were going over the plan one last time before they split off for the night.

They had already dropped Max, Lucas, and Erica off at the Creel house for their part of the plan. Now they sat parked on the side of the road before they went through the gate.

Kate didn't exactly like how they'd been split up. She didn't like that Lucas, Max, and Erica had been sent off by themselves to the Creel house, for starters. What if something went wrong and Max got hurt? The fact that there wasn't anyone there that could do anything to help made her sick to her stomach. Then there was the fact that they were leaving Dustin and Eddie to be a distraction—she didn't like that, either. Dustin was just a kid, and this was Eddie's first time dealing with something like this. She couldn't believe that Steve hadn't volunteered to stay behind with them, just to insure at least one of the kids' safety.

She didn't see the point in four of them going to kill Vecna. Realistically, the only people that needed to go were her and Nancy, maybe Robin or Steve, but not both of them. She would've preferred Robin, and, realistically, she would've appreciated if Steve would've let her at least check on his wounds rather than him just quickly shower himself off in the Winnebago bathroom. She hated that he was coming with them. It just seemed too dangerous with the condition he was in.

Kate, however, wasn't the one calling the shots.

"Okay," Nancy said, "I wanna run through it one more time. Phase one."

"We meet Erica at the playground," Kate said. "She'll signal Max and Lucas when we're ready."

"Phase two."

"Max baits Vecna," Steve said. "He'll go after her, which'll put him in his trance."

"Phase three?"

"Me and Eddie draw the bats away."

"Four."

"We head into Vecna's newly bat-free lair, and—" Robin held up a Molotov cocktail— "flambé."

"Nobody moves on to the next phase until we've all copied," Nancy said firmly. "Nobody deviates from the plan, no matter what. Got it?"

"Got it," everyone repeated in sync.

The group of six, suited with their makeshift weapons, walked swiftly to Eddie's trailer, trying not to alert anyone in the trailer park of their entry. Whenever Steve got inside, taking off his backpack before he climbed up, Dustin gave him an unreadable look.

"Be careful."

"Thanks, buddy." He put his hand on the rope, beginning the climb. "Here goes nothing." Steve quickly made his way up the rope, flipping down onto the ground. He landed right on his feet, looking back up to everyone at the top of the gate and shrugging before walking to grab the mattress.

"What does he want us to do, applaud?" Robin mumbled sarcastically, earning a stifled laugh from Kate—she figured some type of praise definitely would have sufficed for him.

Steve flopped the mattress down as a launch pad on the Upside Down part of the portal. "All right, let's go."

Kate pulled her gun off of her shoulders, stepping on Robin's two hands to help herself up the rope. Whenever she flopped back down onto the mattress, she grunted, and Steve stuck his hand out to her. "Gotcha." He pulled her up so close to him that their lips were inches from each other, making them both tense up before going back to the task at hand.

Robin and Nancy threw down all of their weapons before they both followed down, and Eddie and Dustin threw their weapons down before falling onto the mattress themselves. Whenever they'd gotten ready to split off, Nancy led Kate and Robin out the door, Steve following closely behind. Eddie and Dustin followed, only stopping on the outside of the trailer.

"Hey, guys, listen," Steve said, turning around to Eddie and Dustin. "If things here start to go south, I mean, at all, you abort, okay? Draw the attention of the bats. Keep 'em busy for a minute or two. We'll take care of Vecna. Don't try to be cute or be a hero or something—"

"Does he hear himself?" Kate mumbled to Robin during his speech to Dustin and Eddie, earning a stifled laugh.

"—Okay? You guys are just—"

"Decoys," Dustin said, emphasizing the word as if he'd heard it a hundred times. "Don't worry. You can be the hero, Steve."

"Absolutely. I mean, look at us," Eddie said, looking at Dustin. "We are not heroes."

Steve nodded once before turning away, but stopped in his tracks when Eddie called his name again.

"Hey, Steve?"

Steve, as well as the three girls in front of him, stopped to look back at Eddie.

Eddie hesitated, almost as if it hurt him to say it. "Make him pay."

Steve nodded once before walking away with Nancy, Kate, and Robin, beginning their journey to the playground.

As they walked through the woods, Robin began to panic.

"Uh... I don't mean to freak anyone out, but I swear we've seen this tree before," she said, stopping in front of a tree.

"That's impossible," Nancy said, standing next to her.

"That would suck, right?" Robin asked. "If Vecna destroyed the world because... 'cause we got lost in the woods?"

"We're not lost, Robin."

Robin chuckled nervously as she and Nancy walked ahead, leaving Steve and Kate alone once again.

"Hey, watch out for vines!" Kate shouted. "Hive mind, remember?"

"Thank you!"

"Don't worry about her," Steve said, reading Robin perfectly. "She's just stressed. You know, scared."

"Yeah," Kate said. "Yeah, I... I know. It's just..."

"She's a super klutz?" Steve asked.

"The worst!" she said, chuckling. "One time she told me that it took her longer to walk than most babies, and I completely believe her. Without a doubt."

Steve chuckled. "I really shouldn't laugh. When I was a baby, I actually crawled backwards."

"What?" Kate said, turning to him sharply in disbelief. "You're lying. I've never heard you say that."

"I'm not making it up!" he said, still chuckling. "Seriously, you know, I'd push with my hands like this." He demonstrated with his hands as he made a beeping noise, similar to a large vehicle going in reverse. "Always in reverse, you know? I mean, come on, it makes sense. You push to move, right?"

"No." She tried to contain her laughter. "How the hell does that make sense?"

"Well, it did to my tiny little Harrington brain." He sighed. "That is until I reversed my baby butt down a flight of stairs and thumped my head really good."

"What?" she repeated, turning to him again. "You are such a liar."

"I swear I'm not, okay? Ask my mom next time you see her, I'm sure she'd be thrilled to tell you." He chuckled. "I'm surprised this, uh... hasn't ever come up before. I seriously never told you?"

"No," she said, astonished. "I mean, it explains... so much."

"Yeah," he said, chuckling. "I think it kinda does. I think, like, right out of the gate, like, I'm super confident, you know? But I'm also, like, an idiot. Which is just... I mean, it's a brutal combination."

She grimaced. "You're not an idiot."

"I am," he said, shrugging. "I've come to accept it. But, I mean, the good news is, I get a big enough thump on my head, I can change, you know? I can learn. I can... crawl forward."

"Or you can get serious brain damage."

He sighed. Kate didn't know what he was trying to say. She stopped walking, making him stop in return.

"Listen, I guess what I'm trying to say in a stupid, roundabout way is, um..." He clicked his tongue. "...is thank you."

"Thank me?" Kate asked, almost laughing.

"Yeah."

"What the hell are you thanking me for?"

"For giving my head the biggest thump of its life two and a half years ago," he said, looking at her fondly.

Kate sighed softly.

The "thump" in question had been during their junior year of high school whenever they stopped being friends. It had been back when Steve was a complete asshole, back when Kate was willing to throw away years of friendship because of the way he treated people. They stopped being friends for about a year, and they both remembered the pain that had brought on for both of them, even if they had connected with other people during that time. During that year, Steve cleaned up his act, dated Nancy Wheeler, and the night of Halloween their senior year, Steve and Kate finally spoke again, leading to their eventual relationship not long after. She hadn't realized until much later what her renouncing their friendship did for him: she couldn't imagine Steve as that guy now. Not anymore.

"I needed it. It's changed my life." He walked ahead of her, looking back at her. "And now I'm crawling forward. Slowly." He paused, trying to collect himself as he walked next to her. "I just wonder sometimes... you know, if all of this didn't happen... would things have been... different?"

"How so?"

"I don't know, I just... Maybe if we would've waited, you know? Waited until we got older, or if, like... if–if we were meeting together for the first time right now, part of me..." He stopped walking again, making her stop, too. "I dunno, part of me thinks we would've made it."

Kate's heart dropped. "Steve..."

"Remember the dream I told you about?" he asked. "About the Winnebago? Seeing the country with my six lil' nuggets?"

Kate's eyebrows furrowed together. "Yeah?"

"It's all true. Every last word. But I left one part out. It's the most important part," he said, looking at her fondly.

Her heart was beating out of her chest. She couldn't believe that Eddie had been right about what Steve had said—she would definitely have to tell him about it later.

"You're there." Whenever she didn't respond, only stared at him in response, he smiled softly. "You've always been there."

Her breath caught in her throat. "You're so cheesy."

Steve gave her a confused look. "I just poured my heart out to you, and that's all you have to say?"

She hesitated, almost like she couldn't respond. "You're so... goddamn cheesy, oh my God."

He stifled a laugh. He finally understood her. "Can I kiss you?"

She blinked once, almost like she hadn't heard him correctly. "What?"

"I want to kiss you."

She scoffed. "Since when have you ever asked for permiss—?"

Steve cut her off by cupping her face with his hand and pressing his lips to hers. She immediately kissed him back, putting her arms gently around his neck so as to not hurt him.

She'd forgotten what it felt like to kiss Steve Harrington. Everything that was him was so intoxicating that she seemingly forgot about everything else just for a moment, the only two things in the world being him and her. She broke away for a moment and pressed her forehead to his, just long enough to catch her breath. "I hate you."

He chuckled. "I love you, too." He barely had enough time to catch his breath before she pressed her lips to his again, tilting his head in her direction and digging her fingers in his hair.

God, she'd missed him. She'd missed the feel of him, his sappy remarks that she loved to act like she hated, his stupid hair. Even though they were in the Upside Down, she didn't care—she was kissing him again. She was with him again. Everyone had been right in telling her she was an idiot for breaking up with him. She'd never make that same mistake ever again.

"Hey, guys!" Robin said, running back to them with Nancy in tow. "You guys! Awesome news—oh!"

Kate and Steve both immediately pulled back from the kiss whenever Robin's voice came within earshot, her and Nancy both standing in front of them awkwardly. Steve sighed annoyedly—this was the first time he'd kissed Kate in two hundred and fourteen days and Robin had been the one to get in between them? Tough break.

"Yes?" Steve asked, annoyedly.

"Looks like we weren't going the wrong way, after all," Robin said sheepishly, still out of breath. "Come on! Let's go!"

Steve and Kate both exchanged glances as Robin and Nancy walked ahead, and he nodded off in their direction, telling her to start walking again. If he survived the night, he would definitely make sure they would be picking up where they left off on that.

"Ro... Slow down! Ro–Robin!" Steve shouted, trying to keep up with her. He turned to Kate, speaking softly. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Again, you and the asking for permission."

He scoffed when she stuck her hand out to him, which he very quickly accepted. He chuckled as he watched for vines, holding her hand tightly in his. "I didn't realize it would be that easy to win you over again."

"Easy?" she asked, acting somewhat offended. "Am I easy to you?"

"What, no!" he said quickly, shaking his head. "No, I just... I just didn't think you liked me like that anymore."

"What are you, five?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. So the six kids and the Winnebago did it for you, huh? Reminded you of how much you love me?"

She laughed uneasily. "Actually, no. Six is... insane. I still think that is insane. You sounded like a damn Catholic whenever you said that."

"All right, that was low, okay? Low." Whenever she stifled a laugh, he sighed. "How about five?"

"Nope."

"Four?"

"Still too many."

His eyebrows furrowed together. "How many do you want, then?"

"Jesus, Steven, I don't know! I don't have my entire life planned out in terms of how many kids I want to have. All I know is I want a dog named Leia, that's it."

"So three isn't out of the ballpark?"

"You are annoying, you know that?" she said, shaking her head. "You and your theoretical children."

"You mean our theoretical children?"

She rolled her eyes, pink slightly tinging her face. "You're completely pushing your luck, Harrington."

He smiled contently. "You still love me."

"Sadly." Kate sighed slightly, still not losing her smile. "Seriously, though, I missed you. I feel like a dumbass for breaking up with you. I wish I wouldn't have done it."

"Hey, you're not a dumbass, okay? But I, uh... I also wish you wouldn't have done it," he said, squeezing her hand. "Would've saved me a lot of money, let me tell you."

"Okay, your nicotine addiction is not my fault."

"You stressed me out!"

She stifled a laugh, unable to get rid of her smile. "All right, well, problem solved. Stop smoking."

He nodded once, pressing his lips together. "Got it."

"Are you guys coming or what?" Nancy shouted way up ahead of them.

"All right, Jesus, we're coming!" Steve shouted back. He lowered his voice as he and Kate picked up their walking pace, dropping each other's hands. "She's just jealous."

"Oh, I'm sure she's jealous," Kate answered sarcastically. "Definitely not annoyed or anything."

Whenever Steve and Kate had caught up to Nancy and Robin, they found the playground that sat right in front of the Creel house. As bats flew around the house and red lightning struck the sky, they looked to the playground, seeing a light of some kind.

"Erica," Steve said, looking at Kate.

Phase one was about to be completed.

next chapter

taglist:

@thatsonezesty13 @cece5298 @thepowerstoner @alovelytardis @coolchick333 @stand-tall-pineapple @littlet-holmes @guichu @cinderellacauseshebroke @blackbirddaredevil23 @mads-weasley @ilovemarauders @pearlstiare @liableperfections @khaylin27 @girlwiththerubyslippers @cyarikaaa

[sundaybee]

One More Time (Julieta x Fem!Reader) Pt 4

As always I am not a native Spanish speaker, so if I butchered a sentence or word let me know so I may correct it.

This one ended up being super long so I hope it’s something you all find worth reading.

Part 4 of 20

Pt 5

I did not make the gif.

Things to note: Julieta is a widow. Reader is 30. Talks about depression early on.

Please don’t tear it apart too harshly!

You were forced to close for a short while so that you could run and get sugar for your afternoon cookies with Julieta. She liked the chocolate chip cranberry ones the best so you made sure you’d always have them available for her. 

As you walked to town with your basket you spotted the woman working her line. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her serve and smile at each person. She was clearly in her element. 

“Señora Madrigal!” You called out, waving when she turned to see you coming. She smiled as you approached, admiring the way you walked towards her.

“How many times do I need to tell you to call me Julieta?

“Hmm one more time.” You teased, earning an eye roll. 

You took note of her long line not fathoming how so many people could get hurt or sick so frequently.

“I won’t bother you. I just wanted to say I need to get some things for our cookies so feel free to take your time.”

“You could never bother me.” Julieta said with a smile. 

You could feel the rising blush tickle your cheeks and you quickly looked away. Julieta found the act endearing and made the choice not to tease you.

“I’ll see you shortly.” Julieta added and you nodded silently before quickly fleeing. Julieta smiled watching your departing form and couldn’t wait to finish up this line and get back to you.

——

Ding

You had just put the cookies into the oven when you heard the familiar bell above your door. You quickly went to greet Julieta.

“I just put them in the oven they’ll be ready-“ you had begun your conversation prematurely and paused when you saw that it wasn’t Julieta in your doorway but Luís, with a massive bouquet.

“Are you making me something?” He asked and you scoffed crossing your arms.

“Never again.” You hissed.

“Come now, don’t be like that.” He said and walked towards you but you held your hand out to stop him.

“Why are you here?”

“Did you think about what I said?”

“I already gave you my answer.” You replied coldly. 

This man had chosen your darkest hour to betray you. His sin cut into that open wound so deeply you never thought you’d be okay again, but you were and he would never have the power to drown you like that again.

He frowned and stepped closer.

“For you. I had Isabela Madrigal make them for you.”

Your stomach flipped. It felt wrong on every level that Julieta’s daughter made these. That she made them for him to give to her and not her mother. 

“Find someone else to give them too. Camila perhaps. Or maybe all the women whose beds you’ve frequented.”

You weren’t foolish. You knew the man’s reputation and it wouldn’t have surprised you if his infidelity went further back than when you discovered him in bed with your friend. You had been so blindly in love that you looked past the obvious red flags.

“Amor, they are for you and only you.” He cooed. 

This romantic charade he was putting on honestly made you sick. Taking the bouquet you slammed it on the counter so you could get right in his face.

“Listen here, you are worth less than the dirt I stand upon. You broke me in a way I never thought I would recover from.” You said, pointing a finger in his face.

“I was already suffering so much grief and you went and made it even more unimaginable. I was going to marry you and you betrayed me in the worst way possible.” You were walking towards him as he backed away from you.

“So no. No second chances. Get out of my store and do not return. Do not approach me on the street, do not show up at my house, stay away!” You hissed as his back pressed up against the door. 

“Just wait and watch amor. You’ll be mine again.” He said, seemingly ignoring everything you said before he exited the shop.

Growling in frustration you turned on your heel and grabbed the bouquet off your counter and tossed it in the trash. It was a shame Isabela had made something so beautiful to only end up in her garbage can.

You returned to your break room and removed the cookies too cool for Julieta’s arrival, but the woman never showed.

——

When Julieta stood outside your front window watching Luís offer you her daughter’s bouquet she felt her heart ache in a painful way. You were young, beautiful, and kind of course you’d have suitors. 

In that moment Julieta became hyper aware that despite getting together for the past month and a half she knew very little about you. All she knew was that your parents had died and that you ran this shop.

Julieta mentally kicked herself for never asking you questions about yourself. It had always been about her. Her depression. Her family. Her work. Her husband. 

Her heart jumped into her throat the second you seemingly accepted the bouquet and she couldn’t watch anymore. The woman turned on her heel and quickly departed. She couldn’t be a witness to this.

“Mom? Are you okay?” Mirabel asked when her mother came through the door earlier than expected.

“Sí, just a headache. I’m going to go lay down for a bit.” Julieta said before quickly vanishing to her room. 

Mirabel frowned, something was definitely wrong.

[griffintail]

I know you write about parental stuff for a lot of characters in the Dream SMP, but I was wondering if you could write something for Quackity?

I’ve seen some writers write about Philza finding a winged child with their wings clipped, and since everyone seems to headcanon Quackity as a duck hybrid with wings that were clipped by Shlatt during his presidency, I thought it would be interesting to see how Big Q would react to finding someone did something similar to a child.

Plus I just like the thought of him as Papa Duck, and calling his kid “Duckling”. It’s just really adorable, okay? I’m in a fluffy mood, and there’s ducks/ ducklings in my yard all the time, so needless to say I’ve grown to really like ducks over the years.

Ducklings are so cute!

However, this went a bit more angsty than planned...I still hope you enjoy it! There is fluffy parts in there!

Duckling

Pairings: Parental! Quackity x F! Child! Reader

Warnings: Blood, Harm done to a child, Implied Past Abuse, Wounds, Angstish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        It was any other day in New L’Manberg.

        Quackity woke up, tended to his wounds to make sure they healed properly, changed into a clean outfit, then walked out of his home with his usual smile. He was able to have usual banter with his friends, laughing a true laugh making him feel relief each time as he didn’t have to hold anything back. Going to have his daily meeting with Tubbo and the rest of the cabinet was when his day changed drastically.

        He was walking to the building when he saw a small sagging figure. Straightening up, he carefully went over.

        “Hello?”

        The figure looked up and he froze seeing the pain-filled face of a little girl. She stared for a moment before starting to fall.

        “Help…be free…”

        Her eyes closed as she fell to the ground and Quackity quickly rushed forward and caught her. As he did, he winced at the wet feeling as he held her back.

        “Oh please.” He muttered before carefully moving her in his arms.

        His blood boiled as he went pale.

        The back of their shirt was soaked completely in blood and he could easily tell that she was still bleeding.

        “Shit.” He scooped her up completely.

        He ran as fast as he could to the meeting building, bursting through, scaring everyone inside.

        “Quackity, you’re la—” Fundy started.

        “What the hell is that?!” Ranboo jumped up seeing the blood-soaked shirt that was starting to coat Quackity’s hands.

        “She’s losing blood fast,” Quackity said, putting the girl on the table. “I need help.”

        Fundy rushed to grab potions as Tubbo took off his jacket, Ranboo shuffling next to Quackity as he took the little girl’s shirt off.

        “Is that—” Ranboo gripped onto the front of his shirt as the other two eyes went wide looking at Quackity.

        “She’s losing blood!” Quackity snapped at all of them and everyone worked past their shock to help him.

        On the little girl’s back were two large wounds, very similar to the ones on Quackity’s back. He couldn’t think about it though, she was losing blood and he couldn’t let his anger control him at this moment.

        Everyone worked quick and by the end, the potion had slowed down the bleeding enough for Ranboo to close up the wounds and cease the bleeding. Finally, they could all breathe as they stared at the little girl, who they had wrapped in Fundy’s jacket.

        “Someone did that to her.” Tubbo finally said, the weight crushing the room.

        “…Doesn’t matter anymore,” Quackity spoke up. “She lives in L’Manberg now and won’t see whoever did it again. She’s free.”

        “She’s a kid Quackity, someone’s going to have to take care of her.” Fundy reminded him. “And what if she has parents—?”

        Fundy couldn’t get out another word before Quackity shouted. “If she does, where the hell were they when the monster did this?! If she does have parents, they just lost their rights as parents.”

        He felt the wounds on his back ached as he remembered the day, he lost his wings, his jaw clenching before he took a deep breath.

        “I’ll take her. I know how to take care of her wounds and I’ll be able to help her.” Quackity finally told them.

        “Are you sure?” Tubbo asked carefully.

        “Positive.” He nodded with confidence.

        He didn’t know what he was doing really when he came home and laid the little girl down on his bed for now. It was all a mystery really but he did believe that no one besides him could take care of her right. They had something horrible that connected them but he was hoping to help her through the pain better than he had dealt with it.

        From there, he worked on making his home a bit tidier, really trying to keep his mind busy from the anger he felt to whoever did this to her. If he ever found out who did this, there’d be no mercy. As he was putting away a few potions’ bottles, he heard a small squeak and he went back to his room. The little girl was sitting up, face screwed up in pain.

        “Hey, kid,” Quackity said quietly and she looked at him startled. “It’s ok, I’m the guy you ran into remember?”

        She thought for a moment before nodding as he nodded as well grabbing a regeneration and health potion.

        “A few friends and I healed and stitched you, you’ll need to take it easy for a long while so you don’t irritate your wounds or open them again. You mind if I put a bit of these on them to help them heal?”

        “What are they?” She muttered.

        “This is a regeneration potion; it will help your wounds close a bit easier so it won’t take months for them to close. This is a healing potion; it will help with the pain and keep you from getting sick because of your wounds.”

        She stared at the shining liquids before slowly nodding again. “Ok.”

        He came up behind her and lifting the jacket, reminding himself to return it to Fundy, before carefully first pouring the regeneration on the wounds. She winced and whimpered in pain.

        “Yeah, I know kid. It’s going to hurt for a while.” He mumbled as he finished on the other one as quickly as he could but making sure it got done before using the health potion. “This should help a bit.”

        “How do you know?” She asked curiously as she winced again.

        He paused before putting the jacket down. “It’s a long story. Now you’re probably starving. Let’s get some food.”

        It was a lot to process in a short amount of time, but, process Quackity did.

        To start, Quackity made a spare room he had into her room. He set her up a bed to start and said, whatever else she wanted in there, he’d figure out. After establishing a space for her, he got to know her a bit better past the wounds on her back. Her name was (Y/N) and she was nine years old and she ran away from home. She liked books but she also liked to run around outside.

        Knowing that Quackity asked to borrow more simple books from Ghostbur and would let her run around close by as he’d do his daily days. He tried to make her happy and she often was, the small shell she had breaking when around him. Slowly, but surely, she loved to follow him around and enjoyed talking with him, to which people would joke calling her his little duckling.

        He supposed that was where the nickname came from as he had started to call her that after a few short weeks of her living with him.

        It was a bit awkward for him to transition into taking care of two people instead of one for a while but he eventually got the hang of that too. With that, he also transitioned his days differently. In the early morning, he’d take care of his wounds before helping her with hers a couple of hours later.

        The two had a bit of an unspoken rule. He never asked what happened to her wings if she didn’t ask how he knew how to take care of her wounds.

        It changed though when he was doing the daily potion ritual. She had accidentally slept on her back and irritated her wounds a bit so it took a bit longer than usual. With him spending so much carefully taking care of the wounds, she wanted to talk about them.

        “My dad took my wings away.” She muttered and Quackity froze in his work. “They were a lot like mommy’s…he took them away so I stopped looking like mommy…”

        He was trying to keep his breathing under control as his thoughts went wild. He was hoping that maybe, as horrible as it was, that she was alone and some cruel person out in the world had done it. Yet, it was her father and it infuriated him so much, that he wanted to hunt this bastard down. However, …

        (Y/N) sniffled and he pulled her shirt down before sitting next to her, putting his arm around her.

        “Hey, little duckling, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s not your dad if he did something like this to you. I’m sorry he took them away from you, I know wings are very special.”

        “They were fluffy.” She murmured as tears started to streak down her face.

        “I bet they were. If I could get them back for you, I would. Instead, though, we’ll live like this and smile on the ground because even without any wings, we’re still pretty special.” He told her, rubbing her arm.

        He promised he’d destroy the man that use to be in her life, but today…

        She hugged him and he squeezed her back.

        Today was all about her.

        Weeks passed and Quackity was smiling as (Y/N) ran ahead, bouncing as she looked back at him.

        “Come on papa duck! I want to see the new books!”

        “I’m coming, you’re just too fast duckling.” He put a hand on his chest dramatically.

        She giggled as she turned around, going to where Ghostbur was waiting outside the entrance to the sewer. The ghost eagerly showed the little girl the new books he had “found” and Quackity merely stood to the side, pleased with the excitement (Y/N) had coursing through her. Ghostbur lent her one of the books and Quackity nodded to him.

        “Thanks, Ghostbur.” Quackity waved as he walked off with the little girl.

        He never thought he’d be doing something like this in his life, but he didn’t mind. It was a nice change of pace.

        Ghostbur smiled as he watched them walk off. They were always so adorable together, even with the black transparent wings on both of them. As they walked away, one of the wings was wrapped around (Y/N) as her tiny fluffy ones flapped in excitement. Very lovely.

[mxtantrights]

The magic-spy and the bird

the best friends brother trope is in my top 5 tropes. but I've also got a thing for angst. So here we areeeee. enjoy! <3

dick Grayson x f!reader

Jason Todd had asked you specifically to ask his brother out. And he did use the word brother, which you made a point to bring up. He shot it down but still decided to push his message towards you. You should ask Dick out. It wasn’t that simple.

“Jay I don’t think you’ve thought this through.” you said.

He chuckled, “Of course I did. I wouldn’t say it out loud if it wasn’t a well-cooked plan.” 

You made a face at him.

“Okay look, all I'm saying is you’ve got nothing to lose. If anything you're way out of his league.” he said and then gulped down the rest of his beer.

You didn’t like beer and so you worked on a Pina colada. You had done the whole beer thing for years now. As a trained spy it was your go-to for missions at bars. Safe to say you were sick of ales, craft beers and everything in between.

“Ah yes, the magic using spy.” you nodded your head.

Jason nodded along with you. 

“Exactly. Bird brains would eat that up.” he said.

“And when would I tell him that I knew about his secret identity? Before I tell him about mine or after?” you asked. 

Jason sighed and raised his hand for another beer. You rolled your eyes at this. Once he had a thought it was very hard for him to let it go. Especially when it included a thought about people he cared for- no matter how much he claimed the opposite. 

“All Im saying is, you never know until you try.” 

“What are you a fortune cookie?” 

“Fuck off. I’m being serious and I do give great advice you can ask Duke.” 

2 DAYS LATER 

You look at Caliban with bated breath. He had just gotten info on a magic-based rebellion. Work was tight when you rolled with the good guys for too long of a time. You blame that on two men on your life, Jason and Constantine. 

“I’ll put in a good word for you.” he says.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. And any-”

Before you can finish telling Caliban that he can call in a favor from you at anytime your surroundings change. In a flash you go from one of the underworld crime bars to a room you’ve never been in before.

You look around and sure enough you see the culprit. Constantine.

“There she is!” he smiles.

Not only did he summon you, he did so in front of an audience. Circled around him is Gotham’s crime fighting family. All of them except Jason, Cass and Duke. All of which know about your secret identity and would’ve stopped Constantine from summoning you. The rest of the family are all looking at you liked you’ve grown a second head.

You look down at what you’re wearing. The long sleeve off the shoulder skin tight black dress was the perfect choice for the club you were supposed to be in. Maybe not so much for a meeting with the Bats and his birds.

You look right ahead at Constantine, “I don’t like being summoned.” 

“Ah, but you’re the best person I know for this job. I had to get you over here.” he says.

You take a quick look at all the other people in the room. Then at the screen behind them. Your information is plastered on it. Well, the information that you’ve decided to let the government think was yours. Your codename was at the top of the screen.

“Constantine says that you’re the best way into the underworld.” Batman says.

You’re confused to say the least. Constantine was Constantine, why would he call you in order to get them into the underworld when he can do it himself? It defeats the purpose of having to call him.

“I’m sorry,” you direct to Batman and then look at your friend, “I need you to state specifically what I’m needed for.” 

Constantine moved from the family over to you. As he did you watched as Nightwing followed him with his own eyes. Now Dick knows you’re not just Jason’s friend from around Gotham. Great.

“Bats got intel that something it going down with this magic group, the-” he starts. “hex mutiny.” you finish.

“You already know about them?” Nightwing says.

“I was just getting someone to put in a good word for me with them before you summoned me here. You’ve got great timing you know that?” you say to Constantine.

He smiles, “Well then it seems like you can be of great service, spygames.”

“And what exactly would I be doing, if I can even get a spot with them?” you throw out the question to the family.

Red Robin crosses his arms, “We need someone on the inside to tell us what they are planning for Gotham.”

“I doubt they’d let a newbie in on their plans.”

“Good thing you won’t be a newbie.” Batman says.

Constantine conjures an amulet in his hand. You want to hit him over the head. He could really be a pain in the ass. You grab it from him.

“With this, you’ll be in the perfect position to get in and get out. Easy.” he says.

You shake your head, “Every time you say that I get a new scar.” 

“I promise sweetheart. No scars this time.” 

“Yeah yeah, you owe me for this.”

EXACTLY ONE WEEK LATER

You knew you would end up wounded. Typically with Constantine it was nothing deadly, or nothing your own magic couldn’t fix. But you knew that your luck had to run out some day. And it wasn't his fault.

After finding out what the group was really up to you couldn’t just let them operate. They weren’t really rebels. No they used that name to paint a narrative. They were fascists.

You held the wound to your waist to stop the bleeding. This would have to be the farthest you could go. There was no way you could run out of this. Not with the blood seeping through the cracks of your fingers.

At least you brunt the members down to the ash. It took a lot out of you. And that’s why you weren’t prepared for a hit that tore right through you. 

“Why aren’t you moving?” Jason, or Redhood, said through the comms.

You leaned against the hallway wall.

At least you’d die someplace pretty. When you first came in you didn't notice how clean and meticulous everything was. There were painting of famous magicians on the walls. Along with some stolen art, a Van Gogh or two. 

You ripped the amulet off your neck and felt the illusion fade. The necklace fell to the floor and you let out a pained breath.

“I think,” you coughed and on the clean wall was not splatters of blood, “this is it.”

You could hear Jason shouting on the other end. He was calling out your name, calling out for Constantine to come and help you. Duke was calling for you too. And you could’ve sworn you heard Cass say your name once. 

With your only free hand you tried to open a portal out of the base. You knew it would be useless as you had a mortal wound and portal magic works best under no stress and panic, or blood loss. The usual light from your hands glowed faintly until it didn’t.

“Constantine can’t summon you?” Dick asked.

At that you let your body drag down the wall until you reached the floor. When you did sit down more blood came out. So you decided to lay down horizontally. 

“Hey hey- I told you I wasn’t gonna let anything happen to you.” you hear Constantine through the comms.

You want to laugh, but it ends out more of a chocked gargle.

“I screwed up the mission. I deserve it.” you said.

“You did good. Better than any of us.” Batman said.

“Constantine you need to call in whatever favors you have to get her out of there. Now!” Jason shouted.

“Dont,” you started.

“No. We’re getting you out of there-”

“Jason, I’m not a saint. I never would’ve imagined going out like this.” you said.

Once you were born you were thrusted in this world. All you knew was to use magic as a weapon. To get ahead, to get power, to get the glory. And that lasted you until you turned 19. 

Then Constantine crossed paths with you. He was the one to show you that magic has other uses. Such as helping and healing. You learned the best stuff from him.  And you took what you learned and began to help in ways you could.

You didn’t go on the straight and narrow. Never did you consider yourself a morally correct person. Sometimes the lines were blurred, or they need to be blurred. And so you took down seedy organizations, went on recon missions all over the world.

It wasn’t justice. But it was close enough that you could sleep at night or the odd hours of the morning for more than four hours.

“Sweetheart I don’t break my promises.” Constantine said finally.

You were just beginning to feel your eyes grow heavy. The pain was starting to be comfortably numb. Then above you appeared someone you weren’t expecting in the slightest. 

“Caliban?” you asked.

“You owe me double.”

4 DAYS LATER

When you woke up you felt battered and weak You weren’t used to these feelings and you weren’t used to being so close to death. Everyday was a new experience when you’re the Priestess of Espionage.

You cracked open one eye to find a couple of deviants at your side. Jason, Duke and Cass. The youngest took the chair next to you while Duke and Jason seemed to take the floor. Since they weren’t in their gear you guessed that you were out for longer than a couple of hours.

“Not my version of hell but I’ll allow it.” you say in a raspy voice.

It wakes everyone up.

Jason and Duke bolt to your bedside.

“Why’d you almost die on me?” and “Are you feeling okay?” come from them both, respectively. It makes you want to laugh but when you feel the ache in your waist you stop yourself.

“I’m alive, so there’s that. Positives.” you answer.

Jason shoots his younger siblings a look and they scurry out the room. You try to sit up to ask what it was for but he puts his hands up for you to stop any movement. So you lay back down.

“He would kill me if you tore your stitches.” 

You shut your eyes, “Jason I don’t think Constantine would kill you per say.”

You hear the door opening so you decide to open your eyes. And sure enough you see Jason leaving the room and someone coming in. Dick Grayson, out of his suit as well. 

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t read his face. Besides the clear betrayal that was there. He definitely knew that you knew he’s Nightwing.

“Hi.” you say.

His face softens, “Hi.”

“I just want to say that I would’ve told you about who I am. Sooner that you think actually but this mission kinda derailed all of that.” you say.

With his arm crossed over his chest he nods, “How long did you know I was Nightwing?”

You wince.

“For about two years now. Once Jason told me he was Red it was hard to not notice the similarities of the Wayne family and the Bat one.” 

He laughs at that and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It must be going good if he wants to laugh. 

“And when did he tell you that I like you?” he asks.

“He didn’t explicitly say that.” 

There’s a beat of silence. You’re looking at him and he’s looking at you. But he’s the one who seems to be holding his breath this time. You try to hide the smirk you feel forming on your lips.

“What?” he asks.

“Jason had told me that I should ask you out. He didn’t say anything about you liking me.” you answer him.

The red tint that covered Dick Grayson was absolutely adorable.

He nods his head to himself. Twice.

“I- I’m gonna get Jason for you.” he moved to the door.  And you don’t really know what to say. All your words get jumbled in your brain and you can’t put them together in a way that is smooth enough so you deicide to just try your best.

“If you were to ask me out, I would say yes.” you say.

He looks directly at you. Then his signature smirk appears.

“I’ll bring back some food for later.” he says.

“it’s a date.” you answer.

[taeyongers]

Exile (M)

pairing: hyunjae x reader

genre: smut, rival mob bosses au, childhood friends to lovers 

summary: basically two orphans grow up and end up in rival gangs without knowing, until you meet in the middle of a gunfight

warning: drugs mention, bullying, sexual harassment, old style orphanages, gangs, gunfights, slight mentions of blood and wounds, sexual content (be warned) but it’s mostly soft and fluffy, light sub! hyunjae for a time

word count: 8.5k 

a/n: loooool @letteredwings hi friend this for u, pls don’t headbutt hyunjae anymore

The earth is cold under your bare feet. Your toes are spread wide. Wet pebbled mud meshes through the spaces in between.

It’s raining. The pitter patter of raindrops against the concrete pavement makes you want to step a little farther out from the awning you stand under, to just feel it against your skin. Your hair has already gotten wet. You just need more, a feeling to break you free from the unchanging hell you face each day.

“Y/n!” A sharp voice, familiar, cuts you out of your thoughts. “What are you doing!? You’ll catch a cold!”

It’s Hyunjae, of course. You let him tug you back from under the awning, through the doors, up the wooden steps and into the dreary warmth.

He is your height at this age. His eyes are young and shining, brows furrowed in concern and anger.

“The headmistress will be angry,” he mumbles. His hands rub your sides to get some warmth in you.

“The headmistress doesn't care,” you mutter.

He scoffs at your words, takes your little hand in his and trudges up the stairs into his dormitory. He sits you down on his bed, rummages through his dresser, which is not even a foot away from the bed. It’s a pathetically small room.

“You'll need dry clothes,” he says to himself and pulls out a towel. He places it on your wet hair, brows still furrowed. “You need to take those off. You’ll get sick.”

Finally, your cheeks burn. “All the other children already tease that we’ll get married someday and you want me to take my clothes off in your room!?”

You shove away the towel from your head. His cheeks tint pink and he sits down beside you with a huff.

“I didn't mean you need to change right now. You can do it in your room. Just dry off first.” He picks up the towel and holds it out to you.

You give him a glare and snatch the towel before placing it on your hair. He looks at you, eyeing the water dripping down the strands.

“Why were you even outside in the rain?”

“I was bored.”

He doesn't believe you. “They were making fun of you, weren’t they?” You glare at him again. He smirks like he knows something. “And you ran outside? You could have come to find me.”

“Why? You’re not my brother.”

He falls silent.

You shift on his creaky bed. “Why do you help me so much? You protect me from the kids who throw food at my hair. You fight my bullies. You talk back to the headmistress when she is angry with me. You share your cookies with me. You hug me when I cry, take care of me when I’m sick, now you’re drying me off when I’m wet. Why?”

He looks at you and shrugs. “Because you can't defend yourself. You’re small.”

Anger rips through you. “Yes I can! I don't need you!” You shove at him, nearly toppling him from the bed.

He grapples your hands. “Fine! Fine, it’s not because of that!” He says, calming you down. “It’s because… I know that sad kids end up in those bad groups around town. The headmistress says those who don't behave will never find parents and will stay here until they turn sixteen. Once they leave, they are taken in by those bad people. And I know she says that for kids who don't behave but I think those kids are just sad.” You stare at him as he stutters. “So, I don’t want you to be sad. I don't want you to end up with those people.”

“So you’re saying I’m sad?” You ask. He touches a stray piece of your hair.

“I mean...I see how the other kids treat you. How the teachers and mistresses treat you. I would be sad.”

You look at him until your gaze falls. “Then... we should both make a promise to not be sad and end up with those people.” He nods and holds out his pinky. You interlace yours with his. “We’ll find parents, or we’ll grow up and become good people.”

He nods resolutely. “Yeah.”

Your hands fall away from each other.

“Do you.. wanna change into dry clothes and come back here? I hid some extra cookies for you.”

Your lips break out into a grin. “Okay!”

He grins back. You rush off, something light fluttering in your chest.

This is how childhood goes. You do everything together. He’s your rock and your shield, your only friend. He protects you from the other children, your teachers and from the world. When they manage to slip past him, your iron defense, and get to you, you hide away and cry. He always finds you, hugs you through your tears, shushes and comforts you.

Childhood years fall away into adolescence and teenage years. By sixteen, you will be thrown out into the world, forced to brave it on your own. Hyunjae and you try to make the most out of whatever miserable years you have left at the orphanage, and whatever little protection it offers you both during this time.

As you grow, he surpasses your height. His jaw becomes defined, his body lanky and tall until he's a head above you. He's handsome… so handsome and it makes your heart flip and cheeks burn. You still share food and he still comforts you when things are hard. You find a special place together, the rooftop of the orphanage, where you lie flat and feel as if the universe is swallowing you into itself.

“We can’t turn out bad,” He reminds himself and you. “We can't fall into those gangs that plague this city. We need to make a life for ourselves once we get out of here, no matter how hard it will be.”

“It won't be hard for you,” you say. “You’re a good person. You’ll be a doctor or something. I know it.”

He scoffs, staring up at the night sky. “You don’t know that.”

“I do!” Your brows furrow. “You’re the best person here. This place doesn’t deserve you.”

He looks at you with stars in his eyes. He moves as if going to touch your cheek, but changes his mind.

“Okay,”  he whispers, “but it doesn't deserve you either.”

You stare at him. You wonder constantly if he feels something for you. You find him looking at you when you don’t notice, something akin to stars in his eyes, though to be fair, they have been there since childhood. But you’re not convinced that he feels anything for you other than that of a sister, a friend.

He holds out his pinky finger, a reassurance of that promise. You cross your finger with his.

Life’s problems change as time goes on. Bullying from the other orphans becomes more personal, more cruel. At just 15, the children have been introduced to drugs, sex, and using violence for intimidation. They wonder loudly about your relationship with Hyunjae. They wonder what you’re giving him for someone like him to care about such a loser like you.

Like that one time when a boy and his friends corner you after dinner, sneers and hatred spouting in their mouths.

“Are you his whore or something?” He asks, eyes burning holes into you. “Do you have to use that mouth in convincing ways to keep him protecting you? Maybe we need convincing as well,” he laughs with his friends.

You slip past them and run to your room. You cry until you can't breathe. Hyunjae finds you, he always finds you, soft voice filled with concern asking what, what is it, please tell me.

You tell him in between sobs. His eyes grow hard and cold. He hugs you tightly, shushes and strokes your hair until you calm down and fall asleep in his arms. His grip is gentle, but something in him is colder than usual.

The next day, he disappeared. You hear shouting in the headmistress’ office. He returns in the night, bruises sprouting across his face. His hand is clenched tight, swollen and bruised and messy. His eyes are still hard and cold.

You sit him down in your room. On this rare occasion, you’re the one taking care of him. You drag a wet rag gently across his swollen knuckles and his bruised cheekbones.

“What happened? Where were you?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s glaring at something far off and refuses to tell you.

The next day, you find that he’s been sentenced to weeks of latrine duty. You find out from another boy, Chanhee, about what happened. Hyunjae had attacked the boy who harassed you the day before.

“So then Hyunjae shows up and beats the crap out of him behind the building. If you think hyunjae looked bad, you should have seen the other guy.”

You get angry. Not at him, but at yourself. Why, why were you so weak? Why does Hyunjae put himself at risk for you? Why did Hyunjae grow up putting himself at risk for you, just because you couldn't protect yourself?

The other kids already think you’re doing some kind of sexual favors for him to protect you from abuse. You feel ashamed, disgusted. Why does he associate himself with someone as weak and useless as you?

You begin to distance yourself from him. You don’t go over to his room or let him stay in yours. You don’t hang out with him when you’re permitted to go outside. You begin to talk less, eat less together and, stop your rooftop meetings all together, feigning a headache or something else each time he asks. You feel it’s for the best. He should live his life for himself, not for you.

It doesn’t work. He ends up cornering you one day, hurt flooding his eyes, something you never want to see again. “Why are you ignoring me?”

You sigh.

“Did someone say something? Did they threaten-”

“What am I to you?” You ask.

His resolve burns away, and he’s left confused, mouth bobbing open and closed like a fish. “You’re my friend-”

“Do you love me?”

His brows furrow. “Of course I love you.”

“Are you in love with me?”

He goes still. Silent.

You look away. Of course not. He’s just protecting you because he feels that you’re too weak to do it yourself.

“I feel like a burden  You keep making up for my weaknesses.”

“Hey,” he tilts your chin up. “It’s not your fault. People are shit. I’m just helping you.“

“And you keep getting hurt. Our lives are already miserable here, and I’m just making yours worse.”

“Stop,” he says, eyes conflicted, unable to get the words out. He never was good with them.

“I’m turning sixteen soon. I’m going away.”

His brows furrow. “Where?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere. I’ll get a job, and live my life.”

“But I don’t want you to go!” He erupts, rattling you. He sees your expression and softens. “We can… we can go together. Live together.”

“I’m already a burden on you. And besides, why would you? You’re not in love with me.”

He’s silent. His eyes are burning with something he wants to say. But he doesn't. He never does. And neither do you.

...

You turn sixteen, no longer legally allowed to stay at the orphanage. You move away and become a waitress. You don’t hear from Hyunjae again. You get used to your new life, find an apartment, and appreciate the small, new found freedom of living by yourself. Of course, the struggle for money is always there as well as a deep ache in your heart that refuses to go away, but it’s more than you’ve ever had.

Eight years go by and you break your promise. You ended up getting involved with the wrong people in the allure of deals for quick ways to get money. You meet a charming woman who convinces you to join her friends, that they could use your skills and knowledge. Now, you’re in a gang, one of the many in this god forsaken city.

You fight, you shoot, you kill, and you get money. You live in more comfort as a criminal than you’ve had in your whole life. You’ve broken your promise and don’t regret it. It’s as if it's always meant to be. You finally feel like you’re in charge of your life.

Hyunjae fades from your mind. You’re not sure if you ever fade from his.

Gang wars are all too familiar to you, and the strategy involved in conducting them is as well, now that you have become the leader. You like the new found power, your members depending on you, your success in proving yourself over and over again as the boss.

One gang in particular has been tormenting you for the past few years. They have been picking off your members, stealing your business, moving into your territory. You’d decided enough was enough and engaged them. It takes place as gunfights through back alleys in the middle of the night.

You decided to join in this time on the dirty work of fighting. The new enemy seems capable and more threatening than the others. Besides, as leader, you’ve been tucked away in the safety of your headquarters, sending orders from there. You haven't had a good gun fight in a while.

Right now, you’re hidden behind a building, shooting at shapeless figures in the dark. You know you have more numbers, superior guns and skills, when you begin pushing them back, cornering them, suffocating them. Victory is close and soon you will be queen of these lands once again.

Then, you hear a voice, your subordinate shouting something at the same time a shapeless figure melts from the shadows and darts across the street.

“That’s their leader!”

Oh, you are not one to miss out on this opportunity, of taking out this leader, of ruling both groups, both territories. So, you tear yourself from out of the shadows and sprint after the figure.

Your members call out after you but you ignore them. Your group is winning. Their leader is making a last ditch effort to escape. There is nothing to worry about.

You chase the figure into a darkened alley that stops abruptly at a dead end with one dim streetlight. You corner him, gun raised, and watch the male turn around.

“What kind of coward leader runs from a fight?”

He freezes, as if something has seized and taken hold of his entire body. Then, he steps into the light. A shock runs through you. Your eyes widen, and the gun almost slips from your grip.

“Y/n?”

His voice floats to your ears. Yes, it’s familiar, one you’ve memorized, but it’s deeper now. You can hardly overcome your shock as men appear behind you with guns pointed at your head. It was a trap. 

“Stop!” Hyunjae orders, shock and concern taking over his features, ones you’ve known since childhood. “We’re taking her with us.”

...

Your feet hurt from pacing the room, but you don’t stop. You hear an exasperated sigh from off to the side.

“Are you going to sit down and talk?” Hyunjae asks. He is seated at a table, a spare chair beside him. Your eyes run over him briefly. 

He’s older, much older. He’s grown half a foot since you saw him last. His body is bigger, toned from fighting. He has the same eyes, though - young looking and twinkling- and the same smell, something that makes your stomach wrench.

You continue to pace, glancing at the window, the air vent, the door- anything that can let you escape.

“Y/n.”

Your eyes snap to him. “No. I’m not going to sit down and have a talk. Especially not with you,” you spit out.

He blinks. “What do you mean, especially not with me?”

You don't respond. He stands up abruptly, and without thinking, you grab the knife from where they never found it when they searched you.

He freezes at the sight. His hand curls around the gun in his holster. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n. There are men right outside those doors. One word from me and they’ll barge in and kill you.”

“Then why don’t they?” You yell.

“Why are u so angry!?” He snarls, finally showing his anger. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in years! What did I-“

“What did you do? I thought I left you in that orphanage years ago and now I find out that you’re the head of the gang that keeps invading our rightful territory? That it was on your orders that my members were killed for years? That I was almost killed!?”

Something flits across his eyes.

“Yeah I know,” you sneer, “how ironic is it that you were my knight in shining armor back then and now you’ve been trying to kill me for years.”

He exhales, holding his hand up in a placating gesture. “Y/n, I didn't know.”

“And what about those dreams you had, huh? About being a doctor? Something good? You promised you’d not fall into this scene and yet you ended up here anyway!”

His face is hard. “We both made that promise.”

You falter, glaring at him. “I was always the less promising one out of us two.”

He steps forward. “That’s not true.”

You purse your lips. “Are you going to kill me now?”

He stops, looking hurt. “Of course not.”

“Why not? I’m the enemy leader.”

He looks exasperated. “Y/n-“ he reaches for you but you step away. His hand falls from the air.

The silence is deafening and you grip your knife. “I should kill you. I will be better for it.”

Hyunjae sighs, running his hand through his hair . “Don’t be stupid. The guards outside-“

“I can take them.” You say with full confidence. He seems surprised. He looks at the anger, the hurt in your eyes, then down at the knife, in your experienced grip. “I’m going to kill you,” you say again, almost as an effort to convince yourself.

Some light kindles in his eyes, a look of interest, curiosity. Maybe he’s caught onto your bluff.

He raises a brow. “Really?”

You blink and nod. He steps closer, so close you’re just inches away, until you can see the deep brown of his twinkling eyes, the scent of him that takes you back years. He grips your hand holding the knife and presses it against his chest, right over his heart. His gaze is intense.

“Then do it.”

You stutter. “I- I will do it…”

His eyes aren’t wavering from yours. He imperceptibly presses the knife harder against his chest. Your hands are shaking, and you make no move to pierce him. He realizes this. Without taking his eyes off of yours, he gently pulls your wrist away from his chest. With a simple twist, the knife clatters to the floor. Now, you’re both looking at each other, silence flooding the room.

His eyes never break their lock on yours except for one flicker down to your lips and back. Then, he moves so slowly, head tilting, lips nearly brushing yours to kiss you. You can barely get a hold of yourself to jerk away.

“What- what are you doing!?” You breathe hard, stepping back.

He grasps your elbow and pulls you back. His eyes soften, hand coming up to run across your face. “Please, I … just missed you...so much” His voice is shaky, a rare break in character from the short amount of time you’ve seen him recently, eyes vulnerable instead of cold steel.

“I have to kill you.” Your voice cracks. “After all those years of fighting-“

“But you can’t,” he speaks, eyes drinking you in. “Because you feel something for me like I do for you, even after all this time. And in the middle of this war and senseless violence, can’t we just have this?”

You freeze. “You feel what for me?”

He catches on. Something soft floods his eyes, his thumb stroking your cheek. You would have torn away if not for the ridiculous amount of comfort it brings you.

“Is that why you are so angry?” He chuckles, letting his hand slip from your cheek before releasing a defeated sigh. “I should have told you I was in love with you before you left.”

You still. He rubs the nape of his neck.

“When you left, I … I lost it.” Hyunjae’s voice cracked. “I was angry for the longest time. I resented you for leaving. I resented myself for not trying harder to make you stay, for not telling you the truth when you asked me how I felt.” He paced. “You.. called me a good person. Then I lost you and I threw away everything about myself that was good. I got into drugs… crime. Now I’m here.” He glanced at you. “I never thought you’d be here too.”

You silently digest his words, feeling the knot in your stomach loosen.

He steps closer and takes your hand.  “I couldn’t sleep at night for years. I constantly wondered if you were in danger.”

“I don’t need you to protect me anymore,” you whisper.

“No,” he gazes at you, talking almost to himself. “No, you don’t.” He drops your hand and sighs. “I can see I’ve hurt you too much, back then and even now, to earn your forgiveness.”

Silence hangs heavy. The entrenched hurt in your heart lightens. Of course he’d been hurting all this time too. But your throat is too heavy to form any words in response.

“So, what do we do now?” You ask hoarsely.

He’s silent, eyes going from you to the door. “I can’t take you back to my members. They’ll have you tortured and killed immediately, and there’s no way in hell I would let that happen.”

You make a show of rolling your eyes. Of course, he protects you, even now.

Hyunjae paces across the floor, stroking his chin. He stops by the table and looks up at the air vent in the ceiling. He turns around, eyes determined.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do. We have to fake a struggle. Give me a few bruises. I’ll lock the door so the guards can’t get in immediately. Then, you climb up through the vent and make you way out of the building. Hopefully they won’t catch up.”

You can’t help giving a small smile. “Hopefully?”

He nods, eyes softening for a brief moment. Suddenly, he presses forward and kisses you deeply. A shock of butterflies bursts through your stomach, fluttering up and up to your chest. You barely process his soft lips, his calloused hands on your cheeks, the fringes of his hair tickling your forehead. Your mind turns to mush before he pulls away. He looks at you softly as he releases you. Then, he punches you in the shoulder, hard.

“Ow!” You reel back.

He smirks. “Where do you think you’re going?” He calls out loudly, much louder than is needed.

You catch on. “I’m leaving!” You yell just as loud and shove him hard towards the door. He grins approvingly at your play and spins around to lock the door. Someone pounds on the wood from the other side.

“Sir!? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he calls. “I just have a difficult prisoner, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Something playful flares in his eyes as he nearly tackles you. You stumble violently for a moment, his large arms wrapped around yours to pin you in place. You try to wrestle out of his grip but he manages to hold your arms tight around you so you can’t move, giving you the odd sensation of being in a straitjacket.

“No, let me go! I’ll--” you pause, glaring at him. “I’ll headbutt you, I swear.”

He smirks. “Then headbutt me.”

You pause for a second and then you swing your head into his cranium. His head jolts backwards and his arms release you to grip his throbbing head.

“What the hell- you actually did it!?”

You snicker at him before the sound of pounding resounds throughout the room.

“Sir, the door isn’t opening! We’re going to break in!”

Hyunjae whirls around to face you, gesturing you to go up the vent. “Alright, hurry up!” He yells to guards.

You step onto the table and reach up onto your tiptoes to remove the covering. With one last look at Hyunjae, who’s face seems to be a mess of regret, affection, longing, and panic, you muster out a “see you later,” before disappearing through the hole.

...

Hyunjae knows he is seen as a cold leader. Like he said, once he lost you, he lost everything about himself that was good.

He killed. He punished. He executed.

He would beat a man for looking at him the wrong way. Give brutal tests of loyalty to his subordinates. Make it so that they quake when he walks into the room.

It was to maintain order, dignity, balance.

No one can defeat him at a mental game. No one can make him falter, doubt, outsmart him, move him. No one. That’s how he climbed the ranks and became the boss.

That is, until now. Fifteen minutes in that room with you and his mind has turned to mush. You’ve grown up, more beautiful than you were before, and it utterly stopped his heart. Your smiles, enough to make his knees buckle. Oh, how he wanted to take you in his arms, like he’s imagined for years, to hold you, hug you, kiss you, never let you go.

Of course he couldn't do that. The universe is not that kind. He got in one kiss - just because he desperately needed to know how you felt - and you melting into him was all the answer he needed. But then he had to say goodbye to you far too fast.

Now, the guards have burst into the room, searching feverishly for you who’s long disappeared. He mentions that you used the air vent to escape and leaves through the door. He knows they can never catch up to you in time - you’re far too good.

That sad, insecure girl he knew from his past seems to have changed. You’re a leader of a gang now, the one he’s been fighting and struggling to outsmart for years. If he had known it was you all along, how quickly he would have stolen you away from the fighting and left to live somewhere far away, somewhere peaceful. He would abandon his members, everything he built after all these years in a heartbeat for you. It was never even a question.

But he barely knows if you want the same thing. All that he knows now is that he has to see you again.

He thinks about these things, mind rumbling and turning, as he walks briskly to his meeting. His head still pounds from your headbutt and he catches himself smiling at the thought of it. It’s one ache he doesn’t mind.

He enters the room filled with high ranking members. They wait patiently for him to take his seat at the head of the table.

“So? Any updates?” He asks.

One guard steps forward, the same one that had been searching for you. “Sir, we couldn’t find her. I believe she escaped.”

Internally relieved and unsurprised, he outwardly slams his fist on the table, making everyone jump.

“Damn! Do you know how valuable she would have been alive? The information we could have gotten out of her?” He glares. “And how much of a mess they would have been without their leader?”

The guard ducks his head. “Yes sir. Sorry.”

Another man leans forward in his chair, Juyeon, his close, right hand man. “But we found intel on their next plans. They are raiding the HQ of a much smaller group, If we meet them there, we can catch them by surprise, and take their leader out.”

Hyunjae doesn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he’ll see you again. On the other, you’ll be in danger.

A grunt leaning by a wall says, “I hope we take her out. That bitch deserves that and worse. If I-”

Before he can finish, Hyunjae has him shoved roughly against the wall. His shirt is clutched in Hyunjae’s fist and a knife pressed to his neck. Hyunjae barely registers his rage, the look of fear and shock from everyone around the room, from the man in his grip. His eyes are eyes wide, looking at Hyunjae for an explanation.

Hyunjae rolls with his show. “Less talking. More doing. Talk after you bring her to me. She’s already escaped once from us.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” he sputters out.

Hyunjae releases him from and glares at the room. “We’re done here.”

...

I should have told you I was in love with you before you left.

Those words echo through your mind nonstop, refusing to give you any mercy. And even worse is the memory of the kiss - of his lips pressed against yours, his hands on your skin, his smell - you secretly wish that moment had lasted forever. You wonder if you’ll ever see him again, and your heart aches in response.

Then, you rip yourself from your thoughts.

“Ugh!” You yell, slamming your gun onto the table. You’ve tried to assemble it for what seemed like the 50th time in the past ten minutes but your thoughts keep distracting you.

“Y/n?” Your subordinate, Younghoon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “We’re ready to leave.”

You finally manage to click the gun in place. With one last order to your mind to let go of useless thinking, you stand and slip your gun into the holster.  “Let’s go.”

The place you’ve decided to raid has many resources like valuable drugs and money, all hoarded by a smaller group that you can beat out easily. You surprise them, your members jumping out of cars and invading in from all openings of the derelict headquarters.

There’s shouting, scrambling, and finally gunfire. You know this mission will be easy enough - the other group does not have enough people to defend their resources. This will be over before you know it.

At least, that’s what you thought until you spot strange black vans pulling up to the curve outside, men jumping out in large numbers to join the fight. They immediately engage your members with gunfire. You panic, unable to understand what is happening before you catch sight of Hyunjae exiting a van and tucking himself behind the building entrance for shelter against the bullets. He catches your gaze and a number of different emotions pass by his face. He settles on a hesitant smile.

Confusion, then anger rips through you. So much for all those sweet words he spoke yesterday. He’s still fighting you, still trying to kill your members, still prolonging this war. If he wants it that way, then that’s what you’ll give him.

You step out and begin shooting. Chaos seems to erupt with two sizable forces fighting each other inside one building. You can tell that you will not win without a large loss of life.

“Just find whatever you can and go!” You bark at your subordinates. They scramble to obey your orders, grabbing suitcases and locked chests in between the shooting.

Before long, you’re calling them all back from the scene, ordering their retreat. They scramble into the cars you came in. You glance back to see Hyunjae’s men lowering their guns, glancing at him for their next orders - whether to pursue or retreat. However, his gaze is only fixed on you.

Then, he makes a break for it. He runs directly after you without a second glance, without a word to the rest of his group, leaving them stunned in confusion. You would’ve had half a mind to guess that he means to kill you, if it isn’t for the slightly sad expression on his face.

One of your girls steps forward to aim her gun at him. A shock of fear runs through you. “Wait! Stop! Don’t kill him!”

With wide eyes, she obeys and resorts to landing a good punch on Hyunjae’s cheek that sends him tumbling to the ground. Shouts ring out in the air and you see that his members are now running after you.

“Get him into the car! Hurry!”

They do as you order. Soon enough, the party of cars is driving off with Hyunjae’s men trailing behind on foot. They eventually stop and run back into their vans. A car chase ensues through the streets but your smaller cars outrun their bigger vans within minutes. You’re left speeding through the night with a slightly unconscious, groaning Hyunjae in your lap in the backseat.

...

“Does it hurt?”

Hyunjae peers up at you under the dim lighting of your room. You inspect the nasty cut on his cheek, one caused by the punch that took him out.

“I’ve dealt with a lot worse,” he replies, expression unreadable. “Funny how we’re back in the same situation, except...the other way around.”

You know what he means. Last time, you were captured and held in his room as a prisoner. Now, he’s yours, except he came willingly.

You sigh, pouring a bit of rubbing alcohol onto a clean rag. You press it to his cheek and he winces slightly.

“Why did you run after me?” You ask, patting down his skin.

He sighs, eyes running over your face. “Because I wanted to see you.”

You ignore how your stomach flips. “But you left all your men behind, people who depended on you.”

He shrugs.

You scoff, shaking your head as you step back. “You planned that entire raid just to see me? Don’t you care about them? Right now, they’re thinking you’ve gotten captured but really, you ran away.”

“Y/n, I became involved in this filthy life because I had nothing left after I lost you. But now, I found you and…” he trails off, large brown eyes falling on yours. “There’s something more now.”

Your heart thrums but you maintain a frown. “So that’s it? You’d just leave?”

He blinks slowly and smiles. “Yeah. That’s it.”

You carefully place a square piece of gauze on his wound and tape it down. You almost miss his smile, his eyes filled with softness and stars as they gaze at you.

“What is it now?”

He smiles. “Isn’t this familiar?”

You have flashes of memories - cleaning his wounds in the orphanage after he got himself in a fight over your honor.

“Don’t get used to it,” you mutter, tossing a few wrappers in the trash. You move to step away but he’s suddenly standing up, hand shooting out to grip your arm.

“Y/n-“

“Should I remind you that you’re the prisoner in here?” You glare.

His brows are knitted, face forlorn. “You act like you hate me but you don’t really.”

“Oh, I don’t?”

“No, you don’t.” He levels his gaze with you. “You told your gunman not to kill me. You cleaned and dressed my wounds. You kissed me like you’re in love with me-“

“That’s enough,” you growl, tugging harshly away from his grip but he holds onto you tightly.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you I loved you back then,” he says again, and again it flips and cleaves and destroys your heart. His eyes are full of regret. “Maybe you would have stayed.”

He searches your face for something that you’re hesitant and unwilling to give him. Something seems to fade from his eyes as he slowly releases you.

“Or maybe you wouldn’t have.” The smile falls from his lips. “Maybe it was meant to be this way.” He sits back down on your bed. “And maybe I truly was an idiot for getting myself captured by people who want me dead.”

You study his features, twisted in defeat. He’s always been so dependent on your moods, your signs, the words you say to him. He can be emboldened by your subtle signals and just as easily defeated by your rejections. Your heart flips again and you curse it. He really did love you, then and now.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you sigh, earning his attention. “I hated being a burden on you, regardless of... if you loved me or not.”

He gazes at you in such pure confusion that you look away. “Y/n, you were never a burden.”

You feel the sting of tears, a lump forming in your throat. He stands up slowly, steps close to you.

“You were my family-“ he begins.

“You were my family too but you kept getting hurt, kept suffering because of someone so useless as me,” your voice cracks.

His heart seems to break, you can see so in his eyes. He reaches for you tentatively, and you don’t pull away this time. He places a gentle hand on your cheek, gazing deep into your eyes, taking hold of your heart.

“You were never a burden. Never. All those things I did because I loved you,” he says softly. “You could never be a burden.”

Something shatters in your chest and you surge forward to kiss him, tears rolling down your face. He embraces you, eagerly welcomes the kiss, grasps your cheeks as if you are the most precious thing ever.

The kiss is desperate - a release of more than a decade’s worth of repressed love. You’re hypersensitive to the feeling of his lips, his tongue brushing against yours, the deep groans resounding from his chest as you melt in his arms.

“Y/n,” he groans, holding your waist in a tight grip as you pull away, panting for air. His lips attach to your throat, leaving open mouth kisses down the column. Your breaths stutter, fingers curling into his hair. A nip of your skin by his teeth has a light moan slipping past your lips.

He pulls back to gaze at you with an expression you’ve never seen before. His irises swirl with affection mixed with want.

“I- Do you want-“ he manages out, drinking in your gaze, but unable to finish his question.

You swallow thickly, mind racing. Your body is burning with need and longing for him, after so many years. You can only manage out a nod. He presses his forehead against yours.

“I need you to say it.”

You let out a shaky exhale. “I want you.”

He seems to revel in those words before swooping in to kiss you, somehow even more desperate this time. He pulls you gently towards the bed, littering kisses on your lips with breathless words in between.

“Tell me any time if you want to stop, alright?”

You nod. “Okay.”

His eyes twinkle before he kisses you again. You fall back against the sheets. His fingers flit down across your shirt and your pants, stopping to unbutton them. You kick them away impatiently and tug your shirt over your head.

He stares at your semi nude form in awe. He slowly places his hands on the skin of your waist, feeling your skin underneath his fingers.

“Have you had sex before, Hyunjae?” You chuckle.

“You have no idea how long I imagined this,” he whispers, eyes finding yours. “But you’re more beautiful than anything my brain could conjure up.”

Your cheeks burn at the cheesiness but your heart thrums all the same. Then, your mouth goes dry as he reaches and pulls his shirt over his head.

Inch by inch, the deep black ink of tattoos curling across his skin are revealed. His muscles ripple with movement and settle again once he’s cast his shirt away. He gazes at you in anticipation.

You find your voice. “You got tattoos.”

He smiles. “You like them?”

He takes your hand and places it on his stomach. You swallow hard, finger tracing one line of onyx ink. “W-Why would you care if I like them?”

He chuckles. “I care what you like.” He grips your hand softly, entangling his fingers with yours.

You glance at him. “Are you sure you’re a gang leader?”

He smiles and tugs you forward, humming as he kisses you. “You know, you look really hot when you hold a gun.”

You chuckle as his arms wrap around you. “Really?”

“Yeah,” kisses down your throat, hot and open mouthed. “I lost my mind the first time I saw you standing tall, directing orders, shooting.”

You gasp as he grips your ass harshly and sinks his teeth into the skin of your neck at the same time. “I wanted you then and there.”

You can’t respond, your mind slowly descending into the depths of incoherency. He presses you flat against the bed, and leans over you, hips rolling deep against yours. Gasps and moans fall from your lips as he watches, mesmerized.

“I always wanted to hear your moans,” he says breathily, grinding against you. “God, how many nights I’d spend just thinking of you.”

“Hyunjae,” you gasp, grabbing his hips. “You can tone down the love sick puppy-ness.”

He chuckles, a deep low sound that sends tingles straight to your core. “But I can’t help it.” He places a kiss below your heart, trailing down your stomach and your navel, settling between your thighs. “I love you. I have always loved you.”

Warmth floods your chest as you gaze down at him, at his eyes that are filled with affection and the stars of the universe. Then he presses a kiss to your clothed mound and all your thoughts are shattering.

He hooks his fingers under your underwear and drags them down. You shift to sit up on your elbows. “Y-You don’t have to-“

He cuts you off with a disbelieving laugh. “I have waited and imagined every detail of this for years. I can’t not.” He peers up at you. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

You swallow thickly. “N-No. I want to.”

His lips curl into a smile. “Good.”

He removes your underwear, and spreads your thighs around his shoulders. His hot breath meets your core and you release a shaky breath. He gives you one last, heated look, before he’s dragging his tongue across your center, stopping at your clit.

You throw your head back and moan. The sound spurs him on. His hands grip your thighs harder, tongue dipping into your entrance and stealing your sanity. Your ragged breaths turn into gasps and moans, and you involuntarily buck your hips against his face.

He holds you down firmly against the mattress, the muscles in his forearm flexing around your thighs. His eyes burn into yours as another stroke of his tongue sends you reeling.

“H-Hyun,” you gasp out. His eyelids flutter at the sound of his name. He groans into you, shaking you to the core, continuing his ministrations.

You lose your mind slowly. Every movement of his tongue sends you to another dimension. When he pushes a finger inside, you shake and clench and cry out, gasping harshly as he pumps his fingers. He releases a shaky breath against your core when you arch at another finger. A cry and moan crawl up your throat and spill into the air. Your fingers curl into his hair and tug harshly, earning another deep moan from him.

Your mind is descending. He’s kept a slow place so far but is speeding up. Your moans pitch high and the knot in your stomach grows tighter. Just when you’re about to crash, whirl, die and be reborn, everything stops.

His fingers are gone, mouth is gone, his warmth and it's all cold. Your eyelids slip open to find him, kneeling before you, eyes dark, hands tense, slightly shaking. You want to ask why, why he stopped, why he looks as if he’s been wound so tight that he’ll snap.

He wipes his mouth absently, makes the pit of your stomach whirr. He fixes his dark eyes on you.

“I need…” his voice is hoarse. “I need you on top of me, I need to feel you around me.”

You swallow dryly and sit up. A push of his shoulder to the side and he’s rolling onto the bed, head settling upon the pillow. You straddle him easily, as if you belong there. He’s splayed out underneath you, every inch of his skin in reach, every ribbon of muscle, and every inky curl and dip of tattoos across his body, all for you.

You place a hand on his chest, feel him release a sigh and watch your hand dip with his skin with the movement. He is hard underneath you, and you can feel him getting harder.

“So this is how you’ve always imagined it?” You ask, trailing your hand down his skin, under his navel, to stop at his pants button, watching him shudder.

“Yes,” he breathes, eyes closed. You unbutton him, peel his pants off and provide him with some degree of relief. You straddle him again and lean forward to kiss him deeply. He sinks into the kiss, sighs when you move to kiss down his throat, and then trace his tattoos with your lips.

He reaches up to grip your waist. You stop.

“You can't touch.”

He gazes at you, wide eyed. He seems to want to protest but he swallows it and keeps his hands down.

You smile in victory. You hips rock and grind against him, watch him arch in pleasure. His fingers flex and clench the bedsheets beside him. His eyes are heady,  burning into yours, his jaw clenching.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” You ask softly, removing his boxers to feel his hardness in your hands. He makes a muffled sound, refusing to part his lips. “Having someone tell you what to do?” You ask, stroking him slowly, watching a storm of emotions pass his face. “And you can't say anything back?”

You lift your hips up and sink down on him in one movement. There is a pleasurable burn, but you are more focused on the way he tips his head back and groans, his eyelids clenching shut. His fingers twitch against the sheets, his veined arms straining to not touch you.

“And you’re listening so well,” you praise, feeling him stretch you. You release a shaky breath, swallowing a moan.

“Y/n,” he pants. You gasp as you start moving, slowly, almost too slowly at first. After all these years, you want to revel in the feel of him inside you. He releases a broken moan and thrusts up into you in desperation.

You still immediately. “No doing that, either.”

He groans and rolls his head to the side, gazing at you in need, in exasperation. But his hips stay still when you begin riding him again.

Your heart flutters at him listening to you, the head of a mob, who hasn't taken orders from anyone in a long, long time, turning to putty under your hips. You speed up , breaths turning harsh as you roll and bounce your hips against him.

He pants beneath you, a layer of sweat settling on his tattooed skin, his jaw clenching and sheets crumpled into his fists in an effort to hold back. You admire him, beautiful and unholy beneath you. As you palm your own breasts, you take in the sight of his lust filled, darkened eyes watching every movement you make, burning with need to touch you.

Suddenly, his hands are on your waist, gripping the skin as he thrusts up into you. Pleasure explodes from behind your eyelids as you cry out. Somehow, with all your willpower, you remove yourself completely from him. You straddle him further down his thighs, out of reach of his aching cock.

“Y/n,” he straight up whines. His arms reach for you, brows knitted, eyes pleading. “Please.”

Your resolve almost shatters, but you enjoy seeing him like this too much. You merely shake your head and he huffs, resigning himself.

“Will you behave?”

He seems to glare at the ceiling before nodding without a word. Something thrums in your heart. You settle over him and begin the process anew. You like this, seeing him under you, controlling the pace, making love to him. He groans again, and you lean forward to leave open mouthed kisses down his neck, biting the skin so it makes him shudder. Your hips speed up slightly, moaning into the air as his pants. His fingers strain and clench, his eyelids fluttered closed in concentration. You marvel at his self control.

You think of that too late when he thrusts into you once again. When you slow down, he grasps your sides and gives another thrust. You gasp and remove yourself from him but before your warmth can leave his dick completely, he’s rolling you over, flat on your back against the sheets. He harshly rolls his hips against yours.

“Hyun-“ you moan as he gives another thrust, his head tipping back. He picks up pace, hands roaming your body, his self restraint snapping. “I’ve waited for years,” he moans, leaning forward to litter kisses on your neck. “Please don’t make me wait anymore.”

With a bite of your skin, he’s speeding up his thrusts, sending you clawing at his back. He presses his forehead into yours, working his hips in wonders, has you seeing stars, relentlessly, until you cry out his name, clenching hard around him.

“Oh my god,” he groans at your walls milking him. He swallows your moans with his kisses, thrusts into you a few more times until he’s coming with you.

He collapses against you, one lazy arm propped upon the bed so as to not crush you. Your head is swimming, heart thrumming, feeling the tickle of his hair against your cheek as you catch your breath. Pleasure tingles throughout your entire body. He gives a breathless laugh, plants a kiss to your forehead and rolls away to lie on the sheets beside you.

It’s quiet for a heartbeat before he speaks. “Lets run away together.”

You chuckle, “we’re criminals, Hyunjae.”

“So?” he asks, facing you. His eyes are twinkling once again.

You find your words. “So, we can’t just go anywhere. We will always be wanted by the law. Besides, we should have thought of that before getting involved in this stuff.”

He releases a deep exhale. “You were always my dream, my guiding light, whatever I wanted in life. I just became involved in it because I lost you and I ended up here.”

You look at him, silently. “You never say it’s ‘because I left’, only ‘because you lost me,’.”

He blinks at you. “Because I did.” His hand entangles with your own. “I was too afraid to tell you I love you, and so I lost you.”

You squeeze his fingers. “I was… also too afraid to tell you, so I passed off the responsibility to you by asking that question.”

A smile slowly spreads across his lips. “So you’ve always loved me?”

You smile. “Yes, Hyunjae. I’ve always loved you.”

He scoops you into his arms and pulls you close. He litters kisses over every inch of your face, pulling giggles from your lips.

“So since we can’t run away, how about we call a truce between our… groups?”

“Deal.”

He holds out his pinky. You laugh at the old but familiar gesture. You interlace your pinky with his. “Okay, now, deal.”

He giggles, pressing a final kiss to your lips. “I guess you’ll have to let me go so I can convince them.” His brows furrow. “Hopefully they don’t find this place and charge in.” 

“Don’t worry. You haven’t found this place in years, what is one more day?” 

He smiles. “You always were smarter than me.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Do you think they can wait one more day, though?”

Hyunjae thinks on it. “I’ve waited for 8 years. I think they should’ve learned a thing or two from me.”